Forgetfulness by Ward Just Read Free Book Online

knowledge of current events and rarely read a newspaper. His prewar radio did not receive the BBC. If asked, he could not have been able to name the American vice president or the British chancellor of the exchequer. He volunteered that he had once seen Winston Churchill from a distance, and as a child had been introduced to T. E. Lawrence. Boyish face, iron handshake. Shame he isn't around to settle the present mess, what? When Russ Conlon professed disgust at the promise of paradise for Muslim suicide bombers, the Englishman smiled and said that people who had nothing must be promised something. And they would believe the promise because God was both great and benevolent. No God would condemn a man to live as wretchedly in the next life as he lived in this one. That would make a hoax of life and of God also. Surely that would not be God's will. And so the imams promised paradise, and who is to say they are not prophets? Revenge has many forms, would you not agree? Revenge is the animating principle of our world. And in the division of the spoils is it not logical that if the faithful merit heaven, the faithless merit hell? In the puzzled silence that followed, Thomas observed that for that one moment the Englishman had abandoned his attitude of ironic detachment and spoke from the heart. And then his attention wandered and he began to doze in his chair. The Americans left shortly thereafter, promising to return again next year, when they could once again discuss the connection between faith and murder because neither would disappear in their lifetimes. Revenge would figure in the discussion as well.
    Florette listened to Thomas's dry account and wondered aloud why he never invited the Englishman to dinner. She was a good cook and enjoyed having people in. Thomas replied that the old man preferred dining at home, at his own table among his own things, Ghislaine cooking according to his specific diet. Florette was not satisfied with this answer. Thomas should insist. Hospitality should always be repaid. Was he ashamed of her? Their table? Their cellar? Not at all, Thomas said equably. It was only a question of what the old man was prepared to undertake. He lived to suit himself. He did not go out of his way for other people and did not expect other people to go out of their way for him. He lived by his own rules, simple rules but immutable. Thomas added, unhelpfully, that Captain St. John Granger was a species of ghost and that was why they got on so well, because he, Thomas, was a species of ghost also, except he preferred the term "displaced person."

    Florette heard a rustle in the underbrush and guessed they had finished their conversation and were ready to move once more. She listened hard for the voice of the pig-eyed conquistador, the one with the lisp, but heard nothing. She called again, louder, for a Gitane but her voice was husky, barely above a whisper. Her voice was gone and no one heard her. The pain in her chest interfered with her vocal cords and she found it difficult to breathe. She noticed that the pain in her leg had almost vanished, replaced by a heavy numbness. Snow was falling again, softly, a slow-motion fall, and a great silence had settled over the forest. The horned moon had vanished. The wind died. She felt someone touch her arm but when she looked up she saw only the snow and the white-limbed trees. The touch felt like her mother's hand but when she spoke aloud, Mama, Mama, are you there? and heard no reply, she knew the touch was imaginary, her mind wandering again. It was confusing for her, looking through the snowflakes, collecting now on the boughs of the fir trees, settling in blankets. In this country it often snowed for days, roads were closed, communications disrupted, the hills and fields motionless in white; and when that happened it was possible to believe that time had hurtled backward at great speed, centuries dissolving, Merovingian kings ruling still in Aquitaine, the community