All Souls Read Free

in pronouncing preposterous Spanish words never failed to move me, and their preference was always for words of four or more syllables. I recall that the Butcher enjoyed them so much that he would lose all composure and, raising one leg (a combination of very short socks and huge voracious shoes resulting in the exposure of one brilliant white shin), would uninhibitedly, and not without a certain grace, rest it on an empty desk and bounce it up and down in time to his owneuphoric syllabification of the word in question ("Ve-ri-cue-to, ve-ri-cue-to. Mo-fle-tu-do, mo-fle-tu-do"). In fact, as I realised only later, my colleagues' applause for my invented etymologies was a consequence of both their excellent manners and a dual sense of solidarity and fun. In Oxford no one ever says anything directly (frankness would be considered the most unforgivable, not to say the most disconcerting, of sins), or at least that is how I understood Dewar the Inquisitor's parting words to me at the end of my two-year stay when, in the midst of other splendid remarks, he said:
    "What I'll miss most is your extraordinary etymological knowledge. It never ceased to amaze me. I can still remember my surprise when you explained that the word papirotazo came from papo, jowl, and signified a blow delivered to another's papada or double chin. Really astonishing." He paused for a moment with some satisfaction to observe my embarrassment. Then he tutted and added: "Etymology is such a fascinating subject, it's just a shame that the students - poor undiscerning creatures that they are - forget ninety-five per cent of the marvels they hear, and their bedazzlement at our brilliant revelations lasts only a matter of minutes, at most for the duration of the class. But I will remember it: pa-pa-da, pa-pi-ro-ta-zo." He flexed one of his legs slightly. "Who'd have thought it? Quite fantastic."
    I think I probably blushed deeply and, as soon as I could, rushed to the library to consult the dictionary and discover that, in fact, the now famous papirotazo did indeed come from the papo on which in former times the ignominious blow was received. I felt more of an impostor than ever, but at the same time my conscience felt clearer, for it seemed to me that my crazy etymologies were no more nonsensical, no less likely than the real ones. Or, rather, the true etymology of papirotazo struck me as being almost as outlandish as my invented one. Anyway, as the Ripper had pointed out, such ornamental knowledge, whether false, genuine or merely half-true, enjoyed only a very short life span. When true knowledge proves irrelevant, one is free to invent.
     
     
    I SPENT ENDLESS HOURS walking round the city of Oxford and consequently know almost every corner of it, as well as its outlying villages with their trisyllabic names: Headington, Kidlington, Wolvercote, Littlemore (and, further off, Abingdon and Cuddesdon). I also came to know almost all the faces that peopled it three years ago and two years ago, however difficult it subsequently proved ever to find them again. Most of the time I walked with no set purpose or goal, although I well remember that I spent about ten days during my second teaching term there (Hilary Term as it is called, comprising eight weeks between January and March) walking the streets with a goal that was neither very adult nor - while it lasted - one I cared to admit to myself. It was shortly before I met Clare and Edward Bayes and in fact my interruption or abandonment (yes, abandonment is the word) of that goal came about because of that meeting with Clare Bayes and her husband and not just because, around that time, one windy afternoon in Broad Street, the goal itself was simultaneously achieved and frustrated.
    Some ten days before I was introduced to Clare and Edward Bayes and began to get to know them, I was coming back from London — on a Friday - on the last train, which then left Paddington around midnight. It was the train I caught most