together.
“Are your parents alive, Lou?” Matthew suddenly asked.
“You’ve never mentioned them, you know.”
Big Lou shook her head. “My father left us when I was eleven,” she said. “He died a bit later. Drink, I was told. My mother died when I was nineteen.”
“I’m sorry,” said Matthew.
Big Lou said nothing. She looked down at the counter. What was there to be said about the loss of parents? She could barely remember her father now, and her mother’s memory was fading.
All she could recall was kindness, and love, like a surrounding mist.
“And you?” she asked. “You’ve just got your father, haven’t you?”
Matthew nodded. “He’s found himself a girlfriend, by the way,” he said quietly. “Some woman called Janis.”
Big Lou smiled. “That’s nice. That’s nice for him.”
Matthew took a sip of coffee. “I suppose so.”
Big Lou watched him. She was about to say something to him, but the door opened and Angus Lordie arrived, closely followed by Cyril. He nodded to Lou and made his way over to take his seat next to Matthew. Cyril sat down beneath the table and stared at Matthew’s ankles. He would have loved to bite them, but would not. He understood the rules.
“I’ve been reading the paper for the last hour,” Angus remarked breezily. “And the state of the world – my goodness!
Everywhere one looks – ghastly. And of course we, you may recall, Matthew, are actively engaged in hostilities, together with 100
our friends, the Americans. Not exactly on our doorstep, but hostilities nonetheless. Were you aware of that? Does it feel like wartime to you? What about you, Lou? Do you feel as if you’re at war?”
“No,” said Lou. “I don’t. Nobody consulted
“Ah,” said Angus Lordie. “But nobody is ever consulted about a war, are they? It’s still our war, though.”
Matthew interrupted. The war was not Big Lou’s fault, as far as he was concerned – nor his, for that matter.
“There’s nothing that Big Lou can do about it,” he said. “I don’t think it’s anything to do with her.”
Big Lou had been busying herself with the cup of foamed coffee she was preparing for Angus. She had been listening too, of course, and now she turned round. She had something to say on this subject.
Big Lou leaned over the counter. “Yes,” she said. “That’s very interesting, what you say, Matthew. You say that there’s often nothing we can do, but I’m not sure that that’s quite right. I’m not just talking about this war, now. I’m talking about things in general. Can you really say that there’s nothing that we can do about things that we disapprove of, when they’re done by the government? Are you sure about that?”
“You can vote,” said Angus. “Get people out.” He thought for a moment before adding: “Mind you, have you ever tried getting the Labour Party out in Scotland? Ever tried that?”
“That might be because people want them in,” said Big Lou.
“I do, at least. Anyway, you can vote. But how often do we get the chance to do that? And even then, we might not have much of a choice.”
“But at least you’ve done what you can,” joined in Matthew, who had never voted, never; from lethargy, and indecision.
“Once you’ve voted, that is.”
101
Big Lou agreed with this, but there was more to the issue than simple voting. There were many other things one could do, she thought. One could write to politicians. One could give money to causes. One could protest in the street. There were options. She pointed this out to Matthew and Angus, but then she added: “But the real question, boys, is this: do we have a duty to do anything to stop things we may not like? Is it all right just to do nothing, provided that we don’t do anything that makes matters worse?”
Angus exchanged a glance with Matthew. He was not yet used to Big Lou’s philosophical reflections, and his attitude was slightly condescending. Matthew sensed this and wanted to say something to him about it, but had not yet had the chance. He would speak to him, though, later.
“I would have thought,” said Angus, “that we are more responsible for what we do rather than for what we don’t do. If I didn’t start something, then I’m not sure that it’s my duty to stop it.”
“Oh yes?” asked Big Lou. “Oh yes?”
Cyril looked at Big Lou and then at his master. Like all dogs, he was attempting to understand what was happening in the human world, but this was difficult to read, and he looked away.
His was a world of floors and low things, and smells; a whole room, a world of smells, waiting for dogs to locate them and file away for future use.
Angus met Big Lou’s challenge. “Yes,” he said. “I’m pretty sure about that. Don’t blame me for what I haven’t done. Simple.
I didn’t start the Cuban missile crisis. I was around at the time, I suppose. But I didn’t start it.”
