The afternoon rain had left the windows of the Senior Common Room gently misted. Beyond them, the stone bridge spanning the college stream carried a steady procession of students who appeared to cross it without the slightest awareness that they were doing anything remarkable.
Mr Blottisham watched them thoughtfully.
"I've always admired a good bridge."
Professor Quillibrace looked over the rim of his teacup.
"Have you?"
"They are magnificently sensible."
"In what respect?"
"They solve a problem."
"What problem?"
"One wishes to be over there."
He pointed through the window.
"The river objects."
"So one builds a bridge."
"Precisely."
Quillibrace nodded.
"A concise summary of several thousand years of civil engineering."
Miss Elowen Stray followed the students with her eyes.
"It is curious that bridges are admired quite so much."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"They're splendid pieces of engineering."
"So are drains."
He hesitated.
"People don't usually photograph drains."
"No."
"Or hold ceremonies when a new drain opens."
"Thankfully."
Quillibrace smiled faintly.
"It does suggest that a bridge accomplishes something beyond redirecting one's feet."
Blottisham folded his arms.
"What else could it possibly accomplish?"
Miss Stray looked towards the stream.
"Imagine two villages on opposite banks."
"They can see one another."
"Yes."
"They know the other exists."
"They may even hear each other's church bells."
Blottisham nodded.
"But visiting would be awkward."
"Exactly."
"Trade would be infrequent."
"Friendships rarer."
"The river becomes more than water."
Blottisham considered this.
"It becomes... inconvenience."
Quillibrace tilted his head.
"Or distance."
"But then we build the bridge."
"Indeed."
"The river remains."
"Entirely."
"The water still flows."
"Without consulting the engineers."
Blottisham smiled.
"So nothing in nature has changed."
"And yet," said Miss Stray quietly, "everything in the relationship has."
He looked at her.
"The villages become neighbours."
A thoughtful silence settled between them.
At length Blottisham said,
"The bridge hasn't removed the separation."
"No."
"It has merely made it crossable."
Quillibrace's eyes brightened.
"A very important distinction."
"I think I had unconsciously imagined bridges abolished rivers."
"They do nothing of the sort."
"They simply persuade rivers to become less inconvenient."
Miss Stray shook her head gently.
"They persuade people."
Blottisham frowned.
"People?"
"The river never changes its mind."
He laughed.
"Quite right."
Quillibrace glanced towards the window again.
"It is remarkable how often we borrow bridges to think about other things."
"'Building bridges'," said Blottisham.
"Between communities."
"Between generations."
"Between opposing views."
"I've never imagined pouring reinforced concrete between grandparents and grandchildren."
"Nor has anyone else."
"Which is fortunate."
Miss Stray rested her hands upon the arm of her chair.
"We seem instinctively to know that some distances are not measured in metres."
"But in what?"
"Understanding."
Blottisham sat quietly for a moment.
"So every good explanation is a bridge."
Quillibrace nodded.
"So is every translation."
"Every introduction."
"Every act of genuine hospitality."
Blottisham smiled.
"I've built rather more bridges than I realised."
"You may also have demolished one or two."
"I expect so."
"Most of us have."
The rain eased outside.
Students continued crossing the little stone arch without looking down.
Blottisham watched them.
"I've always thought bridges existed to erase boundaries."
Miss Stray looked at him.
"Do they?"
He paused.
"No."
"They leave both banks exactly where they were."
"The difference survives."
"Otherwise there would be nothing to cross."
Quillibrace smiled approvingly.
"An excellent bridge depends upon there being two distinct places."
"So difference isn't the enemy."
"It is the reason the bridge exists."
Blottisham leaned back.
"That feels unexpectedly important."
"It usually is."
After another comfortable silence he spoke again.
"I suppose the best bridges become almost invisible."
"In what sense?" asked Quillibrace.
"No one arrives somewhere saying, 'How marvellous that bridge was.'"
"They say, 'How delightful to see you.'"
"Or, 'I'm glad I came.'"
"The bridge disappears behind the meeting."
Quillibrace nodded.
"I suspect all successful mediation shares that characteristic."
"The mediator hopes to become unnecessary."
"The translator hopes to be forgotten."
"The teacher hopes eventually not to be needed."
Miss Stray smiled.
"The bridge succeeds by making itself the least interesting part of the journey."
Blottisham looked once more through the window.
A student paused halfway across the bridge to greet another approaching from the opposite bank. They exchanged a few cheerful words before continuing in opposite directions.
He watched until both had disappeared.
"I don't believe that conversation would have happened in the middle of the stream."
"No," said Quillibrace.
"Nor," added Miss Stray, "is the bridge remembered because it conquered the river."
"What is it remembered for, then?" asked Blottisham.
Quillibrace finished his tea.
"For quietly giving strangers somewhere to become neighbours."
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