The Buried Giant

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  “Far from it, sir,” Axl said. “One can hardly tell you aren’t a native speaker. In fact, I couldn’t help notice last night your way of wearing your sword, closer and higher on the waist than Saxons are accustomed to do, your hand falling easily on the handle as you walk. I hope you won’t be offended when I say it’s a manner much like a Briton’s.”

  Again Wistan laughed. “My Saxon comrades ceaselessly jest not only on my wearing of the sword, but my wielding of it. But you see, my skills were taught to me by Britons, and I’ve never wished for better teaching. It has preserved me well through many dangers, and did so again last night. Excuse my impertinence, sir, but I see you’re not from these parts yourself. Can it be your native country is to the west?”

  “We’re from the neighbouring country, sir. A day’s walk away, no more.”

  “Yet perhaps in distant days you lived further west?”

  “As I say, sir, I’m from the neighbouring country.”

  “Forgive my poor manners. Travelling this far west, I find myself nostalgic for the country of my childhood, though I know it’s some distance yet. I find myself seeing everywhere shadows of half-remembered faces. Are you and your good wife returning home this morning?”

  “No, sir, we go east to our son’s village, which we hope to reach within two days.”

  “Ah. The road through the forest then.”

  “Actually, sir, we mean to take the high road through the mountains, there being a wise man in the monastery there we hope will grant us an audience.”

  “Is that so?” Wistan nodded thoughtfully, and once more looked carefully at Axl. “I’m told that’s a steep climb.”

  “My guests have not yet breakfasted,” Ivor said, breaking in. “Excuse us, Master Wistan, while I walk them to the longhouse. Then if we may, sir, I’d like to resume our discussion of just now.” He lowered his voice and continued in Saxon, to which Wistan replied with a nod. Then turning to Axl and Beatrice, Ivor shook his head and said gravely: “Despite this man’s great efforts last night, our problems are far from over. But follow me, friends, you must be famished.”

  Ivor marched off with his lurching gait, prodding the earth at each step with his staff. He seemed too distracted to notice his guests falling behind in the crowded alleys. At one point, when Ivor was several paces ahead, Axl said to Beatrice: “That warrior’s an admirable fellow, didn’t you think so, princess?”

  “No doubt,” she replied quietly. “But that was a strange way he had of staring at you, Axl.”

  There was no time to say more, for Ivor, at last noticing he was in danger of losing them, had stopped at a corner.

  Before long they came to a sunny courtyard. There were roaming geese, and the yard itself was bisected by an artificial stream—a shallow channel cut into the earth—along which the water trickled with urgency. At its broadest point the stream was forded by a simple little bridge of two flat rocks, and at that moment an older child was squatting on one of them, washing clothes. It was a scene that struck Axl as almost idyllic, and he would have paused to take it in further had Ivor not kept striding firmly on towards the low, heavily thatched building whose length ran the entire far edge of the yard.

  Once inside it, you would not have thought this longhouse so different from the sort of rustic canteen many of you will have experienced in one institution or another. There were rows of long tables and benches, and towards one end, a kitchen and serving area. Its main difference from a modern facility would have been the dominating presence of hay: there was hay above one’s head, and beneath one’s feet, and though not by design, all over the surface of the tables, blown around by the gusts that regularly swept through the place. On a morning such as this, as our travellers sat down to breakfast, the sun breaking in through the porthole-like windows would have revealed the air itself to be filled with drifting specks of hay.

  The old longhouse was deserted when they arrived, but Ivor went into the kitchen area, and a moment later two elderly women appeared with bread, honey, biscuits and jugs of milk and water. Then Ivor himself came back with a tray of poultry cuts which Axl and Beatrice proceeded to devour gratefully.

  At first they ate without speaking, only now conscious of how hungry they had been. Ivor, facing them across the table, continued to brood, his eyes far away in thought, and it was only after some time that Beatrice said:

  “These Saxons are a great burden to you, Ivor. Perhaps you’re wishing to be back with your own kind, even with the boy returned safe and the ogres slain.”

  “Those were no ogres, mistress, nor any creatures seen before in these parts. It’s a great fear removed they no longer roam outside our gates. The boy though is another matter. Returned he may be, but far from safe.” Ivor leaned across the table towards them and lowered his voice, even though they were once more alone. “You’re right, Mistress Beatrice, I wonder at myself to live among such savages. Better dwell in a pit of rats. What can that brave stranger think of us, and after all he did last night?”

  “Why, sir, what has occurred?” Axl asked. “We were there at the fire last night, but sensing a fierce quarrel, took our leave and remain ignorant of what went on.”

  “You did well to hide yourselves, friends. These pagans were sufficiently aroused last night to tear out each other’s eyes. How they might have treated a pair of strange Britons found in their midst I dread to think. The boy Edwin was safely returned, but even as the village began to rejoice, the women found on him a small wound. I inspected it myself as did the other elders. A mark just below his chest, no worse than what a child receives after a tumble. But the women, his own kin at that, declared it a bite, and that’s what the village is calling it this morning. I’ve had to have the boy locked in a shed for his safety, and even so, his companions, his very family members, throwing stones at the door and calling for him to be brought out and slaughtered.”

  “But how can this be, Ivor?” Beatrice asked. “Is it the mist’s work again that they’ve lost all memory of the horrors the child so lately suffered?”

  “If only it were, mistress. But this time they appear to remember all too well. The pagans will not look beyond their superstitions. It’s their conviction that once bitten by a fiend, the boy will before long turn fiend himself and wreak horror here within our walls. They fear him and should he remain here, he’ll suffer a fate as terrible as any from which Master Wistan saved him last night.”

  “Surely, sir,” Axl said, “there are those here wise enough to argue better sense.”

  “If there are, we’re outnumbered, and even if we may command restraint for a day or two, it won’t be long before the ignorant have their way.”

  “Then what’s to be done, sir?”

  “The warrior’s as horrified as you are, and we two have been in discussion all morning. I’ve proposed he take the boy with him when he rides out, imposition though this is, and leave him at some village sufficiently distant where he may have a chance of a new life. I felt shame to the depths of my heart to ask such a thing of a man so soon after he has risked his life for us, but I could see little else to do. Wistan is now considering my proposal, though he has an errand for his king and already delayed on account of his horse and last night’s troubles. In fact, I must check the boy’s still safe now, then go see if the warrior has made his decision.” Ivor rose and picked up his staff. “Come and say farewell before you leave, friends. Though after what you’ve heard I’ll understand your wish to hurry from here without a backward glance.”

  Axl watched Ivor’s figure through the doorway striding off across the sunny courtyard. “Dismal news, princess,” he said.

  “It is, Axl, but it’s not to do with us. Let’s not dally further in this place. Our path today’s a steep one.”

  The food and milk were very fresh, and they ate on for a while in silence. Then Beatrice said:

  “Do you suppose there’s any truth in it, Axl? What Ivor was saying last night about the mist, that it was God himself making u
s forget.”

  “I didn’t know what to think of it, princess.”

  “Axl, a thought came to me about it this morning, just as I was waking.”

  “What thought was that, princess?”

  “It was just a thought. That perhaps God is angry about something we’ve done. Or maybe he’s not angry, but ashamed.”

  “A curious thought, princess. But if it’s as you say, why doesn’t he punish us? Why make us forget like fools even things that happened the hour before?”

  “Perhaps God’s so deeply ashamed of us, of something we did, that he’s wishing himself to forget. And as the stranger told Ivor, when God won’t remember, it’s no wonder we’re unable to do so.”

  “What on this earth could we have done to make God so ashamed?”

  “I don’t know, Axl. But it’s surely not anything you and I ever did, for he’s always loved us well. If we were to pray to him, pray and ask for him to remember at least a few of the things most precious to us, who knows, he may hear and grant us our wish.”

  There was a burst of laughter outside. Tilting his head a little, Axl was able to see out in the yard a group of children balancing on the flat rocks over the little stream. As he watched, one of them fell into the water with a squeal.

  “Who’s to say, princess,” he said. “Perhaps the wise monk in the mountains will explain it to us. But now we’re speaking of waking this morning, there’s something came to me also, perhaps the same moment you were having these thoughts. It was a memory, a simple one, but I was pleased enough with it.”

  “Oh, Axl! What memory was that?”

  “I was remembering a time we were walking through a market or a festival. We were in a village, but not our own, and you were wearing that light green cloak with the hood.”

  “This must be a dream or else a long time ago, husband. I have no green cloak.”

  “I’m talking of long ago, right enough, princess. A summer’s day, but there was a chill wind in this place where we were, and you’d placed the green cloak around you, though you kept the hood from your head. A market or perhaps some festival. It was a village on a slope with goats in a pen where you first set foot in it.”

  “And what was it we were doing there, Axl?”

  “We were just walking arm in arm, and then there was a stranger, a man from the village, suddenly in our path. And taking one glance at you, he stared like he was beholding a goddess. Do you remember it, princess? A young man, though I suppose we too were young then. And he was exclaiming he’d never set eyes on a woman so beautiful. Then he reached forward and touched your arm. Do you have a memory of it, princess?”

  “There’s something comes back to me, but not clearly. I’m thinking this was a drunken man you’re talking of.”

  “A little drunk perhaps, I don’t know, princess. It was a day of festivities, as I say. All the same, he saw you and was amazed. Said you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.”

  “Then this must be a long time ago right enough! Isn’t this the day you grew jealous and quarrelled with the man, the way we were almost run out of the village?”

  “I recall nothing like that, princess. The time I’m thinking of, you had on the green cloak, and it was some festival day, and this same stranger, seeing I was your protector, turned to me and said, she’s the loveliest vision I’ve seen so you be sure to take very good care of her my friend. That’s what he said.”

  “It comes back to me somewhat, but I’m sure you then had a jealous quarrel with him.”

  “How could I have done such a thing when even now I feel the pride rising through me at the stranger’s words? The most beautiful vision he’d seen. And he was telling me to take the very best care of you.”

  “If you felt proud, Axl, you were jealous also. Didn’t you stand up to the man even though he was drunk?”

  “It’s not how I remember it, princess. Perhaps I just made a show of being jealous as a sort of jest. But I would have known the fellow meant no harm. It’s what I woke with this morning, though it’s been many years.”

  “If that’s how you’ve remembered it, Axl, let it be the way it was. With this mist upon us, any memory’s a precious thing and we’d best hold tight to it.”

  “I wonder what became of that cloak. You always took good care of it.”

  “It was a cloak, Axl, and like any cloak it must have worn thin with the years.”

  “Didn’t we lose it somewhere? Left on a sunny rock perhaps?”

  “Now that comes back to me. And I blamed you bitterly for its loss.”

  “I believe you did, princess, though I can’t think now what justice there was in that.”

  “Oh, Axl, it’s a relief we can remember a few things still, mist or no mist. It could be God’s already heard us and is hastening to help us remember.”

  “And we’ll remember plenty more, princess, when we set our minds to it. There’ll be no sly boatman able to trick us then, even if there ever comes a day we care at all for his foolish chatter. But let’s eat up now. The sun’s high and we’re late for that steep path.”

  They were walking back to Ivor’s house, and had just passed the spot where they were nearly assaulted the previous night, when they heard a voice calling from above. Glancing around, they spotted Wistan high up on the rampart, perched on a lookout’s platform.

  “Glad to see you still here, friends,” the warrior called down.

  “Still here,” Axl called in reply, taking a few paces towards the fence. “But hastening on our way. And you, sir? Will you rest here for the day?”

  “I too must leave shortly. But if I may impose on you, sir, for a short conversation, I’d be most thankful. I promise not to detain you long.”

  Axl and Beatrice exchanged looks, and she said quietly: “Speak with him if you will, Axl. I’ll return to Ivor’s and prepare provisions for our journey.”

  Axl nodded, then turning to Wistan, called: “Very well, sir. Do you wish me to come up?”

  “As you will, sir. I’ll happily come down, but it’s a splendid morning and the view is such as to lift the spirits. If the ladder’s no trouble to you, I urge you to join me up here.”

  “Go see what he wants, Axl,” Beatrice said quietly. “But be careful, and it’s not just the ladder I’m speaking of.”

  He took each rung with care until he reached the warrior, waiting with an extended hand. Axl steadied himself on the narrow platform, then looked down to see Beatrice watching from below. Only after he had waved cheerfully did she move off somewhat reluctantly towards Ivor’s house—now clearly visible from his high vantage point. He kept watching her for a further moment, then turned and gazed out over the top of the fence.

  “You see I didn’t lie, sir,” Wistan said, as they stood there side by side, the wind on their faces. “It’s quite splendid as far as the eye will reach.”

  The view before them that morning may not have differed so greatly from one to be had from the high windows of an English country house today. The two men would have seen, to their right, the valleyside coming down in regular green ridges, while far to their left, the opposite slope, covered with pine trees, would have appeared hazier, because more distant, as it merged with the outlines of the mountains on the horizon. Directly before them was a clear view along the valley floor; of the river curving gently as it followed the corridor out of view; of the expanses of marshland broken by patches of pond and lake further in the distance. There would have been elms and willows near the water, as well as dense woodland, which in those days would have stirred a sense of foreboding. And just where the sunlight went into shadow on the left bank of the river could be seen some remnants of a long-abandoned village.

  “Yesterday I rode down that hillside,” Wistan said, “and my mare with hardly any prompting set into a gallop as though for sheer joy. We raced across fields, past lake and river, and my spirit soared. A strange thing, as if I were returning to scenes from an early life, though to my knowledge I’ve never bef
ore visited this country. Can it be I passed this way as a small boy too young to know my whereabouts, yet old enough to retain these sights? The trees and moorland here, the sky itself seem to tug at some lost memory.”

  “It’s possible,” Axl said, “this country and the one further west where you were born share many likenesses.”

  “That must be it, sir. In the fenlands we have no hills to speak of, and the trees and grass lack the colour before us now. But it was on that joyful gallop my mare broke her shoe, and though this morning the good people here have given her another, I will have to ride gently for one hoof is bruised. The truth is, sir, I brought you up here not simply to admire the country, but to be away from unwelcome ears. I take it you’ve by now heard what’s occurred to the boy Edwin?”

  “Master Ivor told us of it, and we thought it poor news to succeed your brave intervention.”

  “You may know also how the elders, despairing of what would happen to the boy here, begged I take him away today. They ask I leave the boy in some distant village, telling some story of how I found him lost and hungry on the road. This I’d do gladly enough, except I fear such a plan can hardly save him. Word will easily travel across the country and next month, next year, the boy could find himself in the very plight he is in today, yet all the worse for being lately arrived and his people unknown. You see how it is, sir?”

  “You’re wise to fear such an outcome, Master Wistan.”

  The warrior, who had been speaking while gazing out at the scenery, pushed back a tangled lock of hair the wind had blown across his face. As he did so, he seemed suddenly to see something in Axl’s own features and, for a small moment, to forget what he had been saying. He gazed intently at Axl, angling his head. Then he gave a small laugh, saying: