Experiment With Destiny (29 page)

“They knocked me to the ground, there,” he pointed. “I thought I was going to die, that my end had come and I wouldn’t have the chance to…” He stopped himself. How could she ever understand what had brought him here in the first place?

“Yes…it looked truly awful! They ran off when they saw me. I thought…I mean I wasn’t sure what they were kicking…a dog…a person…I just couldn’t tell until they cleared off…but I knew I had to stop them!”

“But how…?” He looked down at her, puzzled. She smiled.

“I carry a gun…” She showed him her handbag, opened slightly to reveal a glint of metal. “…just for protection. You have to these days…you never know! As you found out!” He nodded. She closed the bag again. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but…” Malcolm felt suddenly dizzy again. It came in waves. He tried to focus on her quizzical expression. “…you’re a…non citizen, aren’t you? That’s why you didn’t want me to call an ambulance?”

She knew! All along, she’d known…since the gang had peeled away from his crumpled body and she’d stopped over him to see. She knew why they’d attacked him, knew that he didn’t belong and shouldn’t be here. And she had a gun! He half wondered if she’d only sent them scurrying so she could enjoy some sport of her own…but her voice was quiet and her question did not sound like an accusation. He knew it was pointless trying to run, he would not get far, and he was too weak and dizzy to even attempt to overpower her. Malcolm was at her mercy and there was nothing to be gained by denying what his appearance and aroma must have already confirmed to her.

“I know I shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry…I didn’t want to come at all, knew it was a bad idea, but …I had no choice…I have to…”

“Hey,” she reached out her gloved hand and rested it reassuringly on his bruised arm. “It’s OK. I won’t be calling the ambulance, or the police…though it’s utterly shameful those yobs can just get away with treating you like that! And I’m not sure I agree with you…about you shouldn’t be here, I mean…I don’t think it’s right. You’re a human being…just like me!” Malcolm was confused. She didn’t seem to be making any sense. He could hear the warmth of her tone, rather than cold loathing. Perhaps it was nothing more than pitying his treatment…she’d originally mistaken him for a dog…and even citizens care for their dogs.

“Thank you,” he said firmly. “Thank you for your help, which I know I do not deserve. I had best be getting on my way, before I get you into trouble too!” He turned to go but his legs wobbled beneath him and he had to reach out to steady himself against the nearby lamp post. His side was now burning fiercely.

“Where will you go?” she asked, stepping toward him. “You might run into them again, and I won’t be there to save you next time.”

“I will find my way home…thank you. I won’t be a nuisance to you good people. I’ll go now and be no further bother to you. You’ve done enough…more than enough! Again, I thank you for your kindness.” He wanted to relinquish the lamp post and shuffle away but he wasn’t confident of doing anything except tumbling over if he did.

“You started telling me…you had no choice? You knew it was a bad idea but you came anyway…and this…” she gestured to the blood on the floor, “…confirmed how dangerous it is for you here. So what made you risk your life to come here…among us? It must be something very important to you?”

“I came…” Malcolm gasped at the pain in his side. “…I came to find a friend. And I’m so sorry to have troubled you.” He released his support and stepped away, confused about which direction to take. She was right. His attackers may not have gone far. He took a few faltering steps but then his legs gave way and he sank to his knees, tears filling his eyes. The woman was at his side in an instant, reaching out and preventing him falling further. He knew he was helpless, trapped. “I’m so sorry…”

“Here! Let me help you.”

“No! Kind lady you must not…your fellows…they won’t thank you…I will manage.”

“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere on your own!” She brushed aside his weak protest. The pain was overwhelming now and he dropped his hands to the floor in front of him and began to retch. “It seems you don’t have any choice in the matter. And who cares what my…fellows…think?”

She helped him up and, together, they struggled a few hundred yards back the way he’d come, rounded a corner and then stopped before the door of a mid-terraced house he must have passed just moments before being attacked. He’d crept past such doors so many times – in the early hours when nobody was awake – but it had been an age since he’d last entered one.

“No!” he remonstrated, his feelings in turmoil. He’d learned to live without the comforts he knew waited beyond that door. “You don’t even know me! You don’t know who I am. I could be…like the nomads…I could…” his voice trailed off as he struggled for breath.

“I know you need help.” She leaned him against the doorframe as she searched her bag for her keys and he saw the gleam of her gun again. “And I know you won’t harm me. You probably have more to fear from the likes of us than I do from you.” She turned the key in the lock. “Besides, even if you wanted to I doubt you could do me any damage in the condition you’re in!” She reached in and flicked on a light before helping him inside. He hesitated momentarily then gave up resisting. And the world beyond the door took his breath away…a world, the other world, he could barely remember. Everything seemed so alien and unreal…everything seemed to glow.

“Do you believe in angels?” he asked. She beamed at him, eyes twinkling.

             
Once inside she led him to a chair in the hallway and sat him down. She removed her coat, scarf and gloves, hanging them over the wooden banister alongside the stairs. In the brightness of the hall light he could see her properly. She was very pretty, so much prettier than anyone he’d seen on the wastelands, even Rachel. He could not guess her age, but her dark hair concealed traces of grey and her striking features were emphasised by soft wrinkles at the edges. Her deep brown eyes betrayed a hint of melancholy. Her clothing was immaculate, and he realised how shabby he must look in comparison. As she leaned down to help him remove his coat he saw the faintest wince pass by her expression and he knew, though he could not smell it himself, that his old stale body reeked in the freshness of her home. Malcolm felt ashamed.

             
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, tears welling. He sensed she knew why he was apologising. She continued to lift the stained, tattered coat from him.

             
“What’s your name?” she asked, letting it fall to the floor once he was free of it.

             
“Malcolm,” he said. “Jones,” he added suddenly, and it sounded strange…so long since he’d uttered it, as if it was the name of some mythical being. “Malcolm Jones.”

             
“Well Malcolm,” she reached out her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and maybe you’ll feel a bit better...and we need to see just how bad that is!” He followed the line of her eyes. A dark crimson stain marked the layers of clothing crusted to his ribs and he knew at once his beating had opened the old wound left by the last one. “I’m Kathryn, by the way.”

* * *

              After running him a bath Kathryn left him to undress before returning with bandages, a sponge and a bottle of antiseptic.

             
“No need for shyness,” she assured as his hands wrapped around his groin. “Nothing I’ve not seen before!” Nevertheless he kept his hands there as she poured antiseptic on the sponge. “This might sting!” Malcolm cried out in agony as the liquid burned at his ripped flesh, forgetting the need to cover his modesty. Then, remembering again, he tried to sit stoically as she mopped away the blood. “Sorry,” she offered. “You know you really need stitches for that…but I guess a trip to the hospital is out of the question…no medical insurance and all that.” He said nothing, trying to remember the conventions of his former life so long ago. “After you’ve bathed I’ll try some superglue or something, and a very tight bandage. Apparently it was invented to patch up soldiers on the battlefield…I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere.”

             
Kathryn left and returned a few minutes later with a hand-knitted patchwork blanket. “When you’re done, just pull the plug and drain the water and come downstairs in this. I’ll put your clothes to soak overnight and then wash them for you in the morning. I couldn’t find anything of mine in your size I’m afraid.” Malcolm simply smiled. There was nothing he could say and he felt overwhelmed. “Shout if you need anything.” And she was gone.

             
He sat upright for a moment, feeling like a king. If only Ma and Harry could see him now…and Rachel… A wave of sadness washed over him and he reclined back into the warm water, flinching as it lapped his open wound. He remembered why he was here, and the uncertainty that lay ahead. This could not last forever and he could not over-stay his welcome…but for now he would enjoy the moment.

             
“Thank you God,” he said aloud.

              When he returned downstairs, having carefully let out the water and wiped as much of the blood and grime from the bathtub as he could, she fed him tinned chicken soup with a couple of slices of crusty bread, soft to the touch and thickly spread with butter.

             
“I don’t suppose you eat too well at…home,” she explained. “So I thought you shouldn’t have anything too rich or it might make you ill. A little butter shouldn’t do you any harm though.” He thanked her and tucked in gratefully, hardly pausing between spoonfuls as he scooped them to his lips. Ma would have been green with envy at this feast. He thought of her, and of Harry, who were doubtless tucked up in their blankets for the night having made do with what there was. He wondered how Ma would cope if he didn’t make it back. For all his talk of Harry looking after her, he knew the old soldier wasn’t fit enough to go all the way to the market place to bring back food.

             
Remembering them made him feel so clean…cleanliness and manners, he recalled. Finishing the warming soup, he immediately regretted the haste in which he’d eaten it. Out there, with Ma and Harry, you had to wolf down your food or something might be along any moment to steal it or prevent you having it. Here, he had all the time in the world. He looked up and caught her eyes. She’d been watching him eat.

“Sorry…I just realised…I must seem an animal to you…no better than a dog.”

“No,” Kathryn shook her head. “It is us…we are the ones who should be ashamed of ourselves. We’re…barbaric…treating our fellow humans as less than human, treating you worse than our animals, simply because you fell on hard times. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

She offered him some more and, tempted as he was, he felt so full. It was the biggest meal he could remember eating…since… Instead, he accepted a hot tea and her invitation to warm himself beside the radiator in her front room, huddled in his antique looking blanket. She put some music on then left him to make the tea.

“How long have you lived in the wastelands?” she asked when she returned. “You seem like an educated man and, forgive me, but too old to have been born out there.” Malcolm cupped his hands around the tea, feeling the warmth spreading to his bones. Beneath his naked thighs he could feel the fibre of the carpet and, all around him, the caress of the blanket. He could quickly become accustomed again to such comforts and had no yearning to return to the cold, hard darkness and hunger he knew too well.

“I can’t be sure,” he said. “It seems like forever…time is…meaningless, out there. It’s years…but how many, I don’t know. I went to school, then college…but not that well educated really…not university. Probably as well…I can’t really remember any of what I learned now. Such a waste!”

“And how did you…end up…I mean I’ve heard of some who give up on the rat race and choose to live outside of…well…” Malcolm had begun to sip his tea and almost choked.

“Nobody chooses to live as we do!” he growled. “It is not a choice any sane person makes. We are, most of us, outcasts…rejects…and the rest are offspring of the unwanted. None of us want to be there, I can assure you!” Kathryn was blushing, visibly upset.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me! So insensitive of me! I should have known…of course I should…but the media put such nonsense about…well, the government really…but of course it’s just…rubbish…to make us feel better about ourselves.”

“No, it’s me who should apologise. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. How were you to know the truth if the television machines feed you lies? What way is this to repay your kindness?” He put down his mug. “You must forgive me as I forget my manners. Out there, you forget…how to behave, properly…with civility.”

He gathered his thoughts. Where he’d come from it was easier if you didn’t remember the life you’d left behind, made it more bearable. Now he must try to piece it together, so she would know the truth. The ‘Good Book’ said the truth would set people free…

“Before the wastelands I was a…site manager…construction. My…father…he was a miner…but he lost his job when they closed down the last working mine in South Wales. Too many accidents, they said, too much risk. He used his…redundancy to pay off his…house…loan, and for my college education. But he died before I’d finished…qualified. Mum died soon after…from grief.” It was flooding back, though it must have been years since he’d said any of this aloud. “I was made, really, other than suddenly finding myself on my own. After I finished college I got a job in building and construction and worked contracts for this company and that…working my way up to become a site manager. My last contract was building the Community Monorail Shuttle. I did my back in an accident on site. I was blamed for not following health and safety…even though I was following established site practice. Lost my job…couldn’t get another…with a dismissal and a dodgy back, not even labouring. The I had to re…I had to…”