The Winds of Change (45 page)

‘It helps, along with this’–Johnson raised his glass–’to get you through the day.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if the whole purpose of life is simply getting through it.’

Johnson laughed again, let the laugh lapse into silence. After a minute of this he said, ‘Whatever the purpose, I don’t think we have much control over it.’

Jury frowned. ‘I don’t know if I agree with that or not. Let me think.’

Johnson smiled a little and let him think.

Jury said, ‘But do you mean we’re controlled by external forces?’

‘Some. But I think it’s more internal forces. The unconscious. I don’t think we know why we’re doing what we’re doing most of the time.’

‘Hmm.’ Jury was only partially aware he’d been studying his empty glass, wondering when he had drunk it all, until Johnson said, ‘Let’s have another.’ He signaled to the barman, Trev.

Jury sat up. ‘I think I’ve had enough, actually.’

Johnson laughed again. ‘No you haven’t.’ When he caught Trev’s eye, he made circles in the air over the empty glasses.

When the fresh drinks arrived, Jury said, ‘I still don’t know. Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Fair enough.’ Then he extended his hand. ‘Incidentally, I’m Harry Johnson.’

‘Richard Jury.’ Jury shook his hand. ‘At times, I think we’re waiting for a story.’

‘A story?’

‘You know, the way we used to when we were kids. Not just at bedtime, but anytime, wanting a narrative to take us out of things. Even if we make it all up as we go along. That’s what some sleep experts say we do with dreams.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Well, some say dreams are meaningless, that they’re just mental detritus, or debris left over from that particular day’s wreck. But the question this raises is this: if the dream’s actually meaningless, just the day’s leavings, then what about the narrative? Why are dreams stories? No matter that the images are strange or exotic or unreal why is there a story, why do events follow one upon the other?’

‘Good question.’

‘So the dream experts answer it by saying, oh, well, the dreamer supplies the narrative. The dreamer makes up the story himself.’

Harry Johnson thought about this for a moment, then said, ‘But doesn’t it come to the same thing? The dream still means something because it’s the dreamer himself who’s linking the images together, if you see what I mean.’

‘Absolutely.’

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Harry Johnson said, ‘If you want a story, I’ll tell you a story–though I can’t explain it, or tell you the end; there isn’t any end.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’

‘Oh, it’s intriguing, all right.’

‘Go on.’

‘It happened to a friend of mine. This person, who was the luckiest person I’ve ever known–you could almost say was hounded by good luck–lost everything overnight.’

‘Bloody hell. You mean in a market crash, something like that?’

‘No, no. Not money. I mean he lost everything. He woke up one morning and found himself sans wife, son, even his dog. He did not know what had happened, and of course no one would believe him and he had no idea what to do. He considered going to the police, but what in hell would he say? They wouldn’t believe him, I mean wouldn’t believe the wife, the son, the dog had simply disappeared; well, you know how bloody-minded police can be–’

‘I do indeed.’ Jury smiled in a crazy kind of way.

‘Right. Families don’t all of a sudden disappear–I mean, unless some psychopath walks in and murders them all. He told me he felt he was living in a parallel universe, that his wife and son were in one and he was in another.’

‘Then what did he do?’

‘He hired the best private detectives. They found nothing, not a trace. There was simply no trail.’ Harry stopped, took out another cigarette, offered the case to Jury again, and Jury again refused. ‘That was a year ago.’

‘And–?’ It struck Jury suddenly, the answer to the question he had glumly posed to himself earlier: what kept him going? Here was the answer: curiosity. He waited for Harry Johnson to fill in the blank after ‘And–.’

Harry lit his cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke and said, ‘The dog came back.’

Jury stared. ‘This is a joke, right?’

Unsmiling, Harry Johnson said, ‘No, it isn’t. The dog just came back.’ They were both silent for a moment while Harry Johnson seemed to be collecting himself. ‘So do you want to hear the rest of it?’

Dumbly, Jury nodded.

Man walked into a pub...