The Book of Evidence (23 page)

w e r e strange to m e , stranger than usual, I mean. I felt I w a s no longer of their species, that s o m e t h i n g had happened since I had last encountered a c r o w d of t h e m together, that an adjustment had occurred in m e , a tiny, a m a z i n g l y swift and m o m e n t o u s evolutionary event. I passed through their midst like a changeling, a sport of nature. T h e y were b e y o n d m e , they could not touch me — could they see m e , even, or w a s I n o w outside the s p e c t r u m of their vision?

A n d yet h o w avidly I observed them, in hunger and w o n d e r m e n t . T h e y s u r g e d a r o u n d me at a sort of stumble, dull-eyed and confused, like refugees. I saw myself, b o b b i n g head and shoulders a b o v e them, disguised, solitary, nursing my h u g e secret. I w a s their unrecognised and their u n -

a c k n o w l e d g e d d r e a m — I w a s their M o o s b r a g g e r . I c a m c to the river, and d a w d l e d on the bridge, a m o n g the b e g g a r s and the fruit-sellers and the hawkers of cheap jewellery, a d m i r i n g the w i n d - b l u r r e d light a b o v e the water and tasting the salt air on my lips. T h e sea! To be a w a y , out there, o u t o v e r countless f a t h o m s , lost in all that I w e n t — everything w a s so simple — I went into a bar and b o u g h t a drink. Each sip w a s like a sliver of metal, chill a n d s m o o t h . It w a s a cavernous place, very dark. T h e light f r o m the street glared whitely in the open d o o r w a y . I m i g h t have been s o m e w h e r e in the south, in one of those dank, tired ports I used to k n o w so well. At the back, in a lighted place like a stage, s o m e youths with shaven heads and outsize lace-up b o o t s w e r e playing a g a m e of billiards.

T h e balls whirred and clacked, the y o u n g m e n softly swore. It w a s like s o m e t h i n g o u t of H o g a r t h , a g r o u p of wigless surgeons, say, intent o v e r the dissecting table. T h e b a r m a n , a r m s folded and m o u t h open, w a s w a t c h i n g a horse-race on the television set perched high up on a shelf in a corner a b o v e h i m . A tubercular y o u n g m a n in a black shortie overcoat came in and stood beside me, breathing and fidgeting. I could tell f r o m the tension coming o f f him that he was working himself up to something, and for a m o m e n t I was pleasurably alarmed. He might do anything, anything. But he only spoke.
I've lived here thirty-three
years
, he said, in a tone o f bitter indignation,
and everyone is
afraid
. T h e barma n glanced at him with weary contempt and turned back to the television. Blue horses galloped in silence over bright-green turf
I
am afraid, the young man said, resentful n o w . He gave a tremendous twitch, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head and throwing up one arm, as if something had bitten him on the neck.

Then he turned and went out hurriedly, clutching his coat around him. I followed, leaving my drink half-finished. It was blindingly bright outside. I spotted him, a g o o d way o f f already, d o d g i n g along through the crowds with his elbows pressed to his sides, taking tight, swift little steps, nimble as a dancer. N o t h i n g could stop him. In the thickest surge of bodies he would find a chink at once, and swivel deftly f r o m the waist up and dive through without altering his pace. What a pair we would have made, if anyone had thought to link us, he in his tight shabby coat and I with my fancy hat and expensive clutch of carrier bags. I could hardly keep up with him, and after a minute or t w o I was puffing and in a sweat.
I
had an unaccountable sense of elation. O n c e he paused, and stood glaring into the w i n d o w of a chemist's shop. I waited, loitering at a bus-stop, keeping him in the corner of my eye. He was so intent, and seemed to quiver so, that I thought he was going to do something violent, turn and attack someone, maybe, or kick in the w i n d o w and stamp about a m o n g the cameras and the cosmetic displays. B u t he was only waiting for another shudder to pass through him.

This time when he flung up his arm his leg shot up as well, 164
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as if elbow and knee were connected by an invisible string, sec if anyone had noticed, and g a v e himself a casual little shake, as if by that he w o u l d m a k e the previous spasm appear to have been intentional too, and then he was o f f to speak to

offer him sympatny, a

saw nothing in

's not true, for he was

poor creature. Yet I was not sorry for

not g o out to him in

say, a kind of brotherly regard, a strong, sustaining cheerful sense of oneness with him. It seemed the thing in the world for me to walk up n o w and put my hand on that thin shoulder and say:
my fellow sufferer, dear
friend, compaction de miser est
A n d so it was with deep disappointment and chagrin that at the next corner I stopped and looked about me in the jostling crowd and realised that I had lost him. Almost at once, however, I found a substitute, a tall fat girl with big shoulders and a big behind, and big, tubular legs ending in a pair of tiny feet, like a pig's front trotters, w e d g e d into high-heeled white shoes. She had been to the hairdresser's, her hair was cropped in a fashionable, boyish style that was, on her, grotesque. T h e stubbled back of her neck, with its fold of fat, was still an angry shade of red f r o m the dryer, it seemed to be blushing for her. She was so brave and sad, clumping along in her ugly shoes, and I would have followed her all day, I think, but after a while I lost her, too. N e x t I took up with a man with a huge strawberry mark on his face, then a tiny w o m a n wheeling a tiny d o g in a doll's pram, then a y o u n g fellow w h o marched 165
.

resolutely along, as if he could see no one, with a visionary^s fixed glare, s w i n g i n g his a r m s and g r o w l i n g to himself. In a busy pedestrian t h o r o u g h f a r e I was s u r r o u n d e d suddenly by a g a n g of tinker girls, what my m o t h e r w o u l d h a v e called
big rawsies
, with red hair and frcckles and extraordinary, glass-green eyes, w h o pushed against me in truculent supplication, p l u c k i n g at my sleeve and w h i n i n g . It w a s like being set u p o n by a flock of i m p o r t u n a t e large wild birds. W h e n I tried to shoo them a w a y o n e o f t h e m k n o c k e d m y hat off, while another deftly snatched o u t o f m y hand the carrier b a g containing m y n e w j a c k e t . T h e y fled, s h o v i n g each other and laughing shrilly, their r a w , red heels flying. I laughed too, and pickcd up my hat f r o m the p a v e m e n t , i g n o r i n g the looks o f the passers-by, w h o appeared t o find m y .

m e r r i m e n t unseemly. I did not care a b o u t the j a c k e t — in fact, the loss of it c h i m e d in a mysteriously apt w a y with that of its discarded predecessor — but I w o u l d have liked to see w h e r e those girls w o u l d g o . I i m a g i n e d a lean-to m a d e of rags and bits of galvanised iron on a dusty patch of waste g r o u n d , with a starving d o g and snot-nosed infants, and a d r u n k e n h a g crouched o v e r a steaming pot.

Or perhaps there w a s a Fagin s o m e w h e r e waiting for them, skulking in the s h a d o w s in s o m e derelict tenement, w h e r e the light of s u m m e r fingered the shutters, and dust-m o t e s drifted under lofty ceilings, and the rat's claw in the wainscoting scratched at the silence, scratched, stopped, and scratched^ again. So I went a l o n g happily for a little while, d r e a m i n g up other lives, until I spotted a w h e y -

faced giant with rubber legs c l o m p i n g ahead o f m e o n t w o sticks, and I set o f f after h i m in avid pursuit.

"What w a s I d o i n g , w h y was I f o l l o w i n g these people —

w h a t enlightenment w a s I l o o k i n g for? I did not k n o w , n o r care. I was puzzled and h a p p y , like a child w h o has 166
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been allowed to j o i n in an adults5 g a m e . I kept at it for hours, criss-crossing the streets and the squares with a drunkard's dazed single-mindedness, as if I w e r e tracing out a huge, intricate sign on the face of the city for s o m e o n e in the sky to read. I f o u n d m y s e l f in places I had not k n o w n w e r e there, c r o o k e d alleyways and sudden, b r o a d , deserted spaces, and dead-end streets under railway bridges w h e r e p a r k e d cars basked fatly in the evening sun, their t o y - c o l o u r e d roofs a g l e a m . I ate a h a m b u r g e r in a glass-walled cafe with m o u l d e d plastic chairs and tinfoil ashtrays, w h e r e p e o p l e sat alone and g n a w e d at their f o o d like frightened children a b a n d o n e d by their parents. T h e daylight died slowly, leaving a barred, red and g o l d sunset smeared on the sky, and as I w a l k e d a l o n g it w a s like w a l k i n g under the surface of a b r o a d , b u r n i n g river. T h e evening c r o w d s w e r e out, girls in tight trousers and high heels, and b r a w n y y o u n g m e n w i t h m e n a c i n g haircuts. In the hot, hazy dusk the streets seemed wider, flattened, s o m e h o w , and the cars scudded along, sleek as seals in the s o d i u m glare. I g o t b a c k late to Charlie's house, footsore, hot and dishevelled, my hat a w r y , but filled with a mysterious sense of achievement. A n d that night I d r e a m e d about my father. He w a s a miniature version of himself, a wizened child w i t h a moustache, dressed in a sailor suit, his pinched little face scrubbed and his hair neatly parted, leading by the hand a great, tall, dark-eyed m a t r o n w e a r i n g G r e e k robes and a c r o w n of myrtle, w h o fixed me with a l e w d , f o r g i v i n g smile.

I H A V E H A D
A
S H O C I . M y counsel has been to see m e today, bringing an extraordinary piece of news. Usually I enjoy our little conferences, in a lugubrious sort of w a y . We sit at a square table in a small airless r o o m with no w i n d o w s .

T h e walls are painted filing-cabinet grey. Light f r o m a strip of neon tubing a b o v e o u r heads sifts d o w n u p o n us like a fine-grained mist. T h e b u l b makes a tiny, continuous buzzing. Maolseachlainn at first is full of energy, rooting in his b a g , shuffling his papers, muttering. He is like a big, w o r r i e d bear. He w o r k s at finding things to talk to me about, n e w aspects of the case, obscure points of l a w he m i g h t bring up, the chances of o u r getting a sympathetic j u d g e * that sort of thing. Me speaks too fast, stumbling over his w o r d s as if they w e r e so m a n y stones. Gradually the atmosphere of the place gets in at h i m , like d a m p , and he falls silent. He takes o f f his specs and sits and blinks at m e .

He has a w a y of squeezing the bridge of his nose between t w o fingers and a t h u m b which is peculiarly endearing. I feel sorry for h i m . I think he truly does like me. This puzzles h i m , and, I suspect, disturbs h i m too. He believes he is letting me d o w n w h e n he runs o u t of steam like this, but really9 there is nothing left to say. We both k n o w I 168
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will get life. He cannot understand my equanimity in the face of my fate. I tell him I have taken up Buddhism. He smiles carefully, unsure that it is a joke. I divert him with tales of prison life, fleshing them out with impersonations

— I do our g o v e r n o r here very convincingly. When Maolseachlainn laughs there is no sound, only a slow heaving of the shoulders and a stretched, shiny grin.

By the way, what an odd formulation that is: to get life.

W o r d s so rarely mean what they mean.

T o d a y 1 saw straight away he was in a state about something. He kept clawing at the collar of his shirt and clearing his throat, and taking o f f his half-glasses and putting them back on again. Also there was a smeary look in his eye. He h u m m e d and hawed, and m u m b l e d about the concept of justice, and the discretion of the courts, and other such folderol, I hardly listened to him. He was so mournful and ill at ease, shifting his big backside on the prison chair and looking everywhere except at me, that I could hardly keep f r o m laughing. I pricked up my ears, though, when he started to mutter something about the possibility of my making a guilty plea — and this after all the time and effort he expended at the beginning in convincing me I should plead not guilty. N o w when I caught him up on it, rather sharply, I confess, he veered o f f at once, with an alarmed look. I wonder what he's up to? I should have kept at it, and got it out of him. As a diversionary measure he dived into his briefcase and brought out a copy of my mother's will. I had not yet heard the contents, and was, I need hardly say, keenly interested. Maolseachlainn, 1 noticed, found this subject not much easier than the previous one. He coughed a lot, and frowned, and read out stuff about gifts and covenants and minor bequests, and was a long time getting to the point. 1