Intermezzo

Naomi the grown-up, her mother the child.

life in danger of becoming tolerable for a minute, why not go out of his way to aggrieve and distress the only person who could put up with him

And what about her. Sylvia. Beyond him entirely. Not actually very good-looking, never was. Makes the beauty of others seem excessive.

Like a kind of death, what happened. A kind of death you survive out of politeness, respect for others, out of selfless love.

to fear judgement was not the same thing as believing that the judgement was valid

In nature, he thinks, there is no such thing as ugliness. It’s like he tried to tell Margaret in the car, beauty belongs to God, and ugliness to human beings

Wanting to say and hear the words again, that can never again be said or heard. To return to the house once more, and not find it dark and empty, but airy and bright again with open windows. To spend an afternoon together, playing with the dog, eating dinner, doing nothing, only being together, just once more.

You believe there is something? she asks.

I try to, yeah, Ivan answers. Some kind of order in the universe, at least. I do feel that sometimes. Listening to certain music, or looking at art. Even playing chess, although that might sound weird. It’s like the order is so deep, and it’s so beautiful, I feel there must be something underneath it all. And at other times, I think it’s just chaos, and there’s nothing. Maybe the whole idea of order just comes from some evolutionary advantage, whatever it is. We recognise patterns when there are no
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patterns. I don’t know. I’m not explaining myself very well. But when I experience that sense of beauty, it does make me believe in God. Like there’s a meaning behind everything.

life can be sad. It’s no good pretending to be happy all the time

How often in his life he has found himself a frustrated observer of apparently impenetrable systems, watching other people participate effortlessly in structures he can find no way to enter or even understand