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+--- Thread: The Gate of Eden (1974) (/showthread.php?tid=2691)
The Gate of Eden (1974) - WMASG - 12-15-2025
There had been no suggestion of my returning at a later date; our parting at the garden gate had been cordial and impersonal, with the politeness of strangers, and yet, even then, I felt I knew him well, that I had always known him.
By the time I reached home I was in a black, depressed mood.
The shop was closed and my parents were already upstairs in the flat, having tea in front of the television set.
My grandmother was not feeling well that day and had gone to her room.
My mother quizzed me about where I had been.
“For a walk,” I replied shortly.
“You’re not eating your tea. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not very.”
“I hope you’re not sickening for something.”
“I’m just not hungry.”
“All right, all right. There’s no need to snap.”
“Well, honestly!”
I knew that I was being bad-tempered and petty, but I couldn’t stop myself. I felt alone and isolated. I didn’t belong there, sitting in front of the television, with Dad reading the evening paper whilst my mother questioned and insinuated.
“It’s about time you got yourself a girl friend — nice little blonde — that’ll give you something to worry about!”
“You’d have a fit if he did!” said my father from the depths of his paper.
“I was only joking,” and she lit herself a cigarette.
“D’you remember Elsie Turnbull?”
“The one who married ... Jim Stephen’s sister?”
“That’s right. Says here she died in a car crash.”
“Good Lord. She was only. . . .”
And they were off! Miles away in the past, where I could not reach them.
Later I went up to my bedroom and sat in front of the gas fire. Although the evening was fine and the weather warm my room was always cold. It faced north over the back-lanes and if you craned your neck you could just glimpse a triangle of North Sea over the roofs.
For a while I sat, trying to read — but my mind kept returning to the old man and his dog and the house they lived in deep in the woods. I wondered what he was doing now. Perhaps he was reading one of his innumerable books, or listening to the radio.
Later my mother came up to see me.
“Are you all right? I’m sorry if I upset you. It was only a joke.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about. I was lost in thought.
“I met an old chap in the woods yesterday. . .”