Simon Gray: Numbness of the Heart

Abstract

It was evening, you see, and I was — well, in that corner, over there, where the hollyhocks are, doing a spot of weeding. I stood up, rather too quickly, I suppose, momentarily a touch dizzy — a touch something — or touched by something — and the house, the garden — well, you remember that first afternoon when we all met, and Nigel and Natalie were here hiding all the time, but you were so frightened and thought they’d been trampled to death by old Tomalin’s cattle — and when we came back, all of us absolutely distraught, convinced they were dead — we suddenly heard them, their voices, they were laughing, and so was Ben — and you and Harry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such joy on human faces. Well, that evening I heard it all again. Seemed to hear it all again, and I thought, yes, I thought, there is a spirit. A human spirit, a divine spirit even, they meet sometimes, by accident, if you’re lucky. Or a touch dizzy. In an English garden.¹