Text
“…Confused and hairy-looking clouds combed themselves on the ridges of the hills. The lake was crumpled and grey, except for those yellow worms of foam blown across it in parallel lines. To the south a cold patch of light made it all look far more dreary. [Jenny] stared out towards the island and said:
‘It’s not at all like what I expected.’
‘And what the hell did you expect? Capri?’
‘I thought of an old island, with old grey ruins, and old holly trees and rhododendrons down to the water, a place where old monks would live.’
They saw tall buildings like modern hotels rising by the island’s shore, an octagonal basilica big enough for a city, four or five bare, slated houses, a long shed like a ballroom. There was one tree. Another bus drew up beside them and people peered out through the wiped glass.
‘Oh God!’ she groaned. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be like Lourdes.’
‘And what, pray, is wrong with Lourdes when it’s at home?’
‘Commercialized. I simply can’t believe that this island was the most famous pilgrimage of the Middle Ages. On the rim of the known world. It must have been like going off to Jerusalem or coming home brown from the sun with a cockle in your hat from Galilee.’
He put on a vulgar Yukon voice:
‘Thar’s gold somewhere in them thar hills. It looks to me like a damn good financial proposition for somebody.’"