Brian Aldiss - Life in the West

‘How’s that? I thought the Greeks were getting into their stride again, now that the colonels have departed.’

Their mounts negotiated low swelling dunes through which some first spears of grass appeared.

‘They are, kind of. I suppose I mean that the denudation problem is depressing, and the way nothing’s being done about it, or is ever going to be done, as far as I can see. Not more than two per cent of the entire country retains its original top-soil…’

‘Not more than two per cent!’

‘Nope. That’s the fact at the root of all Greece’s problems. From the Peloponnesian wars onwards, the forests have been ruthlessly hacked down and the timber used for ships or fuel. Rain and wind soon does for naked topsoil. You never see a damned bird in Greece. A few mangey sparrows round the tourist spots. Ravens. Nothing else. It’s a dead place, killed by man, his lust for war, and his domestic animals — mainly goats.’

He was silent, then he said, ‘Political stability is impossible until you get your agriculture right. I’d hate to calculate how many billions of dollars the US has pumped into Greece since World War II in order to keep it safe for democracy, without once worrying whether it was safe for corn.’

They were off the beach now, moving inland, the boys still leading. They travelled in single file along the top of a dyke, water and rushes setting up their perpetual rustle on either side. Where the land rose from the marshes ahead, there stood Blakeney, distinct in a medley of whites and umbers, its church crowning the rise and dominating all other buildings.

Squire rode at the rear of the file. Addressing his brother-in-law’s back, he said, ‘Considering its significance for the West, it would be a sad day if Greece became communist.’

‘But not necessarily fatal, to my mind.’ Kaye twisted in the saddle to add, ‘I’m slowly altering my opinions. The West has been reluctant to realize how nationalism remains a safeguard against the monolithic aspects of communism. Your experiences in Yugoslavia show how nationalism triumphed over ideology there. So it will elsewhere — China for example. Maybe Eurocommunism is a genuine new direction. The Eurocommunists in Bologna make noises like decent uncorrupt capitalists.’

‘Don’t weaken, Marsh. That way the rot sets in.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. I like to talk, Tom, but I was always a dove, not a hawk. That’s why I quit the States during the sixties. More aggressive we get, the more trigger-happy the Russians become.’

‘That’s an attitude they want us to adopt, certainly.’

After a pause, Kaye added, “I appreciate that Britain’s position is far more vulnerable than that of the States. We’re just as open to sudden armed strikes here as Western Germany. But I discover I have ceased to believe in the concept of sudden strikes.’

They were moving among sailing craft lying on their sides on muddy banks patterned by bird feet.

‘Despite events in Czechoslovakia in ‘68?’

‘Of course, there are many people in the States, mainly of the older generation, who would feel about the collapse of the UK much as you would about the collapse of Greece.’

Squire laughed. ‘Well, that’s a consolation.’

The sun enveloped Squire’s body, bathing it in summer. He felt the heat on his sparsely protected head and the occasional runnel of sweat down his chest. That suited him well. Yet he felt uneasy, he did not know why.

He was sorry to hear his brother-in-law speak as he did. The world was a dangerous place — that was the open secret a younger generation of Englishmen resolutely refused to learn; they believed that as long as everyone earned the same wages, all was well. Marshall’s generation of Americans knew better than that. But everyone, of whatever nationality, seemed to prefer to forget that certain ancient laws were not revoked simply by the setting up of trade unions and health services: predators were about. The world was a dangerous place: for the individual as well as the nation.

The patient ponies carried them to the flat ground by the harbour.

‘We’re going to grab some ice creams, Dad,’ Douglas called.

Squire and Kaye handed the ponies over to Old Man Hill’s daughter, a gnarled woman, who sat patiently by the artist’s van. The men looked in at the paintings displayed for sale inside the van, and were confronted with a conventional array of windmills, churches, cows, and willows. They strolled together towards Marsh House, which faced them from the other end of the quay. Along the quayside, they passed the hotel where Squire had dined with Tess, Grahame Ash, and the camera crew a year ago; it seemed a happier time in retrospect.

‘You gain a different perspective on the world when you’re engaged in a dig,’ Kaye said. ‘In a sense, you live in the past, the present becomes remote.’

‘Professionally, that must be a good thing… Your salary is still paid in 1978.’

Kaye laughed.

Without any change in tone, Squire said, ‘We’ll have a beer when we get in. But I see Teresa’s car parked outside your front door.’

Kaye shot him a swift glance. ‘She must have driven over from Grantham to see you. Is that a hopeful sign?’

‘It depends what you mean by hope. I want us to be together again but, as time goes by, I inevitably want it less. As you with Eurocommunism, so I with separation: resignation masquerading as wisdom sets in.’

They both laughed.

‘Deirdre and I are sorry you suffer all this trouble, Tom. I just hope you have something by way of consolation.’

‘If you mean Laura, no, I haven’t. We broke it up to satisfy Tess almost a year ago. Perhaps that was a mistake. Tess remains unsatisfied.’ Bitterness crept into his voice.

As Kaye and Squire entered the gate of Marsh House, Teresa appeared at the front door and waved to her husband. Something misplaced inflated the gesture: it was designed for someone considerably more distant than Squire. He went up to Tess, took her hand and kissed her cheek.

They regarded each other with reserve, like military commanders looking for ground cover. Teresa’s gaze held that elusive suggestion of a squint which sometimes lent even her serious moods a touch of mischief.

His nostrils received a warm perfume from her.

She wore a light dress suited to the weather, low-cut and showing the cleft between her breasts. She was tanned as far as the eye could see.

‘Tess, you’re looking well. How are Ann and Jane?’

‘That’s good, because I’m feeling rather terrible, having just been given a good going over by your sister. The girls are fine — at school today. They break up later than Doug and Tom.’

She turned to speak to Kaye, who kissed her. They all moved into the house.

‘You drove over from Grantham just to see me?’ Squire asked.

‘I happened to ring Deirdre and she said you would be here for the weekend.’

As they moved from the hall into the living room, Teresa’s mother appeared, and greeted Squire. Mrs Davies was wearing an uncharacteristic costume, a kaftan in orange and lemon, and dark glasses.

‘Tom, it’s charming to see you. So you’ve managed to tear yourself away from London? I was taking the sun in the back garden — we’ve only been here an hour, not more, have we, Teresa? And the traffic was so thick on the A17, is it?’

‘You’re looking very summery, Madge.’

‘Do you know, I’ve had this old kaftan for years, but haven’t dared to wear it. I hope I don’t look too much like chicken dressed as lamb, or whatever that phrase is. We’re driving over to Norwich to see Willie. He’s coming back with us to Grantham, to stay the weekend, as I expect Teresa told you.’

‘No, I didn’t, Mother,’ Teresa said, in some exasperation. ‘I’ve hardly said a word to Tom.’