She turned to Markus. “So, Markus,” she said brightly. “Are you enjoying living in Scotland?”
Markus looked at her gravely. “Brick,” he replied.
“Markus doesn’t have much English yet,” said Antonia. “I’m sure that he’ll be learning it, but at the moment . . .”
Domenica nodded. She turned back towards Markus and, speaking very slowly and articulating each word with great care, she said: “Where are you from in Poland, Markus?”
The builder looked at her again, and Domenica noticed his eyes. She could understand why Antonia had fallen; it was the eyes.
“Brick.”
Domenica turned to Antonia. “Markus says brick a lot, doesn’t he?”
Antonia waved a hand in the air. “It’s all he says,” she answered.
“But then, how many words of Polish do we know? Could we even say brick in Polish?”
Markus now bowed slightly to Domenica. “Poland,” he said.
“Ah yes,” said Domenica. “Poland.”
There followed a silence. Then Markus bowed his head again slightly in Domenica’s direction and walked over to the toolbox from which he extracted an electric drill.
“Well,” said Antonia breezily, “work must get on. How about a cup of tea, Domenica?” She paused, and then added, “Since you’re here.”
Domenica had not intended to stay, but she felt that in the circumstances she could not very well leave, and so she accepted.
They moved through to the kitchen.
“A nice man,” said Domenica.
“Very.”
Domenica waited for Antonia to say something else, but she did not. The electric kettle, switched on without an adequate amount of water inside it, began to hiss in protest. “Will you teach him English, do you think?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” said Antonia. “I suspect that he will prove a quick learner.”
“Well, he’s already learned brick,” said Domenica. “That’s a start.”
“Yes.”
“And the novel?” asked Domenica. “Are you managing to write 180
Antonia looked out of the window.
“Their own times were noisy enough,” she said. “I imagine that they had to contend with all the noises that humanity makes when it’s in close proximity with itself. Crying babies. People groaning because they were in pain. That sort of thing. Remember that people didn’t have much domestic room in those days. Our flats would have been considered palaces. They lived in hovels, really.”
She turned and fixed Domenica with a stare – as if in reproach.
The encounter with Antonia had been unsatisfactory from her point of view: she had entered the flat in a spirit of righteous indignation over the damage to the philodendron. She had expected that Antonia would at least make some attempt at an excuse, even if she did not actually apologise, but none of that had been forthcoming. Indeed, after Domenica had broached the subject, nothing more had been said about the plant, as Markus had appeared in the hall in highly suggestive circumstances. This had completely thrown Domenica; after that, it had been impossible to raise the issue of the plant, which she would now simply have to move into her own flat for a while in protest at her neighbour’s attitude towards its safety. Not that Antonia would necessarily notice, but at least it would be a gesture.
She was not sure how to take Markus. The question of having an affair with somebody with whom one could not communicate in language was an interesting one, and as she walked up Scotland Street, she turned this over in her mind. If one could not say anything to the other, and he could say nothing to you, what remained? All close relationships between people – unless they
were purely instrumental – were based on some feeling for the other. That feeling required that one should know something about that person and that one should be able to share experiences. If one could say nothing about the world to one another, then what precisely was the shared experience upon which the relationship was founded? Only the carnal, surely; or could there be spiritual and emotional sharing without language? Human vulnerability, human tenderness – the understanding of these required no words, but could be achieved through gestures, through looking, through mute empathy; a bit boring, though, Domenica thought, once the initial excitement of the physical side of the relationship wore off; if it was to wear off, and sometimes the pulse remained quickened, she understood, for years . . .
But that was another question altogether which she would have to come back to, as she had now reached the corner of Heriot Row, and it did not do to think about sex on Heriot Row.
She smiled at the thought. It was another Barbara Pym moment.
Of course, one could think about sex while walking along Heriot Row – these days. That tickled her, although not everybody, she thought, would be amused about that: the words “these days”
