The Lost Language of Cranes Page #3

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Yeah. Oh, er, you know, erm...

don't forget...

about dinner.

Oh, yeah, right. Thanks, Owen.

Of course, nobody knew

that he actually made love to his dog

but, erm, being a poet,

he'd written reams

to the little creature

and then being Italian,

when he was on his deathbed,

he summoned a priest

and he confessed

saying, "I know nothing

closer to divinity

"than the taste of a dog's tongue."

(Laughter)

Of course, I think he rather screwed his chances

of receiving the last rites.

Oh. I've heard of building

an appetite for lunch

but this hill is going to kill me.

Come on, old girl.

Less of the old.

So, Derek, how is the new book?

- The new book?

- Yes. I'm afraid so.

That's why I'm here,

to do some publicity for it.

- I was practically raised reading your books.

- Really? Poor thing.

- Geoffrey, you got the copy?

- Of course.

- There you are. That's for you.

- Thank you.

- Remind me to sign it later.

- Thank you.

Well, Elliot, how's London treating you?

(Sighs)

Elliot never told me

that his parents had introduced you and Derek.

Mmm. Introduced us, nurtured us...

carried love notes...

even supported us for a while.

Letting us have the big house in the Hamptons

while Derek was writing The Frozen Field.

That was after Julia came into her inheritance

and began giving money to her artist friends.

Geoffrey, I hope you don't

mind me asking you this, but, erm...

how did Elliot's parents die?

Oh. Well...

not very extraordinary.

After a party in the Hamptons,

they were driving home,

someone was drunk but it was

never clear who or which car and...

after that, we were parents.

(Sighs)

Small boy without a home

and a will stipulating

that Derek and I should adopt him.

When we took Elliot to school

the first day to register him

I will never forget the look

on that woman's face

when she asked, "Father's name?"

And I said...

"Which one?"

(Laughs)

You know, I love being talked about

as if I weren't here.

Sorry, Elliot. Philip's just curious.

And it is quite a story.

We had such a house in the village.

People in and out all the time,

sleeping on the living room couch.

Never any shortage

of friends for Elliot.

So many things were easier in those days.

But Owen, you promised me.

Rose, I will. Next weekend.

- But you said that last weekend.

- I promise.

No, seriously, Owen.

We must start looking.

We've got less than three months.

Next weekend. I promise.

Why must you go out

every single Sunday?

Why must you? Why?

Rose, please. Don't do this.

- Sundays are the only day to myself.

- But just this once.

Three months, Owen.

Three months.

I'll see you this evening.

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