A Likely Story: "A Village After Dark" by Kazuo Ishiguro

But now that I am older I become disoriented more easily.

There was nothing I recognized, and I found myself walking forever around twisting, badly lit streets hemmed in on both sides by the little stone cottages characteristic of the area.

I could hear some boisterous talk coming from behind the door.

A log burning in the fireplace was the only source of light, by which I could make out a number of hunched figures sitting around the room.

But the warmth of the fire was very welcome, and for a moment I just stared into its flames, a pleasant grogginess drifting over me.

Those were the days when the cottage was surrounded by open fields and there would come from outside the voices of my friends, lazing in the long grass, arguing over poetry or philosophy.

Then a new voice said, rather sullenly, “Go ahead then. Have a nap. Don’t mind us.”

But I was already picking my way through the clutter toward my corner.

At some point, I was aware of a woman saying, “I don’t know how I was ever under his spell. He looks such a ragamuffin now.”

In my state of near-sleep, I debated with myself whether these words applied to me or, perhaps, to David Maggis, but before long sleep engulfed me once more.

“Fletcher,” she said, “when we used to know one another, I was young and beautiful. I idolized you, and everything you said seemed like an answer. Now here you are, back again. I’ve wanted to tell you for many years that you ruined my life.”

“You’re being unfair. All right, I was mistaken about a lot of things. But I never claimed to have any answers. All I said in those days was that it was our duty, all of us, to contribute to the debate. We knew so much more about the issues than the ordinary people here. If people like us procrastinated, claiming we didn’t yet know enough, then who was there to act? But I never claimed I had the answers. No, you’re being unfair.”

“They’re all so impressionable,” the old man would have said.

But these days the odd one passing through from time to time, looking all decrepit and burned out like that—if anything, it goes to demystify all that talk about the old days. In any case, people like him have changed their position so much these days.

But these days the odd one passing through from time to time, looking all decrepit and burned out like that—if anything, it goes to demystify all that talk about the old days. In any case, people like him have changed their position so much these days.

Well, those young people haven’t yet sunk so low, despite all the lethargy you’ve been preaching at them down the years. I’ll talk to them. I’ll undo in half an hour all of your sorry efforts.

The girl did not seem to hear this, but continued to lead me purposefully through the clusters of cottages.

In those days, Roger Button had idolized me, and in return I had bullied him incessantly.

Certainly, the ones who’ve never seen you tend to idealize you the most.

You’re entitled to try and salvage a little self-respect.