TE17 Mysterious Montenegro

Hot tub (short story) by John Saul

On his route through the stately house gardens in the rain he noticed all the birds had moved down, by some hundred yards, from their regular patch at the end of the little lake. He had never seen the heron at that spot on the far bank before. The Egyptian ducks, or as some called them, geese, were cavorting as usual but not in their usual place. Other than the passing of Storm Caroline in the night no obvious explanation for the wholesale shift—a move southwards—came to mind. Certainly the birds were now in the lea of the tiny island, its tangle of trees possibly forming a shield from the storm, which was as much explanation as he wanted to find, in accordance with his resolution to—in general—explainas little as possible and better still not toexplain at all. Having resolved this one New Year, several years ago, the resolution had stuck with him. While he had trouble keeping it—being resolute —the goal continued to seem worthwhile. He saw what he saw, he liked to think, so why explain anything, why look further? Of no relevance to the birds, or, directly, to the decision to avoid explanations, he had similarly kept another resolution beyond the expected twelve-month period, whichwas to learn to whistle through his teeth with his fingers. Apparently six-year-olds could master this in minutes, but after twelve months he had met only moderate success, nothing reliable, sometimes it worked and, crowing at the achievement, he would immediately do it again, or rather, try to do it again, only to fail completely. Taking all these factors together, he had become used to keeping resolutions over several years, so he would go no further than Storm Caroline and the trees on the island possibly

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