‘I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.’
Josh pushed his plate away from him. ‘He wrote about filth and violence as well,’ he said. Jonathan looked up. The Indians he’d seen spoke pidgin English; Josh’s accent was as British as Sebastian’s. ‘And prejudice.’
‘Down, Injun,’ Peewee said from the other end of the table.
Josh’s eyes glittered, eyes as furious as the oiled poodle’s eyes: as furious as my grandfather’s. ‘Your servant, lieutenant,’ he said.
Sebastian slapped the table and laughed again. ‘So why has it taken so long for you to come to us? Eh, Johnny? Are you on holiday? Perhaps you’re billeted here? That would be good fortune for us. Eh?’
Jonathan looked at the faces around the table. ‘I never went to school,’ he said.
‘Really? Where were you brought up? Kansas? No schools nearby? So you’ve come to study? Is that it?’
‘If you will accept me,’ Jonathan said.
‘If we will accept – how can you even ask? We’re entranced, my boy, entranced. You’re almost related to us. We’ve known you for years, you know, years. Ah, Johnny, what a feast awaits you. Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Cervantes. Detta, is there any more of that pudding? Americans, too. Wonderful Americans:
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December |
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the—’ |
Detta put a second bowl in front of Sebastian; he stopped reciting instantly ‘It’s not quite right, you know, Detta,’ he went on, mouth full, shaking his head. ‘Butter – always use butter if you want a good pudding – and those windfall apples. But Johnny, Kansas is stuffed with subscription schools. Did your parents belong to one of these sects – you know – Helen, what do I mean? Mormons? Amish? They might have been Social Contract people, I suppose. Is that it? Or maybe Emersonians—’
There, Jonathan thought, feeling a sudden warmth inside him that made him unsure how he was going to make his jaws chew or his throat swallow – there in Sebastian’s smooth, easy, largely meaningless babble lay the resemblance between father and son. He studied the remains of his wine. He’d never tasted anything like it before, but he was grateful for what little alcoholic support it afforded.
‘Seb, really,’ Helen interrupted, ‘he plainly doesn’t – I’ll take Johnny to—’ She scrambled out of her chair, plucking at Jonathan’s arm, and ushered him out of the room.
She led him up some stairs and along a corridor to her study, a small, untidy, book-lined room, tucked up under the eaves of one of the barns. The moment she opened the door Jonathan could see that it was more than just a room, though as he thought of it he guessed the same could be said for the room he’d just left. He wasn’t sure why; maybe it was that somebody had plainly spent thought on the details of life. Looking around himself, he felt a homesickness for the railroads so abrupt and intense that he missed Helen’s first words.