Inf. 1.4 Abraàm patriarca e Davìd re
It’s the only thing we’ve really fallen out about, the name. I don’t like any of the names he’s come up with. He’s such a traditionalist: he started me off with Nicholas and Martin and then we went through David and Edward, and now we’ve ended up at Ezekiel and Abraham. Sounds like something out of the Bible, I said, and he said ‘Old or New Testament?’ in a way that made me think he was trying to catch me out for some reason. I don’t see why he’d want to, and I don’t want to think that about him because he’s my husband and of course I love him, but it made me think. It pulled me up sharp, you know.
Angela asked me the other day if he was all right. I said, what do you mean, all right, and she said just that she’d noticed he seemed a bit woolly. Woolly, what a lovely word, but it made me feel a bit scared. I know it’s selfish but when you’re about to have twins the last thing you want is your husband going a bit woolly on you, even if he is twenty one years older and has done it all before. Maybe that’s the thing: maybe he could do it blindfold so there’s no need to worry anyway. Maybe I should make sure I ask him lots of questions now while he’s still in one piece.
Talk about talking someone into the grave! I don’t mean to do that. I’m just a bit worried.
I don’t want twins.
I don’t want two boys called David and Abraham. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. One in each arm I suppose. But maybe what I’m really scared of is what they’ll do to me. When they’re grown up. They’ll end up bossing me about and treating me like a stupid old bat who doesn’t know anything about anything and because they’re my sons I won’t be allowed to hate them. But what if I do?
generating dante 