Free The South by Colm Tóibín Page B

September teaching English, the language of my forefathers, to adults.”
    “So you’re going to stay in Spain?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You’ll be able to come and visit us.”
    “I’ve enjoyed meeting you. I like you,” he said, and then he grinned. “In fact, I almost love you.”
    “Every time you start to be serious you make a joke,” she said.
    “You grasp things quickly, don’t you? You grasped the differences between us more quickly than I did.”
    “That wasn’t hard, was it?”
    “I think you thought that I was the one who burned yourhouse down. I think you thought I’d come back to burn it again. The peasants are revolting,” he laughed.
    “How did you know about our house, and how can you make jokes about it?”
    “What else can we do? Sing laments?”
    “Think about it, perhaps.”
    “Or stop thinking about it,” he said and went to the window.
    “So is it a joke then in your little town, the Deacons whose house we burned to the ground one night when they were defenceless . . .”
    “Hardly defenceless.”
    “I was defenceless.”
    “I am so glad to be away from it,” he said. “I am so glad to be away from it.”
    *   *   *
    The sun went blood-red over the mountains in the far distance. Michael Graves lit a fire in the kitchen with some kindling that lay about. Katherine sat on the balcony looking down on the valley feeling the cold encroaching as the night came down. And as the hours went by, as they grew anxious waiting for Miguel, hunger and tiredness made them irritable and silent. They sat in the darkness of the kitchen with the firelight casting bleak shadows on the walls.
    *   *   *
    Several hours passed before the jeep pulled up outside the door. Michael Graves had fallen asleep in the corner, but Katherine had no urge to sleep. She no longer felt even hungry. She woke Michael when she heard the noise of the engine. The driver of the jeep had returned, without Miguel.
    Where was he? Katherine asked. The driver was not inclined to answer, but she persisted and he told her that therewere problems with the police. However it was not important and would be sorted out in the morning. She asked him where exactly Miguel was and he said in the police station, in Llavorsi—there had been problems.
    “Que pasa con la policía?” Michael Graves asked. The man was already unloading boxes from the back of the jeep. He repeated that Miguel would be back up in the morning.
    Katherine carried a box of candles into the house. There were sheets and blankets in other boxes, as well as food, and mattresses in the back of the jeep. They could not persuade the driver to say anything more about why Miguel was being held in the police station in Llavorsi. When he left they lit candles and sorted out the bedclothes. She took a candle upstairs to the attic room and Michael helped her carry a mattress up to the bed. He made his own bed in the room beside the kitchen. All night the sound of water rushing from the small hills above them down into the valley kept her awake; all night until just before dawn when the birdsong started and she knew she would have no sleep at all. She went down to the bathroom and washed in cold water. Michael Graves was fast asleep when she glanced into his room.
    The sun had not yet risen; there was still a grey shadow over the world below. She walked along a track away from the village; the grass at the side was drenched with dew. As she walked, it grew lighter and she noticed more and more how the colour of the stone in the houses matched the colour of the rock almost exactly. Even the slates on each roof found a match in some shade of the stone behind. The houses could have been caves, so closely were they related to the surrounding rock.
    Miguel did not come back that day. The driver brought them enough food to keep hunger at bay: a huge round of rubbery white bread, oil and tomatoes, lettuce, some tins oftuna fish. Michael Graves found more wood for