‘Suddenly, Nemo clapped his hands together, sat forward in his seat and said, “I do apologise. My mind is sometimes prone to wander, and you must feel me to be a terrible host. But once we have warmed up and had some supper, I’ll show you my studio. If you would still care to see it, and the hour is not too late. It’s the attic room, just up the steps, but rather cold, I’m afraid. Now where is that woman …”
‘He got to his feet but, just as he did, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a brief knock upon the door.
‘The old woman entered the room with a tray. There were two plates of sandwiches of cold beef – whatever else – a large piece of cheese, some slices of apple and a decanter of red wine and two glasses. She bent forward to set down the tray on one of the tables between our chairs. Then stopped, stopped still. Bent forward over the tray, its handles in her fingers, she crooked her neck, her ear towards the door, and whispered, “Did you hear, hear that?”
‘In fact, I thought I had heard something, some sound from down below. But Nemo said, “You’re hearing things again, Mrs Bunting.”
‘The woman muttered something I could not catch, released the handles of the tray, stood straight again, but then twitched, twitched and looked again towards the door: “There! There it was again!”
‘“Mrs Bunting, please! It’s just the wind under the door.”
‘She looked at Nemo and snorted: “The wind? The wind, my arse. Does the wind turn the key in the door? Does the wind walk backwards up the stairs? Drop its bag upon the floor, run the water in the sink? Stain my towels, stain them red? Messing up my beds, drooling on my pillows. Mafficking in its dreams, screaming in its sleep. That’s the wind, is it? The wind, you say? Oh, don’t make a stuffed bird laugh!”
‘At that very moment, and with a theatrical cue, there was indeed a noise – a brief banging sound, but from the house or the street, I could not tell – and the three of us did now turn our heads towards the door.
‘“Well, we all heard that, Mrs Bunting,” said Nemo. “And so you win, you take the egg. But before I trouble the local constable or priest, perhaps you would care to check upon your kitchen? From experience, I fear our many mice may be making merry in the pantry. Meanwhile, Mr Natsume and I will partake of your delicious supper …”
‘Suddenly, the old woman turned her wide eyes from the door to me and said, “You’re not from here, so you best beware. They don’t take to strangers, not round here. They never have, they never will. They ask, What happened to the Romans? I’ll tell you what happened to the Romans: the English walked through their villas with their butchers’ knives and murdered them. Slaughtered them in their sleep, they did. The whole bloody lot of them. Slit their throats from ear to ear and dumped them in the river, yeah. Oh, they never stopped smiling then!”
‘Nemo took the woman by the shoulders and marched her towards the door: “Really, that is quite enough! You should be ashamed of yourself, Mrs Bunting, frightening this poor man, our guest, in such a manner …”
‘“I’m not frightening him,” she said, “I’m warning him!”
‘Nemo pushed the woman backwards out onto the landing, then shut the door in her face. He turned to me, sighed, then said, “I really do apologise, Mr Natsume, whatever must you think?”
‘I put him at his ease and said, I do not believe superstitious old crones are native only to the British Isles.
‘Nemo smiled and said, “You’re not a superstitious man yourself then, Mr Natsume? A believer in ghosts, for example? We are often told that Japan is a land overrun with spirits and demons. Of course, one reads so much bunkum these days, one can never know the truth.”
‘I smiled, too, and said, Well, as a matter of fact, our ghosts and demons seem rather to have gone out of business since the Restoration of the Emperor. Of course, I do not presume to speak on behalf of the Mrs Buntings of Japan, of which there are many.
‘Nemo laughed, picked up the decanter and poured us each a glass of wine. “Let us drink then to the Mrs Buntings of Japan and England. Long may they thrive, for I fear our modern world would be somewhat dull without their sort. And to your own good health, too, of course …”
‘And to your own health, too, and to your kindness and hospitality, I said, and we raised our glasses, and then began to drink and eat. The bread was stale and the meat tough, the cheese like rock and the fruit without flavour, yet the wine was good and the conversation flowed, too, over books and letters, music and art, politics and history, his country and mine, my travels and his, and so, when the clock chimed ten, I was disappointed our evening was coming to an end.
‘“How time flies in good company,” said Nemo. “But it’s getting late, and you must be anxious to get back across the river. However, fear not! I will accompany you and see you safely home …”
‘I protested there was no need, but Nemo would not hear of it. We put on our coats, picked up our hats, stepped out onto the landing, and then, it was then I said, But what about the studio?
‘In all
