Perlen gotischer Baukunst (8)
Your woman nodded. ‘What about cows?’ she says.
‘What about them?’
‘Can you milk a cow?’
‘Oh certainly,’ I says without hesitation. ‘A cow, yes, I can milk a cow, that’s no problem at all, I was born milking cows.’
‘Good.’ She indicated some buildings in the distance. ‘We keep a farm over there, the Mains. You can have something to eat and drink and then let’s see you milk a cow.’
‘Ah well,’ says I quick, ‘it’s a while since I done it now.’
But I don’t think she heard me because she didn’t reply, just led me across the yard to the pump and give me a tin cup that was hanging on a nail. ‘Help yourself,’ she says.
I drank two cupfuls. All the while she was watching me with those eyes. I says, ‘I might be a bit out of practice with the cows now. I may have lost the knack, I don’t know.’
‘Are you hungry?’ she says.
Gob was I and I tellt her as much. She pointed to a door in the house. ‘There’s bread in there on the table,’ she says. ‘Take a slice.’
‘That’s very kind of you, missus,’ I says and did as I was bid.
The kitchen was a fair size but Jesus Murphy was it a shambles.Jane Harris: The Observations (2006), S. 8