by Tim Parks
There were three attackers then, the inspector asked, you got a glimpse of them? I was walking across the car park, Daniel said cautiously. Where from? Where had you been in the meantime? Daniel shook his head a fraction, stiffened with pain. Sorry, but I have no recollection. He mustn’t move his head. Is there a lot of time to account for? About an hour. It would be so useful for us to know, Mattheson said, for all sorts of reasons. Of course. You said you were going to the Polar Bear with Crawford, Hilary reminded him. She didn’t say he’d actually phoned her.
But anyway, there were three attackers, Mattheson repeated. Daniel asked: Wasn’t I sighted anywhere? That would help. All I know is, I was crossing the car park. On one of the upper floors. I seem to remember being in the lift. Anyway I have the impression then – I’ve been over it a hundred times – this impression of being bashed in the back, gripped in a vice and feeling this bag pulled hard over my head, all at the same time. That sounds like at least three people to me. Hilary shook her head. And why do you think they put a bag over you? the policeman wanted to know. Daniel closed his eyes. I have no idea. I feel guilty for being assaulted, he realised. After another ten minutes, the policeman left.
The left eye, the consultant told him, will regain some sight in due time. He could walk up and down the corridor now. Anyway, the right had always been the strong one. Discharge in a week, he was promised. Back to work as soon as strength returns. Meantime, he spoke to other patients. Wonderful girls, someone said of the nurses. They were all black or Asian. He had a television now, and a phone by the bed. His head ached. Justice is not primarily to serve society, but to guarantee dignity to the individual. Across the corridor Father Shilling was dying of lung cancer. There were five beds there. Voice bubbling with catarrh, he quoted St Augustine: When a man doesn’t serve God, how much justice can there be in him? Daniel played the elderly priest at chess. A non-believer couldn’t be denied a concept of justice, he objected. My mind’s beginning to work again, he told himself. It was a relief that Hilary had gone back to her lessons.
Christine came. They’ve taken about a thousand photos of the inside of my brain, he laughed. I was hoping they might be able to tell me something useful. She glanced round the small room. See what happens, she said coyly, when you kiss a married woman! She has dressed up for the occasion, he saw. Please, he said, I’ve been talking to a priest all morning. Apparently I can’t be a judge if I don’t go to confession.
Christine enquired and sympathised. The breasts were very much on show again. But she wasn’t happy. Martin, she told him, hadn’t moved an inch in all this time. It’s as if he were willing himself into a fever. He’s always taking his temperature. He has the thermometer in his mouth all day. She laughed nervously. She was wearing high heels in red lacquer. One day he says he’s a modern day renouncer, you know those Brahmin blokes who gave up on everything and crept off into the forest to meditate, leaving their womenfolk in the lurch. The next he says he must have some virus or something. Her shoes clicked. It’s silly! She began to look around to see where she might put down some flowers. I brought flowers, she said. Men always get fruit, so I bought you flowers. When Daniel enquired, she said that Martin was refusing to see a psychiatrist or have any tests or anything done. Not even their GP. How will he live, she asked rather brightly, if I leave him? She smoothed down her blouse. You won’t, Daniel smiled. He’ll get over it soon, whatever it is. Going out, she asked: did Hilary tell you that Jane’s marrying? A black girl came in with the tea trolley. Daniel watched her impossibly slim wrist as it tensed under the weight of the pot. Yes, he lied.
He watched television. The talk was all of some reservoir that had been polluted. The riots had been forgotten. Three weeks would be a long time to remember an evening of summer madness, a riot, or a kiss. His eye ached. He should have asked Christine about the last house payment, now due. Things go back to normal, he told himself. Knowing Christine couldn’t be home yet, he called Martin.
You’ve survived then, Martin said quietly. If it’s really me, Daniel laughed. Then he told his friend he needed help. There was silence at the other end of the line. No, it’s not about the house or money, he reassured him. No problem there, Martin said slowly, I’ve handed over everything to Christine. She’s making the payments. But it’s not about that. Listen, I need to find someone. Ah, Martin said. He seemed to be fiddling with something, the remote perhaps. Not Jane, I hope? No, of course not. Daniel himself had to keep his eye on the door. Hilary would arrive before too long. Perhaps with Tom. Then Martin said: You do know, Dan, that she’s marrying Crawford? Gordon Crawford, Judge Savage’s colleague, had been Jane’s long-term boyfriend before the affair with Daniel. I don’t suppose she ever quite broke off with him, Martin said. Then clearing his throat, his voice oddly matter of fact and mechanical, he began to say that there was a similar situation in Enemies and Relations, a South American soap: The lead actress, you see, is having two rather steamy affairs while still proceeding with arrangements to marry her dull doctor fiancé of five years standing. Of course she broke off with him! Daniel interrupted. I should know. Still holding the receiver, he stood up sharply beside the bed. At once he felt dizzy. He put a hand on the window-frame. You should have heard the kind of things she used to say about him! Again Martin left a short pause before speaking very quietly and calmly: I can’t remember you actually covering Hilary with compliments. But you never really broke with her. Did you?
What was it? Daniel knew he had taken another blow, in a part of himself that he hadn’t visited for a while. Every time he spoke to Martin he took a blow. Jane was marrying Crawford. What on earth had his colleague and ex-rival thought then, when Hilary asked him if he’d met Daniel in The Polar Bear? Collecting himself, he said: Hilary’s been so wonderful these weeks. I can imagine, Martin agreed. There was definitely the sound of the television in the background. No, listen, Mart, the person I need to find isn’t someone you know. Again there was a silence. Can I trust you? Daniel asked. His old friend said, Of course. No, I mean, can I trust you not to mention it to anyone, not even Christine. Silent as the grave, Dan, Martin promised. A tomb. The fact is I need, don’t ask me why, to find a young Asian girl whose father may have done something awful to her. Police, Martin said abruptly. But, listen . . . Dan, you know that if there’s any chance of a crime having been committed, you must go to the police and that’s that.
This was good advice. All the same, Daniel felt confused. Seeing the world through one eye is a big strain at first, the consultant had told him. Frustrated, he changed tack. Anyway, how are you, Mart? Fine, his friend said. You’re not going back to work? No, I’m not. I’m in bed, I’ve got the TV on, you know, bit of a temperature still. Always between ninety-nine and a hundred. But I’m perfectly happy.
This whole thing should have happened to him, Daniel suddenly realised: Minnie, the beating up. It should have happened to Martin. For some reason this appeared to be a useful thought. It clarified things. This insoluble little dilemma – it was little – should have happened to someone who had lost interest in life. It would have woken Martin up, obliged him to act, to live, to see he was important in other lives. But not to a man newly in love with hearth and home. Sarah will think I’ve abandoned her, he realised. I must get Hilary to give me her number.
Lying down again, Judge Savage phoned his brother. I’ll give you the two grand if you earn it, he told him. Perhaps the essence of those years of excitement, he reflected, when the call was over, his head on the pillow, was the feeling you always had of putting your life in another’s hands. You hadn’t wanted to lose anything, your wife, your job, but you needed, for some reason to place your safety and everything precious in another’s hands, in the hands of someone you barely knew. That was the essence of the kind of risk-taking he had indulged in. It created a sort of society, a secret below-the-surface intimacy more intense than any afforded by conventional relationships: this person, whom I scarcely know, could ruin my life – that was excit
ing – but they won’t. Do I really know anything about Frank? he wondered vaguely.
Judge Savage? In his sleep he had been searching for a clean lavatory, all blocked and laughter coming from behind every door. Your honour. Judge Savage. He woke to see the CPS woman. What was she called? He couldn’t remember. How kind of you to come, he said. He struggled onto his elbows. She had brought peaches and grapes. We were all so upset about what happened, she smiled. I hope you don’t mind my visiting.
The woman sat down on the edge of the chair beside the television. I can remember everything it would be more convenient to forget, Daniel thought, but I can’t remember her name. Cunningham? Catherine? It all seemed, she was saying, so totally out of proportion to anything at stake in the trial. You know. Why has she come to visit me, he wondered? What do we have to say to each other?
He asked: I gather you returned to the profession quite recently. In particular, it struck him as extraordinary that she had woken him up when he was sleeping. Something like that, she said. Surely the rule is that you let sick people sleep. There was an awkward silence. Sounds mysterious, he tried. He’d got into a sitting position now, in his dressing gown, the pirate patch on his eye. His head came level with hers. Casually dressed in trousers and light sweater, she had shed a certain brittleness that he had sensed in court. The creasing round the eyes, communicated eagerness. Absolutely without make-up, he noticed.
It’s not a secret, she laughed. My son had a problem at birth, there was a lack of oxygen to the brain. He’s retarded, I suppose you’d have to say. My husband left as a result. Anyway, for a long time I couldn’t work because of all the care he needed. Left her as a result, Daniel was wondering. For a moment he lost the thread. As a result? My mind still isn’t quite right. Then she was saying that she felt that as the institution of the family broke up, the law would inevitably be forced to become more active in this area.
How old is the boy, Daniel managed. Steven? Fifteen. She smiled. She was Irish, he remembered. He goes to a special school now, so I was able to start work again. Connaught? Was that it? But we should be talking about you, she suddenly announced. Everybody’s eager to have you back. When is it going to be? So then they spoke of work. Court three had been closed for renovation. I think this awful business has given everybody a new sense of how much responsibility we all bear, she said. Crawford was busy with an excruciatingly complicated and quite interminable fraud case. Perhaps she will be a friend, Daniel thought. An ally.
Now that you remind me, he said, I was wondering, just this morning in fact, about the stone throwing business. Is it . . . She hadn’t heard anything, she said. Since it wasn’t scheduled for some time she couldn’t imagine that it would have been allotted to anyone else. Not yet. This news cheered him. Very soon, he would resume his old position. He would be in court again, even better respected than before. Life’s other problems would recede into the background.
To go back to the Mishra business, he said generously. To be honest, I can’t understand how they arrived at their verdict on abduction. I felt the prosecution had an overwhelming case. They looked at each other. Sometimes I think they just decide on character, you know, she said, not the crime at all. They weigh the accused up and decide, especially where it’s the kind of crime they know won’t be repeated. He objected: But the Mishras never spoke, never gave the jury a chance to weigh them up. I thought it would work against them. She shook her head. Speaking is more often than not a way of betraying yourself; silent, people seemed dignified, don’t you think? They seem focused, above the fray. It was so kind of you to visit, Mrs Connolly, he said. That was her name. Please call me Kathleen, she laughed getting to her feet. Oh, and I’ll remember, he found himself saying as she turned a moment from the door, not to give evidence when finally they put me in the dock. Oh, but you could charm the hind leg off a donkey, judge, she smiled. You really could. Daniel felt he was getting better.
TEN
THE JURY’S DECISION, one of the weeklies had said, seemed less a pondered response to the evidence than a gut reaction against dominant trends. Daniel discussed the press cuttings with Father Shilling. Hilary had brought a pile. It can be interpreted as a last ditch defence, he read aloud from one eye, of what is now the only traditionally hierarchical institution to have survived the pressure of individualism and egalitarianism: the family. Emaciated as he was, Father Shilling insisted on playing chess while they talked. His fits of coughing made it hard to concentrate. And this for the simple reason, Daniel read the conclusion, that the helplessness of the young child obliges society to recognise a state of natural subordination that it would not countenance between adult individuals.
Easy to write articles, Daniel put the paper down. Not stupid, though, the priest said. Head sideways on the pillow, the dying man considered the board. When he opened the game in an unusual way, Daniel felt disorientated at first, but always managed to turn things back to something recognisable. The priest had an oddly oblique approach – pawn-to-queen’s-rook-three sort of thing – but the middle game always forced the general engagement. Daniel had done well at school. He counted on winning those complex exchanges where the mind boggles at what might happen when the swapping starts. I can never get my son to play, he remarked regretfully. Kids don’t appreciate that to get into a position where you can win, you have to go through a period of losing. In fact, he said, the thing the article doesn’t take into account is that children themselves don’t accept this state of subordination past about age eight. They want to decide for themselves.
Father Shilling moved very rapidly. The priest lives outside the family, he said, because the Catholic Church knows that it is impossible for one man to embrace every aspect of experience. His voice was bubbling with catarrh. That’s what hierarchy means if you follow me. Accepting your own specific area. The right hand or the left. The little finger or the thumb. The Protestant aberration, he claimed, he cleared his throat, was to suppose that men are all equal, not only before God but also here on earth, in every department.
Flat on his back, head twisted to one side to study the board, Father Shilling suddenly became earnest. They imagine that every man, and now every woman for heaven’s sake, can be sex partner, parent and priest. That is an extremely dangerous mistake, don’t you think? I wouldn’t know, Daniel said. He was vaguely aware that Professor Mukerjee had also spoken about fingers on the hand. It is evident to everyone – the priest cleared his throat again, he had been a heavy smoker – that social order – this according to Aquinas – consists mainly in inequality. But who would ever dare say that today?
Daniel chose not to exploit Father Shilling’s own more obvious mistakes. Finding it awkward to reach out an arm while his drip was running, the priest dictated his moves. Are you sure? Daniel asked. His opponent had a tendency to assume that two pieces were both safe when only defended by a single other. His faculties were fading. His skin was grey. But he never seemed unhappy with his game. He accepted defeat graciously.
Were you always quite sure, though – Daniel was dressed today and ready for discharge – that you wanted to be a priest, the celibate life, I mean? He smiled. It was the kind of personal question one felt one could ask a dying man before parting. Actually Daniel was thinking of Martin. The priest had that same mentor’s air to him. Wherever I go I seem to find myself a mentor. Father Shilling said nothing, engrossed in working out what he might still do to win their last game. He chuckled: If they cannot contain themselves let them marry, for it is better to marry than to burn. St Paul, he explained. Then coughing fiercely, making yet another unwise move, he said he felt the New Statesman piece had been on to something when it claimed that the family was now under house arrest – a nice pun. The more people don’t know how to behave, the more the State extends its power. Knight to king’s knight five, he said.
Oh I often have no idea at all how to behave, Daniel admitted, making the man’s move for him. He could see the end now. Again the priest looked up from the
game. Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me, Daniel, the dying man asked, before you leave? His rheumy eyes were neither inviting nor discouraging. After all, we’ll probably never see each other again. It’s just I feel there’s something you’re eager to tell me. I sense it.
No, no, Daniel said. I meant, I don’t know how to behave with the children. My daughter, for example, has got herself attached to some sort of evangelical group and is talking about giving her life to Jesus. I don’t know whether to try to force her to go to university or let her do what she wants. I suppose it’s better than her running off with a married man.
Father Shilling smiled. I preach, or preached, almost every day, he said. A habit, a duty. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never to give advice. Why so? Shifting the rook, Daniel thought, Got him! You can never know, the priest explained, what sort of equilibrium you might be upsetting, you know? Once, in the confession box, I told a man that he must give up his mistress. He was having an affair with a schoolgirl, for heaven’s sake, one of his students. I told him it had to stop. Shortly afterwards, he killed himself. Hardly your fault, Daniel said. The priest looked at the game, looked away. Good-humouredly he said: I think it was because I knew I’d be a terrible father that I became a Father, if you see what I mean. Check, Judge Savage told him.
Uncovering the bishop’s attack, a second queen was suddenly assured. Father Shilling resigned. He lay back. Soon all the pieces will be queens, he chuckled. I think that’s what your man in the paper is trying to say. There will be no bishops, no rooks, no knights. Above all no pawns to sacrifice. Everybody will be able to move any distance in any direction. A massacre! When Daniel turned, Hilary had appeared at the door. It’s been a great pleasure to talk with you, the priest said. He held out his hand.
They went down a service elevator, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes. You’ll get better faster now, Hilary whispered. She’s thrilled, Daniel realised. The consultant had insisted on dark glasses. In the gloom of the lift he kissed her cheek. It was the change he had always yearned for in his wife. Dan, she put her arms round him. Then even with the glasses, the light and space of the street was overwhelming. A bus roared. His head spun. An unmarked car was waiting. They told me to leave mine very visible round the front, Hilary laughed.
