by John Boyne
‘It’s in the records,’ Isaac insisted. ‘It’s a matter of historical fact. Look it up in any of the history books and you’ll read about it there. The coincidence isn’t that they should all be together at that point; the fact is that they were together because they were powerful and that in turn led to their legends. There’s nothing unusual about it. Nothing coincidental.’ I wasn’t sure but it was a story I liked anyway for although it was fairly uneventful, it was one that displayed a lot of the characteristics of my great-grandfather which would define his later life.
The election of General Grant to the presidency had been something of a sham. His predecessor, Andrew Johnson (who had replaced the assassinated Lincoln) had been unfairly impeached in 1867 and he was later acquitted in the senate on charges of treason, bribery and other high crimes and misdemeanours, but impeachment had resulted in a reorganisation of the voting procedures in the southern states along anti-racist lines, splitting the Republican Party and securing the election of Grant over the New York governor Horatio Seymour due to the massive amount of vote boycotting which took place. Once the election had been secured there was widespread dismay at the manner in which the election had come about and despite the fact that he had secured a majority of votes, Grant became an unpopular figure almost immediately. Seymour continued to protest his loss and it was proving difficult for the new president to claim an effective mandate. To counter this, he sought throughout that first term to improve his standing among the American people and brought newspapermen with him wherever he travelled, the first president to be so observed and followed by the national media.
The respect afforded to General Custer and the growing popularity of Buffalo Bill presented President Grant with a perfect opportunity for a media story and he arranged to dine at the fort in order to be seen as the leader of his own invented trinity. Custer was the more nervous in advance of the meeting, fearing that something would go wrong and he would incur the wrath of the president, but my great-grandfather enjoyed the proceedings, looking forward to the glittering state occasion.
When the president and his entourage arrived on a late autumn evening in 1870 he slowed down his horse a mile from the fort so that the newspapermen who were riding at some distance behind could precede him. There were eight of them in total and they went on to the fort, announcing the imminent arrival of the party, and waited to make notes about the exchange of greetings between the most important men. General Custer and his wife Libbie were at the head of the party, the general wearing an outlandish military costume of his own design. (It was one of Custer’s idiosyncrasies that he was, in his spare time, a clothing designer, like General Patton seventy years later, and only ever wore uniforms which he had made himself.) Bill and Louisa remained a few steps behind and were less anxious than the general for they had nothing to lose and could not be held at fault if anything untoward happened.
The president arrived with an entourage of fourteen and, like Custer, he was dressed in his military uniform, albeit one of a less garish design than that of his most famous general. The greetings were effusive and the newsmen took note of how warm the greeting was between each man. Custer then introduced his own wife to the president and she curtsied graciously, at which point Bill and Louisa stepped forward to be introduced. My great-grandfather had never met Ulysses S. Grant before, had never met any president for that matter, and for once felt slightly humbled as he was introduced. Grant greeted him affectionately and brought both men over towards the press pack who threw questions at them immediately.
‘Mr President,’ shouted one. ‘Are you here to advise General Custer on plans for moving the Cheyenne from their territory?’
‘I’m here for my dinner!’ roared Grant. ‘That’s all. We’ll be leaving politics off the menu.’ No one believed that for a moment.
‘General Custer!’ cried another. ‘When will the push begin?’ Custer barely looked at his inquisitor; unlike the other two men he was no fan of newspapers and declined to answer any questions. This was a time when such people were under no pressure to speak if they did not want to.
‘Mr Cody,’ came another shout. ‘What are your plans for—’
‘That’s Buffalo Bill, son!’ said the president with a laugh. ‘Don’t you fellows have any respect? Why, this is only the bravest man south of the Mason–Dixon line. He earned that title, boys! Have the decency to use it!’
Bill smiled to himself at the endorsement and raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m here to eat a meal with the president that good old General Custer invited us to.’ He looked across at the general who eyed him suspiciously.
‘Will there be buffalo on the menu tonight?’ asked one wag.
‘Yes,’ said Custer curtly.
‘General Custer has spent the last few days roaming the prairies looking for just the right buffalo to feed a president with,’ laughed Bill, grabbing the attention of all now. ‘He needed one with a hide big enough to fit the seal of this president and it took him a while to find one.’ There was a silence from all quarters as everyone waited to see how Grant would react to such a jibe, but to everyone’s relief he laughed heartily and threw his arm around Bill.
‘I’ll warrant that if you had General Custer here and Buffalo Bill out on the prairies shooting for buffalo, you’d have a good afternoon’s hunting,’ he said. ‘What do you say, men? You on for a little one-on-one?’ Bill and Custer looked at each other and said nothing. This would not have been a good idea as neither man might have recovered from defeat and, if such a match took place, one of them would be forced to. Luckily it was not to be as Grant had other things on his mind. ‘Maybe someday we’ll do that,’ he said, to the relief of them both. ‘But not anytime soon. We’ve got a lot more pressing business than horseplay for now. That’s all for now, fellas. We’ll see you inside.’
The party moved inside for the meal and throughout it my great-grandfather and the president courted each of the members of the news pack. Custer sat aloof, unable to join in, for he was a distant fellow at the best of times and could no more create his own publicity than Bill could walk away from his. He envied my great-grandfather his showman abilities. The president and Bill got on very well that night and became firm friends, something which the newspapers reported in detail afterwards. It was a bad night for General Custer, who never forgave Bill for upstaging him and would have loved the opportunity for the one-on-one hunting combat that never happened had he not been so fearful of the consequences of defeat.
From that night, their wary friendship became a deep-seated hostility and one which, at their next meeting, would flare up into their most destructive encounter.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ I couldn’t help but smile. Instinctively, I put a hand to my face, wondering whether I had really changed that much over the previous two years.
‘Isaac,’ I said, grinning at him. ‘It’s me. William.’
‘William!’ he gasped, walking forward into the twilight now and I steadied myself for what differences I might see in him. I didn’t know what the nature of his illness was and what physical effects it might have had on him but felt prepared for the worst. However, that was unnecessary as he didn’t look much different than the last time I’d seen him. A few more grey hairs perhaps but as always he seemed in fairly good physical condition for a man of his age. ‘I didn’t recognise you. I wasn’t expecting you, you see. If I’d known, I would have … I would have …’ He struggled to complete his sentence but was clearly unsure of what he would have done had he known, so I reached forward and we hugged awkwardly instead. ‘Well come inside,’ he said, looking out at the driveway to see whether I had much luggage but there were just the two small bags and my rucksack. I’d travelled light when I’d left England in the first place and had only brought home with me those things I felt I couldn’t leave behind. ‘Do you want a hand with those?’ he asked, stepping outdoors but I waved him back inside.
‘I’ve carried them halfway across the world,’ I told him wi
th a smile. ‘Don’t worry. I think I can manage them up the stairs.’ I brought them in but dropped them in the hallway for the time being. The air was a little musky and I wanted to open a window – I suspected he never bothered with such niceties – but felt it would be a little rude to suddenly reappear and insist on having things my way.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ he asked, looking me up and down as if I was a car he was considering buying. ‘You’ve grown taller, haven’t you?’
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ I said. ‘And I think I’ve probably hit my full height, you know. I am twenty-two years old.’
‘You’re taller than me!’
‘A little.’ I stood at just over six feet in height; Isaac stood a little under. The physical difference between us, however – the body’s strength in youth against its fragility in age – exaggerated our relative sizes. I had always felt big in Japan as the Japanese are generally physically smaller. Standing with a group in a bar one always felt larger and more muscular, and therefore somehow more masculine than others; I hadn’t expected to feel that way back home in London and hadn’t until I was standing alongside my father again. ‘You’re looking well,’ I offered, feeling we had plenty of time to get into that one and not wishing to bring it up just yet.
‘You’ll have a cup of tea,’ he said, ushering me into the living room where the remains of his dinner was on a table in front of his armchair; he’d been watching a soap opera. I recognised the actor on screen, a dark-haired boy in his mid-teens who’d started in that show a few months before I’d left London, when I’d been a regular watcher. Seeing him there brought back a flood of my own memories from that time, evenings when I’d sat in front of the TV for hours on end, following these dramas as if my whole life depended on them. The sound of the London accents jarred me for a moment; they were more pronounced than I had heard so far but as different from the Japanese tongue as anything I could imagine. I stared at the screen and realised fully that I was back home and that nothing had changed. My stomach churned again.
‘You know what?’ said Isaac, coming back into the room and switching off the television, the dark-haired boy’s face collapsing into a small dot at the centre of the screen which took a moment to disappear. (It was an old set.) ‘This calls for a drink. I should really have a fatted calf ready, shouldn’t I?’
I smiled. ‘Don’t go to too much trouble,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty tired anyway. Maybe just one drink. A nightcap. I’m still on Japanese time and need to catch up.’
‘How long are you here for? Are you on your own?’ he asked quickly, rooting for as much information as he could get in as short a time as possible.
‘For good, I guess,’ I said. ‘For the foreseeable future anyway. And yes, I’m alone.’
‘For good,’ he echoed and his face was beaming. ‘Now this’ll be just like old times. This is marvellous.’
‘I got your letter,’ I said quickly, unsure whether the moment was appropriate yet but he vanished again almost immediately before returning with a bottle of whisky and two glasses. I shook my head.
‘I’d prefer a cold beer if you’ve got one,’ I said. ‘I’m really thirsty. Or just a Coke maybe.’
‘I think I have,’ he said. ‘Hold on.’ He went back to the kitchen and I looked around the room, noting the memories of my childhood in every corner and on every wall. Everything was pretty much as I had left it. Over the fireplace was the painting of Buffalo Bill Cody which had been hung there before I was even born. The books were all the same and, I presumed, had been untouched since my departure. The carpet was old, the curtains could have done with a wash, but for the most part he kept the room quite tidy. On a whim, I turned around and glanced up at the wall and was not surprised to see the Smith & Wesson gun perched on its usual hook. I smiled and shook my head.
‘One cold beer,’ said Isaac, handing me a bottle. ‘Sit down, sit down. There’s so much to catch up on. If only I’d known you were coming,’ he said yet again.
‘I got your letter,’ I repeated. ‘That’s why I came.’
‘That was good of you,’ he said quickly. ‘So how was Japan?’
I opened my mouth to speak but it was hard to find words to describe it. If this was to be a getting-reacquainted conversation, I hardly felt like I could describe the country and its people to him in a few empty sentences. A part of me didn’t want to either as I was afraid that once I had spoken of it, he might never ask again. ‘That’s a long story,’ I said. ‘I’ll fill you in another time. It’s good to be home,’ I added, wanting to say something emotional, something that might express my feelings in some way. I was afraid of the conversation about his illness and wanted to let him know that I wasn’t just there on a mission of mercy.
‘It’s good to have you here, son,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep more in contact.’
‘Oh, you were busy, I understand that. I didn’t exactly write much myself. But you’ve got it out of your system now and that’s a good thing.’
I felt a twinge of irritation suddenly; that old feeling that he didn’t have a clue who I was resurfaced. ‘Got what out of my system?’ I asked quietly.
‘The travelling. All of that. Japan. I mean I know that I couldn’t live there for ever, I don’t know about you. I wouldn’t be able to deal with the food for one thing. I like to know what I’m eating. I’ve got respect for my stomach.’
I had a sudden urge to jump up, run out of the house and head straight back to Heathrow. ‘Well I liked it there,’ I muttered. ‘We’ll see about the future.’
‘You know I saw those friends of yours in town a few weeks ago? What were their names again? Adam and Justin, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, that’s right,’ I said, looking up hopefully. ‘Where did you see them?’
He shrugged as if he couldn’t quite remember. ‘Coming out of a pub probably. Where else. They said hello. Asked when you were coming back. I said I didn’t know.’
‘They’re here then? They’re in London?’
‘I often see them around,’ he said, reaching down for his glass. I smiled. This gave me a glimmer of hope. Things couldn’t be all that bad if they were here. I hadn’t heard much from Adam since he had left Japan for the Australian Gold Coast. We’d exchanged some e-mails but they’d slipped away. The last I’d heard he was on his way to South America, but that had been almost a year before. I’d sent a few cards to Justin, and he’d written once or twice, but again it was difficult to stay in touch when our lives had diverged so much. Still, I knew it would be good to see them again and debated whether I was alert enough to go drinking with them that very night before I decided it would be rude to disappear so soon after my reappearance, even though I really wanted to.
‘So …’ I said, already struggling for words, searching for that missing conversation I’d been denied all these years. ‘What are you … what do you do now? How are you filling your days?’
‘A-ha!’ he cried, his face breaking into a wide grin. ‘That’s news for another evening too. I’m very busy at the moment, I don’t mind telling you. I may need your help with a little project I have on the go.’
‘Sure,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders, imagining that he might want to redecorate the house perhaps. ‘Whatever I can do.’
‘There’s lots you can do, William. Lots you can do. This will be just like the old days, father and son working alongside each other.’ I was unsure which old days he was referring to; some mythical ones between us, or an idyllic one he had dreamed of perhaps, but didn’t bother to question him. I yawned suddenly, the exhaustion of the previous thirty-six hours finally hitting home and felt an overwhelming urge for bed. ‘Look at you,’ said Isaac laughing. ‘You’re exhausted. I haven’t seen you this tired since you were a little boy. Why don’t you go on up to bed and get some sleep. You’ve barely touched your beer. We can talk tomorrow.’
‘Well if you don’t mind …’ I s
aid. ‘I could do with a rest.’
‘To bed then,’ he said, and it was like we had gone back in time about fifteen years. ‘I’ll clean up here, don’t worry. Your bed’s all made up.’
I had stood up and was walking towards the door when that phrase pulled me back. I turned around and looked at him in surprise. ‘My bed’s all made up?’ I asked. ‘How come? You didn’t know I was coming?’
He looked at me and for a moment I thought I could see his face redden slightly before he reached back down to the table to clear away the bottles. ‘Sometimes I make it up,’ he explained. ‘Just to keep the room fresh. You never know who’s going to drop by, do you? Visitors, I mean.’ I thought about it. I supposed not but nevertheless, it struck me as a little odd. ‘Go to bed, William,’ he insisted. ‘I mean it now.’
I nodded. I went to bed.
The note was brief and to the point and left me completely amazed.
‘William –,’ it began, ‘forgot to mention last night – I’ll be away for the next couple of days. Business trip. Sorry about this but you’ll have to sort yourself out until I come back. See you Tuesday.’ He hadn’t bothered to sign it. I had slept very late, not waking until well after midday, the jet-lag having caught up with me at last. I still felt quite groggy as I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went downstairs for some breakfast but Isaac’s note woke me up completely. How could he have just vanished within twenty-four hours of my reappearance? It didn’t make any sense. And as for that line about a business trip? In twenty-two years, I’d never known him to have to go on any such thing. I shook my head and went back to bed for an hour, dozing now, wondering what was going on in my father’s life these days that I was not privy to and whether I should have returned home sooner than this.