...
.."If your
definition of culture is immediate environmental influence,"
Varsha had answered, with lip-biting control of her
anger, "it would make me as culturally Welsh as you.
But if you define culture as an appreciation of the
arts, music and literature, then I probably contain
more culture in my little finger than could ever be
found in your head." She had also accused him of being
a hypocrite, reminding him of the how he had cheered
Colin Jackson upon the black 110 metre hurdler winning
Commonwealth Gold for Wales, even accusing his imbecilic
countenance of being German because he had blond hair
and blue eyes. But it had all been to no avail, his
ignorance prevented him from ever being able to see
the truth. The humiliation, the shame, her broken
heart, had become too much to bear, so earlier that
day she had set off from Swansea in an attempt to
escape herself; escape her colour, willing her car
to ram into each tree she had passed.
.....Why she had found
herself here on the Preseli's, she couldn't rightly
say. But she could guess... It had been in this valley,
beside that very river, David had proposed to her.
....."It's just so unfair!"
Varsha had finished. The word unfair clung to the
tip of her tongue and rattled awake her confusion.
.....Rosie had listened
with deep understanding. "Unfair?" she said quietly.
"Life's never bin 'bout being fair, gal. If it wus,
den we'd all 'ave bin born de same colour? What a
boring world it would be den, eh? Look on de bright
side, a'ter all ya's could 'ave bin born white?" Rosie
laughed heartily in an attempt to cheer her inconsolable
guest.
