Corduroy Mansions Page 0,21
auctions and you find that even the most obscure—”
“Yes, of course,” interjected Manfred. “Now, Freddie de la Hay. He’s a remarkable dog, you know. We found him down in Kent, in a little place called Sutton Valence. Charming spot. A friend had put us in touch with a breeder down there and we chose him from a litter of four. He was by far the most intelligent-looking of the lot. I can’t stand an unintelligent dog, can you?”
“It depends on the personality,” said William. “You find that some dogs who are a bit dim are very affectionate, and then—”
“Of course,” interrupted Manfred. “That’s to be expected. But we wanted to carry out a little experiment with our dog and so we wanted one that was up to the challenge.”
William frowned. “Experiment?” He decided that the best way to conduct a conversation with the columnist would be to use sentences of only one word. In this way, a contribution could be made before Manfred had time to interject.
“Yes. An experiment. We wanted to see whether one could raise a dog for the twenty-first century.”
William stared at him. “Oh?”
The columnist adjusted his glasses; behind the lenses, the eyes were large. The aquiline nose tilted higher. “Do you realise the damage that dogs cause to the environment?”
William thought for a moment. “No,” he said.
“Well, I can give you the figures. Or rather, I could look them up, I have them somewhere. If you work out how many cattle dogs get through with that disgusting dog food of theirs, you can extrapolate how many acres of rain forest are felled for pasture to feed those cattle. Quod erat—”
“Demonstrandum,” supplied William.
The nose tilted again. “Exactly. So we have tried to bring up Freddie de la Hay to be a responsible world citizen. This has two dimensions to it. One is behavioural, and the other is dietary.”
“Dietary,” muttered William.
“Yes. Freddie de la Hay, you see, is a vegetarian.” Then he added, “For starters.”
16. An Invitation to Bake Is Misconstrued
CAROLINE’S TÊTE-À-TÊTE with her friend James in a coffee bar off Tottenham Court Road proved to take longer than she had anticipated. She had no further lectures to attend that day, but she had thought that she might spend the late morning and afternoon writing an essay that, even if it was not yet overdue, had about it an air of impending tardiness. For the most part, her course assignments went smoothly, but every so often she found herself working on something where her thoughts never seemed to rise above the banal. This essay was one such project.
James, however, wanted to talk, and the claims of friendship were stronger than the promptings of academic obligation. His problem, too, was not something that could be disposed of in a few minutes; it was a matter that could affect the entire direction of his life.
“Are you sure?” she said to him. “Are you quite sure?”
He nodded. “Yes. I really am.”
“You see,” she said, “this is not something that one normally gets wrong, is it? One either feels a particular way, or one doesn’t. Do you see what I mean?”
He frowned. “But if it’s a question of taste, can’t one’s tastes change as one goes through life?” He warmed to the theme. “Think of music. I used to like the Carmina Burana—now I can’t stand it. I can’t take Orff. And Britten—I used to think he was tremendously boring, but now I actually enjoy his music. I saw The Turn of the Screw the other day at the ENO, by the way. I loved it.”
Caroline considered this. Had her own tastes changed? They had, she thought, but she was not sure the analogy was entirely appropriate. “I don’t know whether it’s quite the same thing,” she ventured. “It’s not like a preference for red wine over white. I don’t think it’s that simple. It can’t be.”
James looked at her searchingly. “But if you read what the developmental psychologists have to say, isn’t it true that people go through stages? I read that it’s standard stuff for boys to be fond of other boys when they’re growing up and then to start liking girls instead. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. I’m going from one stage to another. Just a little bit later.”
Caroline stared into her cup of coffee. She was not sure whether she should be expressing an opinion on developmental theories. What did she know about all this? Nothing, really. All she knew was that there were people who liked