The Stranger Came (42 page)

'You
haven't
heard
his
jokes!'
the
Great
Sovek
cried,
and
there
was
a
flurry
of
laughter
which
startled
her.
Monty
Norman
was
laughing
loudly
with
his
mouth
open
like
a
man
calling
for
help.
May
Stewart,
on
the
other
hand,
and
the
man
Terence,
the
one
who
had
just
written
his
thesis
funded
by
the
Trust,
made
a
narrow
grin
of
their
mouths
as
if
afraid
too
much
might
escape;
both
of
them
with
their
eyes
fixed
on
Maitland
as
if
for
permission.
I hope at least he's paid for his own ticket, she thought; it would be disgraceful if the Trust has paid for his ticket.
And
thinking
of
nothing
else,
concentrated
on
thinking
of
nothing
else,
she
looked
at
Sophie
Lindgren
who
stared
back
as
unsmiling
as
herself.

'To
come
back
to
the
idea
of
will-power,
though.
Is there
much
need
after
all
for
that
commodity,
I
wonder?'
Dull
Mr
Terence
with
his
mouth
making
scholarly
distinctions
while
his
eyes
checked
with
Maitland
to
see
if
this
was
an
acceptable
line
to
pursue.
He
knows
which
side
his
bread
is
buttered
on,
Lucy
thought.

'You
think
not?'

'It
seems
a
possibility
that
the
ones
who
"go
under"
–
would
that
be
the
right
way
to
put
it?
– lack
the
power
of
resistance,
don't
have
much
will
of
their
own
to
be
overpowered.’

'Easy
meat,
you
mean?'
The
Great
Sovek
bared
square
white
teeth
as
credentials
for
his
power
to
chew.

'I
couldn't
see
myself
going
under.
I'm
not
the
type.’

'I
don't
take
on
challenges.’
At
the
admission,
Mr
Terence
nodded
as
if
to
say,
Just as well in this case.
'I
used
to,
but
it
isn't
wise.
When
I
was
younger,
I
did.
One
time
the
guy
feeling
himself
go
started
lashing
out.
With
his
fists.
I
hadn't
realised
he
was
so
afraid.’

'And
did
you
succeed?'

'Oh,
yes.
But
I
got
a
black
eye
for
my
trouble.’

Again
there
was
a
response
startling
Lucy
by
its
strangeness,
making
her
feel
all
of
them
were
uncomfortable
with
this
talk
of
submission,
of
going
under,
a
metaphor
for
drowning.
Why
else
would
they
produce
these
sounds
not
like
real
laughter,
like
mimicry
of
laughter?
She
bent
her
head
under
a
flurry
of
barks
and
whinnying’s,
soft
expulsions
and
braying
like
the
clatter
of
metallic
parts.

'What
do
you
make
these
people
do?'
Lucy
heard
herself
ask.

Perhaps
she
had
spoken
too
loudly
or
too
abruptly;
or perhaps
only
that
it
was
unexpected,
coming
without
any preparation.
It
made
a
silence.

'I
shan't
spoil
it.’
The
Great
Sovek
shot
a
cuff
to
consult
a
wafer
of
gold
strapped
to
the
inside
of
his
wrist.
'Not
long
to
go,
then
you'll
see
for
yourself.’

'What?
I
can't
imagine
what
.
'

He
stared
at
her
as
if
suddenly
offended.
'You
needn't
worry.
No
one
is
made
a
fool
of
in
my
show.
People
have the
wrong
idea.
I
work
in
hospitals.
Doctors
ask
my
advice.’

'You
spoke
of
making
others
submit
to
your
will,' Maitland
said.

'There's
a
power
involved.
That's
one
way
of
describing
it.’

'Isn't
power
something
that
lends
itself
to
being
abused?'

'It
doesn't
work
like
that.
Listen.
If
I
told
a
young
girl
on
the
stage
“take
off
your
clothes!”
What
do
you
think
would
happen?'
He
looked
from
one
man
to
the
other
around
the
circle,
gauging
each
reaction
in
turn.
Laughed.
'She'd
wake
up!'

'So
it's
all
a
sham.’

'I
don't
know
that
word.’

'A
kind
of
game.
They
are
pretending.’

'It's
not
like
that.
How
would
you
go
about
pretending
not
to
feel
pain
while
a
knife
was
cutting
you
open?'
He
drew
a
line
with
his
finger
across
his
stomach
and
then
added
in
case
of
misunderstanding,
'Like
I
said,
hospitals.
At
home
in
Toronto
there's
a
doctor
I
work
with.’

'Ah,
then,
if
it's
a
game,'
Maitland
said
with
the
graceful
air
of
a
man
conceding
a
point,
'it's
a
serious
one.’

No
one
realised
about
the
man
in
the
corner
until
he
reacted
to
the
bersagliere
story.

The
Great
Sovek
told
it.
'I
heard
it
when
I
was
in
Italy.
They
say
a
lawyer
in
Palermo
was
defending
a
guy
against
a
charge
of
rape.
He
went
up
to
one
of
the
bersagliere
,
the
soldiers
on
guard
in
the
court,
you
know
those
guys
with
the
long
feather
in
their
hats? –
I
don't
know,
maybe
this
was
a
while
ago –
anyway,
the
guy
is
wearing
a
sword.
So
the
lawyer
gets
him
to
take
it
out,
and
the
lawyer
takes
the
scabbard.
“Put
your
sword
back
in
the
scabbard”,
the
lawyer
says.
And
the
guy
tries,
but
he
can't
manage
it.
“Slip
your
sword
in!
Slide
your
sword
into
its
place!”
the
lawyer
encourages
him.
By
this
time
the
soldier
is
sweating,
he's
embarrassed,
everybody
is
laughing.
He's
trying,
but
he
can't
manage
it.
Why?'
The
Great
Sovek
mimed
with
his
hand,
'Because
the
lawyer
is
doing
this –
just
moving
the end
of
the
scabbard
a
little
back
a
little
forward.’
He
grinned
round
at
all
of
them.
'The
guy
was
acquitted.
Not
guilty!'