Free The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro Page A

the tense figures around them seemed all at once to sag. Their voices quietened till there was only the one, shouting angrily, somewhere still a little way off. The voice came closer and the crowd parted to let through a squat, misshapen man who shuffled into the pool of light leaning on a thick staff.
    He was quite elderly, and though his back was relatively straight, his neck and head protruded from his shoulders at a grotesque angle. Nonetheless all present appeared to yield to his authority—the dog too ceased barking and vanished into the shadows. Even with his limited Saxon, Axl could tell the misshapen man’s fury had only partly to do with the villagers’ treatment of strangers: they werebeing reprimanded for abandoning their sentry posts, and the faces caught in the torchlight became crestfallen, though filled with confusion. Then as the elder’s voice rose to a new level of anger, the men seemed slowly to remember something, and one by one slipped back into the night. But even when the last of them had gone, and there were sounds of feet clambering up ladders, the misshapen man went on hurling insults after them.
    Finally he turned to Axl and Beatrice, and switching to their language, said with no trace of an accent: “How can it be they forget even this, and so soon after watching the warrior leave with two of their own cousins to do what none of them had the courage for? Is it shame makes their memories so weak or simply fear?”
    “They’re fearful right enough, Ivor,” Beatrice said. “Just now a spider falling beside them could set them tearing at one another. A sorry crew you sent out to greet us.”
    “My apologies, Mistress Beatrice. And to you too, sir. It’s not the welcome you would usually get here, but as you see, you’ve arrived on a night filled with dread.”
    “We’ve lost our way to the old longhouse, Ivor,” Beatrice said. “If you’d point us to it we’d be much beholden to you. Especially after that greeting, my husband and I are eager to be indoors and resting.”
    “I’d like to promise you a kind welcome at the longhouse, friends, but on this night there’s no telling what my neighbours may see fit to do. I’d be easier if you and your good husband agreed to spend the night under my own roof, where I know you’ll remain undisturbed.”
    “We accept your kindness gladly, sir,” Axl broke in. “My wife and I are much in need of rest.”
    “Then follow me, friends. Stay close behind me and keep your voices low till we arrive.”
    They followed Ivor through the dark until they reached a house which, though in structure much like the others, was larger and stood apart by itself. When they entered under the low arch, the air wasthick with woodsmoke, which, even as it made Axl’s chest tighten, felt warm and welcoming. The fire was smouldering in the centre of the room, surrounded by woven rugs, animal skins and furniture crafted from oak and ash. As Axl went about extricating blankets from their bundles, Beatrice sank gratefully into a rocking chair. Ivor, though, remained standing by the doorway, a preoccupied look on his face.
    “The treatment you received just now,” he said, “I shudder with shame to think of it.”
    “Please let’s think no more of it, sir,” Axl said. “You’ve shown us more kindness than we could deserve. And we arrived this evening in time to see the brave men set off on their dangerous mission. So we understand all too well the dread that hangs in the air, and it’s no wonder some should behave foolishly.”
    “If you strangers remember our troubles well enough, how is it those fools are forgetting them already? They were told in terms a child would understand to hold their positions on the fence at all costs, the safety of the whole community depending on it, to say nothing of the need to aid our heroes should they appear at the gates pursued by monsters. So what do they do? Two strangers go by, and remembering nothing of their orders