44 Scotland Street: Art, resolution, and Saint Ninian Volume 9 Episode 20 Art, resolution, and Saint Ninian WHATEVER surprise they felt over the sheer presumption of Antonia's letter, Angus and Domenica nonetheless realised that they could hardly turn down their former neighbour's request. It would have been possible, of course, to claim that they were going to be away, but there were several objections to that, not the least of which was that it would be a lie. Both of them had a strong objection to lying - something that, in a way that was becoming increasingly rare, they regarded as impermissible. "There are so many people," Domenica had remarked a few days earlier, "who seem to think that the truth is whatever you want it to be. I once read a novel with that message. It didn't commit to a definitive version of the story - it said: you decide what you like. You choose what was true. Angus thought about this. You mean that the author didn't tell you what really happened? Exactly. Two possible explanations were given. Then the reader was invited to decide which was preferable. Which was more likely? Domenica shook her head. No, which was the one you liked more. There's a difference. Angus was not sure that he liked that. But the author himself knew? Yes, he did. The omniscient author idea. We do, I suppose, expect rather a lot of an author. We expect him or her to know the inmost thought of his characters - to know what goes on behind closed doors. And we expect him to tell us all this precisely because he's omniscient. She paused. We also expect resolution, and if we don't get it - if things are left up in the air, we complain vociferously. Angus smiled. But life... Domenica knew what was coming. ..." isn't like that. No, it isn't. We have all sorts of unresolved issues in our lives - friendships we give up on, letters we forget to answer, things we meant to do but never get round to, and so on. A lot. But art... "Art's different," said Angus. Art observes our need for resolution - or should do. Musicians know that, of course. Chords need to resolve, don't they? Otherwise the tune just sounds wrong. And pictures too. "Yes, much the same thing applies in painting," said Angus. If something is missing from a picture, it's pretty obvious. The thing isn't whole. You're left waiting for something that just isn't there. You end up dissatisfied because your quest for beauty is frustrated. Domenica liked the notion of a quest for beauty. It was true, she thought; that was what our lives were - a quest for beauty. We might not know it - we might never actually express it that way - but that was what we were doing. We yearned after beauty, which we could find in so many different ways, not just in the obvious ones. And now, faced with the need to respond to Antonia's annoying letter, she knew that she could not do anything but offer the other woman, and her companion, their hospitality for the full three weeks that had been proposed. To put Antonia off with a lie would be to sully herself with falsehood; would be to negate the moral dimension of that quest for beauty. It would be, quite simply, messy. "I'll try to make the room as attractive as possible for her," Domenica said at last. We wouldn't want her to be uncomfortable. Angus looked at his wife in admiration. He was inspired by her example, and put out of his mind the thought that it would be rather a good idea to make Antonia uncomfortable, with a view to her deciding that her visit should be shorter. But he could not say that, of course, now that the high moral tone had been struck by Domenica. "Three weeks will go quite quickly," he said. Domenica was not convinced. "I doubt it," she said. But let's not think too much about that. I'm not sure how I shall be able to deal with Antonia going on about early Scottish saints. I'm not sure about hearing about St Ninian for a full three weeks. "He was an interesting man," said Angus. I read John Macqueen's book about him. He performed some amazing miracles, we're told, including giving the power of speech to babies. "Only one baby," corrected Domenica. He made it possible for a newly-born infant to make a pronouncement about somebody's innocence. The infant baby identified its real father. It was quite remarkable. Angus laughed. Do you think Antonia believes all that? Not literally. She's not that incredulous. Angus looked out of the window. What do you think a baby would say if given the power of speech? Domenica smiled at the thought. Complain about the food? Baby food is so dull, don't you think? All those squashed peas and so on. Maybe. But I have a very different image, now that I come to think about it. Oh yes? He transferred his gaze away from the window. Now he looked at her. A conversation, begun light-heartedly, can change so quickly, he thought. I suppose that we shouldn't be all superior about those early saints. They were really up against it, weren't they? The world was a dark and violent place. Scotland was particularly so. She nodded. Can still be, she thought, for some. "I can see it," said Angus. I can see the scene. She was quiet for a moment. Tell me, Angus. He closed his eyes. Ninian comes into a room and there's a baby there, you see. The mother is somewhere nearby, and some other people. And Ninian has this...well, he has this air of peacefulness about him. He isn't frightening the baby. The baby just looks at him and then suddenly stands up. Babies do, in early pictures, you know. The Veneto-Cretan school, for instance. They sometimes stand up. She waited. He spoke carefully, as one who has witnessed something important and who wishes to convey what he has seen as accurately as possible. And then the baby turns to his mother and he speaks. A tiny voice. Just the voice you'd expect a baby to have. Like a breathing of the wind. She watched him. And then the baby turns to his mother and speaks. He hesitated. He looked at her. Mother, is it true that men are cruel? Domenica gasped. Is that what the baby says? "Yes," he said. Just that. Up to Episode 3 Normally, a seventh birthday party is something to be eagerly looked forward to - especially when one is six. And Bertie Pollock, in his last week of being six, would normally be looking forward to his seventh birthday party very much indeed. Unfortunately, his mother Irene, insists on a guest list of gender-equality, and that means that Olive will be invited too. For Bertie, this stirs memories of Olive's own seventh birthday party, when he discovered to his horror that not only was he the only boy invited, but that he was expected to play a game Olive had devised called Jane Austen. .... in which he was expected to play the role of Mr Darcy... Up to Episode 5 Psychiatrist's daughter Pat Macgregor is beginning to worry about her father. There hasn't been a woman in his life since her mother left him to move in with a woman she met on a botanical course in Dundee. So why is he, all of a sudden, having his hair cut by a woman called Angie at a unisex salon in Bruntsfield? Who is he trying to impress? Up to Episode 7 Convinced her father is having a mid-life crisis (well, how else do you explain a man who has always only ever worn black socks now wearing striped ones?) Pat sets about trying to find out more. And when her father, having escorted her to the bus-stop and said goodbye, heads off in another direction, she decides to follow him ... Up to Episode 9 Meanwhile, for anthropologist Domenica Macdonald, married life is taking some adjusting to. This isn't the fault of her new husband, Angus Lordie - or at least not knowingly his fault. All the same, some questions have to be asked - for example, why does he mutter about the Declaration of Arbroath in his sleep? And why, when sleepwalking, does he appear to be looking for it in the kitchen drawers? Time, suggests Domenica, to make a n appointment with a sleep expert at the Royal Edinburgh. There's a man she knows there who might be able to help. A psychiatrist called Dr Macgregor ... Up to Episode 11 Depressed at the thought that he might require the attentions of a psychiatrist, Angus heads off to the Cumberland Bar for a ruminative pint. Once there, his dog Cyril is served his customary dish of Guinness. Soon they are joined by Matthew, also out for a ruminative pint after finishing work for the day before returning to face the noise and nappies of his toddler triplets. He clearly isn't thinking straight, and pours half a pint of lager into Cyril's dish. Canine drunkenness beckons. Up to Episode 13 The sight of Cyril apparently dancing an Irish jig doesn't impress one of the customers at the bar - an animal welfare officer. Despite assurances from both Angus and Matthew that no dog in Edinburgh is better cared for, the man asks for Angus's name and address. He is, he says, going to file a report with a view to taking Cyril into care.... Up to Episode 15 After discussing the merits or otherwise of reincarnation, and in particular how it applies to residents of Edinburgh's New Town, Big Lou admits to Matthew that her romance with Alex, the pig farmer from Mains of Mochle, has run its course. Worse, her biological clock is ticking particularly loudly these days. Up to Episode 17 Perhaps it was entirely predictable that Matthew's casual suggestion that Big Lou could have one of their triplets wouldn't have gone down well with his wife Elspeth. To a mere man, of course, it seemed to make perfect sense: Big Lou would be an excellent mother, and Elspeth had her hands so full looking after three toddlers that she wanted another au pair in order to give their ultra-capable Danish au pair Anna a break... Up to Episode 19 The omens aren't good for Bertie's seventh birthday party - not just because Olive and her girl friends have invited themselves to it but so have some of Tofu's more thuggish friends too. As for presents, although he has set his heart on a bicycle and a Swiss Army pen-knife, the chances of his mother Irene buying either are remote. Indeed, as she prepares a talk for her bookclub on hidden meanings children's literature - a talk that will savage Tintin for its amount of head trauma and Captian Haddock's anger issues and attack AA Milne for the infantilisation of Winnie the Pooh - she reveals to her husband Stuart that what she really wants for Bertie is that he should be able to face up to the world as a woman does, to see everything through though female eyes. © 2013 Alexander McCall Smith Alexander McCall Smith welcomes comments from readers. Write to him c/o The Editor, The Scotsman, 108 Holyrood Road, Edinburgh. EH8 8AS, or via e-mail at 44scotlandstreet@scotsman.com.