David Nobbs - Obstacles to Young Love

‘I didn’t realise,’ she repeats feebly, and then she pulls herself together. ‘Mr Pickering, can I see Timothy in private?’

Timothy suddenly looks serious. Has he an intimation?

‘Yes, of course. You could use the office. Crowded, but clean.’

Timothy looks at her questioningly, then leads the way down the narrow stairs to the landing.

‘He uses one of the bedrooms. We never have guests,’ says Timothy. ‘Nobody ever comes.’

This door squeaks too. Naomi just wouldn’t be able to stand it. If she lived here, the first thing she’d do would be to invest in a huge supply of WD40. If she lived here. She surprises herself even thinking it.

They enter a small room with a desk piled high with unruly invoices and calendars from zoos. There’s an unwelcoming hard wooden chair of the most basic kind, and a black leather chair which desperately needs a taxidermist’s skill to patch up its bursting insides. A dead badger lies on the wide windowsill, which needs painting.

Naomi chooses the hard chair. It wobbles. The right-hand rear leg is wonky.

‘Sit down, Timothy.’

It’s a command.

He has gone white. He sits down. He knows. He’s not quite such an innocent, after all.

‘I’m really sorry, Timothy.’

His mouth opens but no sound emerges.

‘I can’t marry you.’

‘Naomi!’ He may have known but the confirmation of it destroys him. He cowers. ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t love you.’

‘You said you did!’

‘I did, and now I don’t. I’ve…there’s someone else.’

Timothy crumples. He bursts into tears. He is pathetic. Tears stream down his face and he whimpers like a dog. She despises him and sympathises with him and hates herself and loves Steven all at the same time.

‘Don’t be so pathetic.’

She doesn’t mean to be cruel, but she hates the scene, the horrid room, the badger judgemental even in death, her former lover sobbing like a baby. She is repulsed. What a good move she is making in freeing herself from this wretch, and yet…and yet…she still recalls those three nights, especially the second one, and she cannot leave him while he is like this.

She goes over and stands by the chair, holds her hand out, touches his wet cheek. His sobs slowly subside.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It’s the shock.’

‘I know. Timothy, I’ve got to tell you.’ She swallows. She longs for a pint of cool water. ‘It’s Steven.’

‘Steven! No!’ It’s a scream of fury, and she’s pleased to hear it, after all this whimpering. ‘Not Steven!’

‘I know.’

‘He’s…he’s…he’s not even nice, Naomi.’

‘I know. I know.’

‘Do you love him?’

‘I don’t know.’

He clutches at this.

‘Well, then. You loved me. You said you did. Give it another go. I’ll be different. I promise. I can. I promise.’

‘It isn’t a case of your being different. It’s just…it hasn’t worked.’

‘It’s the curlew, isn’t it?’

‘No. I wouldn’t break it off over a present.’

‘I knew you didn’t like it. I just couldn’t accept the fact. I fooled myself.’

‘I do like it. I understand it now. I thought all its old insides were still there, liver and kidneys and things, preserved. I can appreciate it now. It will always be one of my most treasured possessions.’

She took it to the municipal dump yesterday. And this is the young lady who promised God only a few months ago that she would never tell a lie if she lived to be a hundred. But she doesn’t believe in God any more, and besides, she has learned already that it isn’t always bad to tell lies.

‘Is it…religion?’

‘Well…it hasn’t helped.’

‘I’ll never ever try to convert you. I promise.’

‘You mean it, but Christians always do try. They can’t help it. And you will. You won’t be able to help yourself.’

‘I won’t. I promise. Naomi, I’ll do anything. Anything you want.’

‘That’s just silly. Don’t be silly. I don’t want to remember you as silly. Who knows…one day…’ No! She curses herself for saying this. She needs to be totally definite.

She picks the badger up. Now that she understands a bit about taxidermy she feels no fear of it. It isn’t a dead badger. It’s a badger brought to eternal life by art. She turns it round so that it won’t see the last embers of their love, and lowers it onto the windowsill with the respect its life deserves.

‘One last kiss,’ she says.

‘I can’t bear this.’

‘Yes, you can.’

They hold each other, hug each other. She kisses his wet cheek. He moves his mouth towards her, but she turns her mouth away.

‘Thank you for having the courage to come and tell me,’ he mumbles.

‘Thank you for loving me,’ she says.

She breaks away, goes to the door, turns, gives him a painful smile, and leaves. A moment later, he hears the squeak of the front door.

Tears stream down his face, but he doesn’t crumple. He walks over to the badger, picks it up, turns it round, and lays it down again almost as gently as she had. There is no reason for his father ever to know any of the details of what happened.

They climb for well over an hour, high into the parched hills. At last they see a crowd of people standing outside a simple house. The best man claps Simon warmly on the shoulder and beams at Naomi. They shake hands with all the guests, even with some tiny toddlers. Everyone smiles. These are real mestizo people, a mixture of Spanish and Indian.

They say – translated by Paul, of course – that they are very grateful to Simon and Naomi for having honoured them with their presence on this great day. Simon and Naomi look instinctively for mockery. There is none. These people’s hard lives leave no room for mockery.

Paul – Padre Pablo to his parishioners – is Simon’s uncle. He has been a parish priest in Peru for thirteen years, and has invited them to visit before he returns to England next month. He found the climb difficult. He likes his rum and is somewhat overweight. Simon and Naomi, however, have no problems with the altitude. They are fit. After all, it was at Simon’s gym that they met.

The little house is no more than a small barn. It’s built of mud reinforced by lines of stones. The roof is tiled. Paul explains that one day it will be a two-storey house, but Naomi wonders if the second floor will ever become more than an intention.

There’s no toilet, no running water, no electric light, and no possibility of their ever having those things.

Normally the only decoration on the walls is a small mat, rather like the mat Naomi bought on a reed island in Lake Titicaca. Hers told the story of the life of the woman who wove it. She will give it to her mother, who will love it. She thinks for a moment of her mother, and is suddenly homesick for L’Ancresse.

Today, the house has been turned into a church, and there are decorations hanging from the beams, pictures of buses, condors, rabbits, pumas, a fish, a dog and some dancers. There is a table covered by a white cloth, and a simple homemade shrine to the Virgin. The simplicity overwhelms Naomi. She’s afraid that she will burst into tears. Hastily, she pretends that she’s an actress in a film, that she’s being directed by John Huston, that he has told her that if she cries she will never work for him again.

Round the walls on two sides of the dirt floor are low benches. A cloth covers one of the benches.

‘The cloth is there for our privileged, first-world arses to park themselves on,’ explains Father Paul with a gleam.

Padre Pablo dons a long, beautiful white robe and stole, and the ceremony begins. Naomi and Simon feel extraordinarily privileged to be able to witness the wedding of Marcelina Mosquiera Teatino and Alberto Cerquin Chuqchukan. Paul has explained that they had a natural wedding many years ago, when they worshipped the Sun God, but now they have converted to Catholicism. They’ve had eight children, three of whom have died. ‘It’s par for the course in these parts, I’m afraid.’