The Unconsoled (30 page)

'Look!' Boris clutched excitedly at my arm. 'We're going out onto the north highway.'

Before I could respond, a middle-aged woman appeared beside me in the aisle. Grasping the head-rest of my seat to maintain her balance, she held out a piece of cake on a paper napkin.

'A gentleman at the back had this left over,' she said. 'He wondered if the young man would like it.'

I accepted it gratefully, once more thanking the bus in general. Then, as the woman disappeared, I heard a voice a few seats away saying: 'It's good to see a father and son getting on so well. Here they are, going on a little day trip together. We don't see this sort of thing nearly enough these days.'

I felt a powerful surge of pride at these words and glanced towards Boris. Perhaps he too had heard, for he gave me a smile that had more than a hint of the conspiratorial about it.

'Boris,' I said, handing him the cake, 'isn't this a marvellous bus? It was worth the wait, don't you think?'

Boris smiled again, but he was now examining the cake and said nothing.

'Boris,' I went on, 'I've been meaning to say to you. Because you might wonder sometimes. You see, Boris, I could never have wished for anything better…' I laughed suddenly. 'I'm sounding silly. What I mean is, I'm very happy. About you. Very happy we're together.' I gave another laugh. 'Aren't you enjoying this bus ride?'

Boris nodded, his mouth full of cake. 'It's good,' he said.

'I'm certainly enjoying it. And what kind people.'

At the back of the bus a few of the passengers began to sing. I felt very relaxed and sank deeper into my seat. Outside the day had grown overcast again. We were still in a built-up part of the town, but as I watched I saw two road signs go by, one after the other, marked: 'North Highway'.

'Excuse me,' a man's voice said somewhere behind us. 'But I heard you saying to the driver you were going to the artificial lake. I hope it won't be too chilly out there for you both. If you were just wanting somewhere nice to spend the afternoon, I'd recommend you get off a few stops earlier at the Maria Christina Gardens. There's a boating pond there the young man might like.'

The speaker was sitting directly behind us. The backs of our seats were tall and I could not see the man clearly even though I craned round to do so. In any case I thanked him for his suggestion - it was clearly well meant - and started to explain the special nature of our visit to the artificial lake. I had not intended to go into detail, but once I had started I found there was something about the convivial atmosphere around us that compelled me to go on talking. In fact, I was rather pleased by the tone I happened to strike, perfectly poised between seriousness and jocularity. Moreover, I could tell from the sensitive murmurs coming from behind me that the man was listening carefully and sympathetically. In any case, before long, I found myself explaining about Number Nine and just why he was so special. I was just recounting how Boris had come to leave him behind in the box when the passenger interrupted with a polite cough.

'Excuse me,' he said, 'but a trip of this kind is almost bound to cause a little worry. It's perfectly natural. But really, if I may say so, I think you have every reason to be optimistic' He was presumably leaning right forward in his seat, for his voice, calm and soothing, was coming from a spot just behind where Boris's shoulder was touching mine. 'I feel sure you'll find this Number Nine. Of course, you're worried just now. So many things could have gone wrong, you're thinking. That's only natural. But from what you've just told me, I feel sure it'll turn out well. Of course, when you first knock on the door, the new people might not know who you are and be a little suspicious. But then once you've explained they're bound to welcome you in. If it's the wife who's answered the door, she'll say: "Oh, at last! We've been wondering when you'd be coming round." Yes, I'm sure she will. And she'll turn and shout to her husband: "It's the little boy who used to live here!" And then the husband will come out, he'll be some kindly man, perhaps he'll be in the middle of re-decorating the apartment. And he'll say: "Well, at last. Come on in and have some tea." And he'll show you into the main room, while his wife slips into the kitchen to prepare the refreshments. And you'll notice straight away how much the place has changed since you were there, and the husband will see this and at first he'll be a little apologetic. But then, once you've made it quite clear you're not at all resentful about their changing things, he's sure to start showing you around the place, around the whole apartment, pointing out this change, that change, most of which he's seen to with his own hands and about which he's very proud. And then the wife will come into the living room with the tea and some little cakes she's made, and you'll all sit down and enjoy yourselves, eating and drinking, listening to this couple talking about how much they like the apartment and the estate. Of course, through all this, you'll both be concerned about Number Nine and be waiting for the right moment to bring up the purpose of your visit. But I expect they'll raise it first. I expect the wife will say, after you've been talking and drinking tea for a good while, she'll say: "And was there something you came back for? Something you left behind?" And that's when you could mention this Number Nine and the box. And then she's bound to say: "Oh yes, we kept that box in a special place. We could see it was something important." And even as she's saying this, she'll give her husband a little signal. Perhaps not even a signal, husbands and wives become almost telepathic when they've lived happily together for as many years as this couple have done. Of course, that's not to say they don't quarrel. Oh no, they may even have quarrelled quite often, perhaps even gone through patches over the years when they seriously fell out. But you'll see when you meet them, a couple like this, you'll see these things sort themselves out in the end and that they're essentially very happy together. Well, the husband, he'll go and fetch the box from some place where they keep important things, he'll bring it in, perhaps it'll be wrapped up in tissue paper. And of course, you'll open it straight away and this Number Nine, he'll be there inside, just the way you left him, still waiting to be glued to his base. So then you can close the box and the nice people will offer you some more tea. Then after a while you'll say you'll have to be going, you don't wish to impose on them too much. But the wife will insist you have more of her cake. And the husband will want to show you both around the apartment one last time to admire all his redecorating. Then finally they'll wave you off from the doorstep, saying to be sure to call whenever you're passing by again. Of course, it may not happen precisely like this, but from what you've told me, I feel sure, by and large, that's how things will turn out. So there's no need to worry, no need at all…'

The man's voice in my ear, together with the gentle swaying of the bus as it proceeded along the highway, was producing an enormously relaxing effect. I had already closed my eyes soon after the man had started to speak, and now around this point, sinking further into my seat, I dozed off contentedly.

I became aware that Boris was shaking my shoulder. 'We've got to get off now,' he was saying.

Becoming fully awake, I realised the bus had come to a halt and that we were the only remaining passengers. At the front the driver had risen to his feet and was patiently waiting for us to disembark. As we made our way down the aisle, the driver said:

'Do take care. It's very chilly out there. That lake, in my opinion, should be filled. It's nothing but a nuisance and every year several people drown in it. Admittedly some of these are suicides, and I suppose if the lake weren't there, they might choose some other more unpleasant method. But in my view the lake should be filled.'

'Yes,' I said. 'Obviously the lake provokes controversy. I'm an outsider myself so I tend to keep out of these arguments.'

'Very wise, sir. Well, do enjoy your day.' Then, saluting Boris, he said: 'Enjoy yourself, young man.'

Boris and I stepped down off the bus and as it drove away looked around at our surroundings. We were standing on the outer rim of a vast concrete basin. Some distance away, at the centre of the basin, was the artificial lake, its kidney shape making it resemble some gigantic version of the kind of vulgar swimming pool Hollywood stars were once reputed to own. I could not help admiring the way the lake - indeed the whole estate - proudly announced its artificiality. There was no trace of grass anywhere. Even the thin trees dotted around the concrete slopes had all been encased in steel pots and cut precisely into the paving. Looking down on the whole scene, completely encircling us, were the countless identical windows of the high-rise housing blocks. I noticed there was a subtle curve to the front of each block, making possible the seamless circular effect reminiscent of a sports stadium. But for all the apartments now surrounding us - at least four hundred, I guessed - there were hardly any people to be seen. I could make out a few figures walking briskly on the other side of the lake - a man with a dog, a woman with a pram -but there was clearly something about the atmosphere that kept people indoors. Certainly, as the bus driver had warned, the climate was not conducive. Even as Boris and I stood there a bitter wind came blowing across the water.

'Well, Boris,' I said, 'we'd better get a move on.'

The little boy seemed to have lost all his enthusiasm. He was staring emptily at the lake and did not move. I turned towards the block behind us, making an effort to put a spring into my step, but then remembered I did not know where in all this vastness our particular apartment was situated.

'Boris, why don't you lead the way? Come on, what's the matter?'

Boris sighed then began to walk. I followed him up several flights of concrete stairs. Once, as we were turning the corner to climb the next flight, he let out a shriek and stiffened into a martial arts posture. I was startled, but saw immediately there was no assailant other than in the boy's imagination. I said simply:

'Very good, Boris.'

Thereafter, he repeated the shriek and the pose before turning up each new flight of stairs. Then to my relief - I was growing short of breath - Boris led us off the stairs and along a walkway. From this higher vantage point, the kidney shape of the lake was all the more evident. The sky was a dull white and although the walkway was covered - there must have been two or three more running directly above - there was scant shelter and gusts of wind blew at us with savage force. On our left-hand side were the apartments, a series of short concrete stairways linking the walkway to the main building like little bridges across a moat. Some of the stairways led up to apartment doors while others led down. As we walked on, I found myself studying each of these doors, but when after a few minutes none of them had stirred even the faintest memory I gave up and glanced out at the view over the lake.

Boris, all the while, had been walking purposefully a few paces ahead, his excitement for our venture having apparently returned. He was whispering to himself, and the longer we walked the more his whispering seemed to grow in intensity. Then he began to jump as he walked, throwing karate blows at the air, the clatter of his feet echoing about us each time he landed. But he refrained from shrieking as he had on the stairs, and since we had not yet encountered a single person on the walkway, I decided there was no cause to restrain him.

After a while I happened to glance down at the lake and was surprised to find I was now looking at it from a considerably different angle. Only then did it occur to me that the walkway described a gradual circle right the way round the estate. It was perfectly possible that we could walk in circles indefinitely. I watched Boris hurrying on in front of me, busily performing his antics, and wondered if he remembered the way to the apartment any better than I did. Indeed, it occurred to me I had not planned matters at all well. I should at the very least have taken the trouble to contact beforehand the new occupants of the apartment. After all, when one thought about it, there was no reason why they would particularly wish to entertain us. A pessimism about the whole expedition began to come over me.

'Boris,' I called to him, 'I hope you're paying attention. We don't want to walk right past it.'

He glanced back at me without ceasing his furious mutterings, then ran on further ahead and recommenced his karate movements.

Eventually it struck me we had been walking an inordinate time, and when I glanced down again at the lake, I could see we had come at least a full circle around it. Ahead of me Boris was still muttering busily to himself.

'Look, wait a moment,' I called to him. 'Boris, wait.'

He stopped walking and gave me a sulky look as I came up to him.

'Boris,' I said gently, 'are you sure you remember the way to the old apartment?'

He shrugged and looked away. Then he said lamely: 'Of course I do.'

'But we seem to have gone right the way round.'

Boris shrugged again. He had become engrossed by his shoe, which he was angling one way and then the other. Eventually he said: "They would have kept Number Nine safe, wouldn't they?'

'I should think so, Boris. He was in a box, an important-looking box. They would keep something like that aside. High up on a shelf, somewhere like that.'

For a moment Boris continued to regard his shoe. Then he said: 'We went past it. We've gone past it twice.'

'What? You mean we've been walking round and round up here in this chilly wind for nothing? Why didn't you say so, Boris? I don't understand you.'

He remained silent, moving his foot one way, then the other.

'Well, do you suppose we should go back?' I asked. 'Or do we have to circle the lake yet again?'

Boris sighed and for a moment seemed deep in thought. Then he looked up and said: 'All right. It's back there. Just back there.'

We retraced our steps a short distance along the walkway. Before long Boris stopped at one of the stairways and glanced quickly up at the apartment door. Then almost immediately he turned his back to it and began once more to study his shoe.