The Remains of the Day - By Kazuo Ishiguro Page 0,25
been any – well – signs at all? I means signs to tell us your father may be wishing his burden lightened somewhat? Apart from this business of him falling, I mean.’
‘As I say, sir, my father appears to have made a full recovery and I believe he is still a person of considerable dependability. It is true one or two errors have been noticeable recently in the discharging of his duties, but these are in every case very trivial in nature.’
‘But none of us wish to see anything of that sort happen ever again, do we? I mean, your father collapsing and all that.’
‘Indeed not, sir.’
‘And of course, if it can happen out on the lawn, it could happen anywhere. And at any time.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It could happen, say, during dinner while your father was waiting at table.’
‘It is possible, sir.’
‘Look here, Stevens, the first of the delegates will be arriving here in less than a fortnight.’
‘We are well prepared, sir.’
‘What happens within this house after that may have considerable repercussions.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I mean considerable repercussions. On the whole course Europe is taking. In view of the persons who will be present, I do not think I exaggerate.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hardly the time for taking on avoidable hazards.’
‘Indeed not, sir.’
‘Look here, Stevens, there’s no question of your father leaving us. You’re simply being asked to reconsider his duties.’ And it was then, I believe, that his lordship said as he looked down again into his volume and awkwardly fingered an entry: ‘These errors may be trivial in themselves, Stevens, but you must yourself realize their larger significance. Your father’s days of dependability are now passing. He must not be asked to perform tasks in any area where an error might jeopardize the success of our forthcoming conference.’
‘Indeed not, sir. I fully understand.’
‘Good. I’ll leave you to think about it then, Stevens.’
Lord Darlington, I should say, had actually witnessed my father’s fall of a week or so earlier. His lordship had been entertaining two guests, a young lady and gentleman, in the summerhouse, and had watched my father’s approach across the lawn bearing a much welcome tray of refreshments. The lawn climbs a slope several yards in front of the summerhouse, and in those days, as today, four flagstones embedded into the grass served as steps by which to negotiate this climb. It was in the vicinity of these steps that my father fell, scattering the load on his tray – teapot, cups, saucers, sandwiches, cakes – across the area of grass at the top of the steps. By the time I had received the alarm and gone out, his lordship and his guests had laid my father on his side, a cushion and a rug from the summerhouse serving as pillow and blanket. My father was unconscious and his face looked an oddly grey colour. Dr Meredith had already been sent for, but his lordship was of the view that my father should be moved out of the sun before the doctor’s arrival; consequently, a bath-chair arrived and with not a little difficulty, my father was transported into the house. By the time Dr Meredith arrived, he had revived considerably and the doctor soon left again making only vague statements to the effect that my father had perhaps been ‘over-working’.
The whole episode was clearly a great embarrassment to my father, and by the time of that conversation in Lord Darlington’s study, he had long since returned to busying himself as much as ever. The question of how one could broach the topic of reducing his responsibilities was not, then, an easy one. My difficulty was further compounded by the fact that for some years my father and I had tended – for some reason I have never really fathomed – to converse less and less. So much so that after his arrival at Darlington Hall, even the brief exchanges necessary to communicate information relating to work took place in an atmosphere of mutual embarrassment.
In the end, I judged the best option to be to talk in the privacy of his room, thus giving him the opportunity to ponder his new situation in solitude once I took my leave. The only times my father could be found in his room were first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Choosing the former, I climbed up to his small attic room at the top of the servants’ wing early one morning and knocked gently.