Free Mr Darwin's Gardener by Kristina Carlson Page A

same time. Human nature is hard to define, though. One can predict the eruption of a volcano, but it is not possible to predict that a man will dig out an axe from his rucksack and strike the skull of a totally unknown man in a railway carriage. Cause and consequence change seats at random.
    If there is no soul, then there is only a body, one you have to carry yourself. When you are dead, your body weighs more. Six bearers are needed.
    The minister tried to console me. Thank you, thank you.
    Grief, after all, is a cloudy pond. You see no reflection. You do not see your children, nor your neighbours. Instead,everything sinks into the mud, and sorrow spawns new sorrows.
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    I pray in anger and in disbelief.
    I pray to a God who does not exist.
    I pray against my better judgement, I pray to God under duress.
    Without trust.
    My prayer is a drop of cold water on the tip of a bare branch.
    I ask for the strength to carry on for my children, for myself.
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    Holy Lord, Harry Rowe prays on his way home.
    Alcohol is my scourge. Lord, forgive me. I suffer from pain and worry. Dear merciful God. Damn, I bought nails and they’re bad. Their heads get all squashed. You can’t get them out of the plank with pliers. I have already paid the wholesaler. If you are poor you cannot afford blunders. This pain of mine hurts like hell. No, Lord, that kind of swindling is not fair. Punish the sinners. When I am weighed down by worry, I cannot get to sleep. I twist and turn in my sheets like Lazarus. The cover slips and my toes get chilly. It is cold but not so cold that the piss freezes in the pot. Dear God, I wish I were a better person. Give the wholesaler what for. Amen.

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    Caw-caw-snow, the crow caws.
    And the jackdaws take wing from the steeple to bear witness:
    It has snowed during the night.
    The roofs of the houses are white and the chimney-cowls wear white hats.
    White gauze sticks to the meadows and hedges. In the ploughed field, snow has painted every other furrow white.
    A pallid sun glows through cloud.
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    Cathy Davies draws small squares for houses. She adds a bigger square for Mr Darwin’s house, and a rectangle for the church, topped by a cross; then roads and paths leading from house to house; and, on the roads, small people running hither and thither on stick legs.
    John presses a sooty forefinger to the paper and asks: Where am I?
    Cathy draws two small figures and a line below them: a sledge. She wants to pull John to school on the sledge.
    Thomas sweeps the steps. Dry, light snow rises up in a cloud. Crystals glitter. Blades of grass are dimly visible through the snow on the lawn. He puts the temperatureat two or three degrees below freezing. A cold, metallic smell fills the air. Breath billows. Smoke from the village chimneys rises in dense columns towards the sky.
    Let the children pull the sledge over the stiff, frosty grass. Even though it will get stuck on the road, Cathy, tenacious as a plough-horse, will drag the sledge to the school.
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    The road is a white corridor between the hedges. The wind and footsteps cause a flurry of flakes. Nobody else has walked here. No traces in the garden either; no footprints left by Mr Darwin, no traces of his stick. He is old now and ailing, but he rarely misses his morning walk.
    Mr Darwin is the only person in the village not to have read about Daniel Lewis’s article, Thomas thinks. That is because a spacious mind engages with big questions, whereas small souls are satisfied with crumbs to chew on. Thomas opens and closes the greenhouse door. As warm air hits the glass, a crust of ice condenses on the outsides of the panes. On the inside, drops of moisture form on the windows. The air is thick with the smell of water, earth and plants. He takes down a notebook from a hook on the wall. The book holds the names of plants, along with the associated instructions and timetables. Mr Darwin himself wrote them.
    The genera of the families Agavaceae, Cactaceae,