Free At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

they used to play with metal hoops. You would roll the hoop along the ground with a stick and run after it. Girls would tie ribbons to their sticks. Boys usually didn’t. If your hoop started down a slope you might have to run very fast indeed! She said that one day a small boy who lived opposite them, a boy by the name of Hans, rolled his hoop into a tram line and the hoop began to roll towards an oncoming tram. My aunt told me that . . . ’
    ‘One of Professor Freud’s patients was called Hans,’ interjected Prinzel. ‘He was called Little Hans. He was always worried that the dray-horses would bite him. His father consulted Professor Freud about this and Professor Freud wrote a full account of the case.’
    The Librarian looked aggrieved. ‘I do not think it can be the same boy. I was merely recounting . . . ’
    ‘My wife reads Freud for the sheer pleasure of the prose,’ said Unterholzer. ‘She received some training in psychology during her studies. I myself have not read Freud, but it’s perfectly possible that I shall read him in the future. I have not ruled that out.’
    ‘This boy with his hoop,’ said the Librarian. ‘It was stuck in the line and was rolling directly towards the tram. I think that this must have been in Munich, although it could have been in Stuttgart, because my aunt’s father, my great-uncle, removed from Munich to Stuttgart when my aunt was eight, or was it seven? Eight, I think, but don’t quote me on that. I might be wrong. But the point is that when a hoop gets into a tramline, then there is only one way for it to go. That’s the problem. You can imagine if you were that boy’s father and you saw the hoop stuck in the tramline. Well, the father was there, as it happened, and he ran . . . ’
    He stopped, not because he had been interrupted, but because von Igelfeld had arrived. Immediately they all stood, Prinzel reaching forward to shake von Igelfeld’s hand, followed by Unterholzer, who smiled with pleasure as he did so. Von Igelfeld watched Unterholzer; such hypocrisy, he thought, but so well concealed. Well, the button would put an end to that.
    They settled down to enjoy their coffee.
    ‘It’s wonderful to have you back,’ said Prinzel. ‘The Institute doesn’t seem to be the same place when you’re away.’
    No, thought von Igelfeld, it wouldn’t be, would it? There would be a different person in my room. But he did not give voice to such churlish doubts, instead he remarked brightly: ‘I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back in Germany. Cambridge is a fine place, but you know the problem.’
    They all nodded sympathetically. ‘Four months in an inferior institution must be very difficult,’ said Unterholzer. ‘I expect you had a battle to get anything done.’
    ‘Yes,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Everything is so irrational in that country. And the people, quite frankly, are utterly eccentric. You have to analyse their smallest pronouncements to work out what they mean. If it is bad weather they will say things like, “Charming weather we’re having!” ’
    ‘And yet the weather isn’t charming,’ said Unterholzer. ‘Why then do they say that it’s charming?’
    ‘Why indeed?’ agreed von Igelfeld. ‘They often say the direct opposite of what they mean.’
    ‘That’s extremely strange,’ said the Librarian. ‘In fact, one might even describe that as pathological.’
    ‘And then they consistently understate a position,’ went on von Igelfeld. ‘If they are very ill, or dying, they will say something like, “I’m feeling very slightly below par.” It’s very odd. You may recall Captain Oates going out of his tent into the Antarctic wastes. He knew that he would never come back. So what did he say? “I may be some time.” This actually meant that he would never come back.’
    ‘Then why didn’t he say that?’ asked Unterholzer.
    Von Igelfeld shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is something which I shall never understand,’ he said. ‘It