I nodded slowly. 'Yes, I think I do.'
'Anyway,' he said, gently taking my arm and walking us both towards the door. 'You don't need to worry about all that. You should get some… some time to think. Here's your bag; sorry about all that yesterday - you know how he can be. Get yourself unpacked and so on, give yourself some time to think, and if you do need to get any sort of message to him, just let me know; I'm… well, I'm desperate to help, Isis; really I am.'
He handed me my kit-bag, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. 'See you soon, Isis, and don't worry.' He winked at me. 'Oh, and you can keep the kit-bag,' he said, and smiled.
'Thanks, Allan,' I said, and gave a brave smile. I went downstairs with the bag over my shoulder, thinking.
My instinct was to sit in my room meditating, or immerse myself in an improving book, or go for a long walk.
Instead I went round talking to other people, forcing myself to ignore the embarrassment both they and I felt, knowing that I had fallen into disfavour. I started by finding Brother Indra in his workshop and thanking him for the successful alterations he had carried out on the inner-tube which had borne me safely to Edinburgh. Indra is a quietly cheerful type, shorter than me and slim but muscled with a lot of his mother's appearance in him. He seemed a little wary of me at first but once we got talking about my trip to England he lost any reserve and we parted cheerfully.
I spoke to everybody I could find, just trying to remind them that I was who I was, not some demonised thief. I used my journey as the excuse.
Normally somebody coming back from such an important trip and with so much to tell would have been expected to stand up in front of a meeting of the whole Community and tell everybody at once, but it seemed I was not to be asked to do so on this occasion. (It had also not escaped my notice that there had been no ceremonial washing of my feet, which was positively insulting.) I went through my story, altering the weight given to each strand and detail according to whom I was talking; when I spoke with a frowning Calli and weary-looking Astar in the farm kitchen I dwelled shamelessly on Bland food, the encouraging prevalence of Asian people and businesses, and what people had been wearing in London; with my Sisters in general, when I came to the events of the previous evening, I did mention - sometimes with a little, perhaps regretful, smile - that Grandfather had been a little over-affectionate at one point last night, but left it at that, dismissing it with a shrug. If anybody wanted to know more about the zhlonjiz, I answered their questions honestly, only dissembling when asked if - assuming that I hadn't taken the vial - I had any theories on who might have done so.
In all this - and in something of a daze, for the full enormity of my predicament had not yet dawned upon me - I felt that I was somehow playing the part of the unjustly accused, even though that was exactly what I was. I wasn't sure why this should be, but the impression lingered, and was still there when I had finally talked to just about every adult - singly or in small, informal groups, often as they worked - in the Community. I didn't feel bad about this, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Still, I felt cheered as the evening approached. Indeed I was half looking forward to the evening meal, when I would be able - assuming I was asked the right questions - to continue pressing my case.
I had been hoping that out of all the people I spoke to there would be somebody who would ask me to perform the laying on of hands, to cure some ache or other condition that they or a child of theirs was suffering from, which they had been waiting on me to return to cure - I had never been away from the Community for more than a day without this happening - but nobody did. I suppose it was naive of me to expect anything else, but nevertheless I was at first surprised, then confused and finally saddened.
Then I heard through Sister Erin that Salvador intended to make one of his rare appearances at the evening meal, and would greatly prefer it if I was not there. I had no real choice, and so agreed to eat later, perhaps in my room, if Salvador got into story-telling mood after the meal proper was finished.
I decided to visit Sophi again, and walked in a light shower down to the bridge and across, but there was nobody home in the Woodbeans' house. A thought occurred to me, and so I walked on up the darkly dripping drive and discovered Sister Bernadette at the drive entrance, sitting on a section of broken wall beside the gates, looking out over the semicircle of weed-covered tarmac, holding a furled umbrella.
Sister Bernadette was wrapped up well but still looked cold. She was gazing the other way, at the road, as I approached.
'Sister Bernadette,' I said.
She jumped up, snagging the umbrella in overhead branches. 'Oh! Is. I didn't-' she said, sounding flustered. She looked up, then pulled down on the brolly, creating her own tiny but drenching rainstorm as the leaves and branches above dropped their load of moisture on her. She hauled again, but the entangled brolly was stuck fast and she tore its fabric. 'Oh! Bugger!' she said, then looked horrified. 'Oh, pardon.' She blushed, pushing a hand through her damp, disturbed red hair and then pulling again at the umbrella.
'Let me help you with that,' I said, and unhooked the offending implement from the branches.
She brushed some water off her face and head and nodded to me as she folded the umbrella. 'Thank you,' she said. She looked around. 'Wet, isn't it?'
'A bit showery,' I agreed. I looked at the sky. 'Seems to be going off now.' I sat down on the broken wall. She looked as though she was going to sit down too for a moment, but then didn't.
She took a deep breath, and moved her shoulders as though they were tired, staring down at me with a broad, false smile. 'Are you going for a walk?' she asked.
I shrugged. 'Just wandering,' I said, and sat back, drawing one leg up until I could wedge my boot heel on the rock. Bernadette looked alarmed.
'Oh, I see,' she said.
'And you?' I asked.
'I'm waiting for the delivery van which is bringing the fireworks for the Festival,' she said quickly.
'Ah. I see.' I rested my back against the stones behind me. 'I'll give you a hand.'
'Oh, no!' she said, her voice high with stress but a smile still fixed on her face. 'No; no need for that,' she said, and then laughed. 'No; the van might be a long time yet; I'd rather do it myself, really I would.' She nodded emphatically, her rosy face shining with moisture. 'Actually, truth be told, Is, I'm quite enjoying the feeling of being alone. Gives you time to think. Gives you time to contemplate. Things. It does.'
'Oh,' I said, pleasantly. 'Would you rather I left?'
'Ah, Jesus, I'm - pardon me - I'm not saying that, Isis.'
'Good,' I smiled. 'So; Sister Bernadette. How have you been, anyway?'
'What?' she said, glancing wildly at the road as a truck went past heading west, and then staring back at me. 'Ah, sorry?'
'I was just asking you how you were.'
'Ah, fine. And yourself?'
'Well,' I said, crossing my arms. 'I was fine, too, really, until yesterday. Everything seemed to be going well, apart from the problem of finding Cousin Morag… ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself…' I said, smiling.
Bernadette's smile became even broader and even shallower than it had been. 'Ah,' she said. 'But you don't want to be bothering yourself telling-'
'… I got down to Edinburgh without any problems,' I said. 'The inner-tube worked very well, as I was telling Brother Indra earlier. The worst bit of the river journey was probably going down the weir, you know; the bit where the river becomes tidal…' I said, settling back even more comfortably.
I took my time. Bernadette stood looking at me with a smile so broad and stretched you could see right through it to the terror underneath, while her wide, round eyes moved desperately around like a pair of caged animals seeking escape. The sound of a larger vehicle approaching on the road brought an even tauter look to her face, and produced a sort of tic in her head as she tried to look at me and watch the road at the same time, while her gaze flicked back and forth with impressive speed, like somebody desperately trying to signal No with their eyes.