Free The Museum of Doubt by James Meek Page A

It’s not as if you’ve ever sat down to learn French or German. He waited for Cate to say something but she only looked at him. There has to be a reason. A reward. It’s not as if once I’d learned to speak Mercian I’d be able to do anything with it. I won’t be able to go somewhere and be understood. Your dad said so himself.
    Am I not a reward? said Cate.
    But there’s only one of you.
    If you learned it there’d be two, and we’d have children. How many more do you need? How many women do you love?
    Adam sat down on the bed with his back to her. She poked him sharply in the side. How many women do you love?
    Just you.
    But you don’t love me enough to learn to speak my language? You wouldn’t do that for me?
    It’s not a small thing.
    Would you only do small things for me? And love me? What would you do for me?
    Adam turned round. You said my language, he said. You said my language.
    It is my language. I’ve got two of them.
    I’m in love with the one that speaks English.
    Cate lay down, pulled the quilt over her and turned away from him. Don’t tell me you love me in Mercian any more, she said.
    He did say it to her again, two or three times, in the couple ofdays before the funeral. He said it to comfort her but it made both of them sick to hear it. Y tess ley had been his effort and his promise of a great labour, and meant love in itself to both of them and in the promise of what he’d do, and now it was only a sign of his still being there, like a lighthouse without rocks.
    Don’t, she said, I told you. Tell me in English if you mean it.
    The TV people did come to the funeral, they filmed Cate reading in Mercian from the Lay of Kenelm. Walking out of the chapel with his arm round Cate Adam lifted his eyes from his shoes sinking into the gravel to see the legs of the woman walking by herself in front of them. The legs in black tights were slender and moved in short, light steps. Above that was a short black coat and a black wide-brimmed hat. When they had arranged themselves at the graveside Adam was facing her, the same age as Cate but not a friend he’d ever met, and not a relative that he could think of, with her long North African face, black eyes and dark lips. He spoke to her at the buffet afterwards and was reminded how Cate’s dad’s sister had married an Ethiopian and gone to live in Addis Ababa and had a daughter before she died. The daughter was called Naomi.
    Do you speak Mercian? said Adam.
    I can count up to ten, said Naomi. My mum died when I was young.
    Her eyes were fixed on him. He felt the blood surge through him and his skin prickled.
    I’ve been trying to learn it, he said. But the only phrase I can remember is y tess ley.
    She asked him what it meant.
    It means I love you, he said.
    She smiled and put her fingers over her mouth. He grinned and looked away. He was looking at Cate and he was grinningafter her dad had just been put in a hole in the ground and buried in earth for ever.
    He went over to her and she wasn’t speaking to him. They shook the hands of the guests together while they left. Naomi smiled at them both and neither of them smiled back. She said she was at university in Leicester and they should come over. They nodded and she left.
    I see what you mean now about an incentive, said Cate.
    What?
    Don’t be a bigger prick than you are.
    If you’re talking about Naomi, we were just talking.
    I know, but seeing how you were talking it’s all become much clearer. It’s too much for you to learn it just for me, your time’s too precious, your mind’s too precious, but if you knew every time you went somewhere there’d be someone like Naomi to speak Mercian with, it’d be worth your while.
    She doesn’t speak Mercian.
    Jesus, it’s not the fucking point, is it?
    Cate was cold and down for a week and for longer than that Adam would think about Leicester University and went into a bookshop to read a few pages of a book about Ethiopia. But he got a decent job in