The Dumb House by John Burnside Read Free Book Online Page A

dread, a sense of horrified anticipation.
    They stood in the doorway for some time. Mrs Olerud said nothing. I felt she was simply showing me the boy; he could have been a leopard or a wild dog, some dangerous creature that had somehow come to live in her house, and she was letting me see it, so I would know what she had to endure. I wanted to say something, to break the tension, but I could not bring myself to speak directly to the child.
    â€˜Can he hear me, if I talk to him?’ I asked.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Sometimes he seems to understand, but he never does anything to show it. He doesn’t – respond.’
    The way she spoke the last word underlined how inappropriate it seemed to be talking like this in front of her son. Then she shrugged almost imperceptibly.
    â€˜I thought you would like to see him,’ she said. ‘But he ought to go back now. It’s easier if he stays upstairs in the evenings.’
    She touched the boy’s shoulder and they left the room without a word. The child did not look back. I heard them climbing the stairs, crossing the landing. I wanted to call them back, to see more of the boy, but I was too surprised to speak.
    When Mrs Olerud returned, she seemed relieved. She sounded brighter; I thought she was making light of things.
    â€˜Your tea must be getting cold,’ she said. She was matter of fact, but she could not altogether hide the effort.
    â€˜What did you mean?’ I asked. ‘When you said it was easier if he stayed in his room – what did you mean exactly?’
    She looked uncomfortable, as if I had caught her out in a deception.
    â€˜He gets restless,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t sleep well at the best of times. Any excitement in the evening only makes it worse.’
    â€˜But you told me to come in the evening. You ought to have suggested another time, if this was inconvenient.’
    She looked puzzled for a moment, as if she was surprised at what I had said.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Today has been difficult. Perhaps you could come again, another time.’
    â€˜Does he go to school?’
    She did not answer.
    â€˜He must have special needs,’ I persisted.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Which school does he go to?’
    She looked at me sharply.
    â€˜I have to be getting on,’ she said quickly, in a near singsong. ‘I have to get him ready for bed. Would it be convenient for you to call again some time?’
    She stood up, to make it clear that she wanted me to leave. Evidently the questions had annoyed her, and it occurred to me again that she had something to hide. I had no choice but to comply with her wishes, but I was in half a mind, as I left, to give up on this case before it even started. The boy was probably retarded, or emotionally disturbed. The causes of his speech problem were almost certainly buried in the past, and I doubted Mrs Olerud’s willingness to help uncover them.I think she sensed this; as she was showing me out, she stopped and laid her hand on my arm. I was struck again by the shadow of the beauty in her face.
    â€˜Do come back,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about tonight. It’s just that today has been difficult.’
    I nodded.
    â€˜You will come again?’
    We were standing in the hallway, at the foot of the stairs. It occurred to me that the boy could hear us, if he was listening, and I wondered if he understood. All of a sudden I realised why Mrs Olerud had responded to my advertisement. She had no expectation that I would be able to help her son, and no real interest in my studies. She had written to me because she was lonely, and too proud to go out looking for help or companionship of her own volition. This way, I had come to her, and now she was afraid of losing that contact.
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ I answered. I was still annoyed. ‘I’m not sure I know why you wanted me to come. It’s not