The woman’s commentary was sporadic. ‘I can’t abide seeing bare earth. This bit of ground here I planted with comfrey as a child, and you see how it’s flourished ever since. It’s good for the purity of the blood.’
Anstruther flicked away a bee that flew too near his face. ‘All this must cost you something in fertiliser, woman.’
She smiled up at him. ‘No, no, senor. We’re too poor for that kind of unwise outlay. Human water and human waste products are all the fertilising we require in our little property.’
‘You’re not on proper drainage? Are you on the Ambient?’
‘What’s that, the Ambient?’
‘Universal electronic communication system. You’ve never heard of it? The American bio-electronic net?’
‘We are too hard-up for such a thing, sir, you must understand. Nor do we require it for our kind of modest living. Would it add to our contentment? Not a jot. What the rest of the world does is no business of ours.’ She searched his face for some kind of approval. He in his turn studied her old worn countenance, brown and wrinkled, from which brown eyes stared.
‘You say you’re content?’ He spoke incredulously, as though the idea was new to him.
She gave no answer, continuing to gaze at him with an expression between contempt and curiosity, as if Anstruther had arrived from another planet.
Resenting her probing regard, he turned and commenced to walk back the way we had come.
‘You aren’t accustomed to gardens, I perceive, senor.’ There was pride in her voice. ‘Do you shut yourself in rooms, then? We don’t ask for much. For us, ours is a little paradise, don’t you see? The soil’s so rich in worms, that’s the secret. We’re almost self-sufficient here, Andy and me. We don’t ask for much.’
He said, half joking, ‘But you enjoy moralising. As we all do.’
‘I only tell you the truth, sir, since you invited yourself in here.’
‘I was curious to see how you people lived,’ he told her. ‘Today, I’m off to discuss the future of the planet Mars -which you’ve probably never heard of.’
She had heard of Mars. She considered it uninteresting, since there was no life there.
‘No worms, eh, my good woman? Couldn’t you do something better with your life than growing vegetables in your own excreta?’
She followed us up the winding path, brushing away a tendril of honeysuckle from her face, amused and explaining, ‘It’s healthy, my good sir, you see. They call it recycling. I’ve lived in this garden nigh on seventy years and I want nothing else. This little plot was my mother’s idea. She said, “Cultivate your garden. Don’t disturb the work of the worms. Be content with your lot.” And that’s what Andy and I have done. We don’t wish for Mars. The vegetables and fruits we sell keep us going well enough. We’re vegetarian, you see. You two gentlemen aren’t from the council, are you?’
Something in the tone of her voice stung Anstruther.
‘No. Certainly not. So you’ve simply done what your mother told you all the years of your life! Did you never have any ideas of your own? What does your husband make of you being stuck here for seventy years, just grubbing in the soil?’
‘Andy is my brother, master, if you refer to him. And we’ve been perfectly happy and harmed no one. Nor been impolite to anyone…’
We had regained the tiny paved area by the gate. We could smell the fragrance of the thyme, growing in the cracks between the paving stones, crushed underfoot. The two looked at each other in mutual distrust. Anstruther was a tall, solidly built man, who dominated the fragile little woman before him.
He saw she was angry. I feared he might destroy all her contentment with an expression of his irritation at her narrow-mindedness. He held the words back.
‘Well, it’s a pretty garden you have,’ he said. ‘Very pretty. I’m glad to have seen it.’
She was pleased by the compliment. ‘Perhaps there might be gardens like this on Mars one day,’ she suggested, with a certain slyness.
‘Not very likely.’
‘Perhaps you would like some beans to take away with you?’