If the white-hatted sod had missed anything that had taken place in front of him in the last couple of minutes it could not have been by much. He said now, in a bass voice that sounded to Alun like a close imitation of a dance-hall proprietor he used to know, 'Yes, well, you're a writer, aren't you?'
'Yes,' said Alun when Rhiannon had banged him in the ribs..
'Yes. Here after Brydan, are you?'
'What? Well no, not exactly!
'A lot of them comes after Brydan. Brydan was a famous poet used to live here in Birdarthur. He used to come into this pub quite frequent, with Americans. He used to call.. it White's Club. Because it was like a club, he said. He was a Welshman, Brydan, but he wrote in English, see.'
'Yes, I know! Alun's life was coming to consist more and more exclusively of being told at dictation speed what he knew.
'Brydan was a Welshman himself, but he wrote... his poetry... in the English language.'
'Indeed he did, in fact - '
'But he was a Welshman through and through. Don't you go thinking you can understand Brydan,' boomed the old sod, rocking back and forth slightly on his stool and smiling, but making it three parts plain he meant Alun rather than the world in general, 'that's _understand__ Brydan, eh? - not being Welsh yourself.'
'For your information I am Welsh myself. I was born and brought up not twenty miles from here.'
'No, no, I say _not__ being Welsh yourself you can't understand Brydan. It's Welsh people can, right? Appreciate. Appreciate is better. Yes, appreciate. Fully appreciate.'
'But... ' Alun could think of nothing to say. His awareness that Rhiannon was sending him furtive hushing looks did nothing to loosen his tongue. Actually of course he could think of an enormous number of things to say, though none at all that would not make him seem to have lost some argument or other. 'But... '
'A writer, you say. For a paper, is it?'
'No. Yes. Sometimes.'
The sod seemed to think this a full and satisfactory answer, or at least one worth thinking over before moving on. He had got as far as stretching out a finger in Alun's direction when a young man with very short, almost colourless hair hurried in from the street and came over. As well as having pale hair he had a large face and was slightly moist about the nose and eyes. Looking at Alun and Rhiannon he lifted his head sidelong in consternation or apology.
'You're late, Grandad,' he said loudly. 'Tea'll be on the table now. On your way, Winston Churchill.' Without lowering his voice much he added, 'I hope he hasn't been too much of a pest.'
Alun could only think of saying, at the cost of some damage to his sense of justice, that he had had a most pleasant chat.
'No kidding?' The youngster looked more closely at him and his large face broke into a smile. 'Hey, I know you. Seen you on television, haven't I? What IS it, the Welsh something, the Welsh side of things? Tell me now, that, what's he called, Bleddyn Edwards, is he a great mate of yours?'
'No, I don't think I've even - '
'Well, I'm no expert but it's perfectly obvious to me he's not up to the job - you are. All the difference in the world,' said the young sod with an authority his alleged ancestor would have had to acknowledge. 'No comparison.'
'That's very nice of you.'
'Get away, marvellous to have met you. Good luck, and thanks for putting up with old buggerlugs here.'
'Well, that was all right,' said Alun as he and Rhiannon came out of the pub a little while later. 'Not like life at all.'
She squeezed his arm against her. 'Good boy for not going for that old fart.'
Whit with one thing and another he felt quite pleased with life for the rest of the evening. Pre-eminent among the things there featured prominently and foreseeably the provisional clearance, or seven out of ten, he had awarded the existing portion of _Coming Home__ - the sterling anti-trendy title for the complete work he had somehow captured over the last hours. The elevated mood lasted long enough to prompt him to make love to Rhiannon when in due course they got into the surprisingly cosy little bed.
They stayed lying there for a few minutes with the light on uttering contented mild animal sounds as they had done at such times for thirty-four years. Something about the bedside lamp was setting up a bit of a hoarse sort of screaming noise, but it was quiet enough in general to hear the waves breaking on the beach, not all that far away because by now the tide had come in again nearly to the full.
'Lovely day it's been,' said Alun. 'I'd forgotten how nice it was here. '
'Jolly good about your work.'
He shushed her and made disclaiming faces but with less conviction than earlier. 'They haven't managed to bugger the place up totally yet.'
'You must be tremendously relieved, or a bit relieved rather. It must be all right to say that.'
'What? Oh yes, I'll have another look at it in the morning.'
'Do you good to stay in one place and put your feet up for a couple of days. '
'Yeah, well... '
'I thought you were looking a tiny bit peaky, you know, just one per cent. There's nothing worrying you, is there?'
