Free The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro Page B

or even the reasons for them, they set on you like crazed wolves. I’d be doubting my own senses if such strange forgetfulness didn’t occur so often in this place.”
    “It’s the same in our own country, sir,” Axl said. “My wife and I have witnessed many incidents of such forgetfulness among our own neighbours.”
    “Interesting to hear that, sir. And I was fearing this a kind of plague spreading through our country only. And is it because I’m old, or that I’m a Briton living here among Saxons, that I’m often left alone holding some memory when all around me have let it slip?”
    “We’ve found it just the same, sir. Though we suffer enough from the mist—for that’s how my wife and I have come to call it—weseem to do so less than the younger ones. Can you see an explanation for it, sir?”
    “I’ve heard many things spoken about it, friend, and mostly Saxon superstition. But last winter a stranger came this way who had something to say on this matter to which I find myself giving more credence the more I think on it. Now what’s this?” Ivor, who had remained by the door, his staff in his hand, turned with surprising agility for one so twisted. “Excuse your host, friends. This may be our brave men already returned. It’s best for now you remain in here and not show yourselves.”
    Once he had left, Axl and Beatrice remained silent for some time, their eyes closed, grateful, in their respective chairs, for the chance to rest. Then Beatrice said quietly:
    “What do you suppose Ivor was going to say then, Axl?”
    “About what, princess?”
    “He was talking of the mist and the reason for it.”
    “Just a rumour he heard once. By all means let’s ask him to speak more on it. An admirable man. Has he always lived among Saxons?”
    “Ever since he married a Saxon woman a long time ago, so I’m told. What became of her I never heard. Axl, wouldn’t it be a fine thing to know the cause of the mist?”
    “A fine thing indeed, but what good it will do, I don’t know.”
    “How can you say so, Axl? How can you say such a heartless thing?”
    “What is it, princess? What’s the matter?” Axl sat up in his chair and looked over to his wife. “I only meant knowing its cause wouldn’t make it go away, here or in our own country.”
    “If there’s even a chance of understanding the mist, it could make such a difference to us. How can you speak so lightly of it, Axl?”
    “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t mean to do so. My mind was on other things.”
    “How can you be thinking of other things, and we only today heard what we did from that boatman?”
    “Other things, princess, such as if those brave men have come back and with the child unharmed. Or if this village with its frightened guards and flimsy gate is to be invaded this night by monstrous fiends wishing revenge for the rude attention paid them. There’s plenty for a mind to dwell on, never mind the mist or the superstitious talk of strange boatmen.”
    “No need for harsh words, Axl. I never wished a quarrel.”
    “Forgive me, princess. It must be this mood here is affecting me.”
    But Beatrice had become tearful. “No need to talk so harshly,” she muttered almost to herself.
    Rising, Axl made his way to her rocking chair and crouching slightly, held her closely to his chest. “I’m sorry, princess,” he said. “We’ll be sure to talk to Ivor about the mist before we leave this place.” Then after a moment, during which they continued to hold each other, he said: “To be frank, princess, there was a particular thing on my mind just now.”
    “What was that, Axl?”
    “I was wondering what the medicine woman said to you about your pain.”
    “She said it was nothing but what’s to be expected with the years.”
    “Just what I always said, princess. Didn’t I tell you there was no need for worry?”
    “I wasn’t the one worrying, husband. It was you insisting we go see the woman tonight.”
    “It’s as well