My Santiago

Pride and Prejudice in the Afternoon

Elizabeth and Darcy strolling arm – in – arm, in the lounge room of Mr. Bingley;

They speak of genteel things, And engrossed in each other, They try not to speak - of love.

His shadow, far reaching and prim, drapes itself, in serrated fashion over desk, then floor, as he glides down the aisles flanked by immutable furniture, complete with inkpot. Extinct creatures like him, sharing this refuge, Relics from the epoch of Austen, Bronte and Dickens.

His trouser legs, unbending, Starched to a life of their own.

One hand clasping the book, held aloft, The other, folded, neatly behind his back, He moves, ostrich – like, Spectacles perched on beaked nose, Solemn, impassive! Never revealing thoughts, His - far away from this room. That scene; of sweat – soaked schoolboys, Passive, Reduced to stupor by sullen heat, mid-day meals, And Jane Austen!

We did not ‘need’ to know, To understand, This phenomenon

From a distant land, From another age!

Somehow, it seemed to fit, That classroom,

Our expectations, His convenience!

Strangely, Jane Austen in the afternoon, In 20 th century Colombo, Brought to me on the waves of tedium, Against all the odds, Stands out in my mind!