When they had finished their tea, they played through two more sonatas, until they both agreed they were feeling tired. At the end of the last one, as Charles lifted his hands from the keyboard, he felt Robert’s hand on his shoulder.
‘Let’s stop now,’ said Robert. The hand remained on King’s shoulder longer than was necessary to say this.
Indeed, as Robert himself had said; one should never underestimate the power of gestures. Standing in the Fitz-william Museum, Charles had watched a pretty school-teacher lead a group of children. He had caught her eye several times. And on one such occasion she lifted her hair away from her face as she returned his gaze. The next time, she smiled, and King waited for the moment when he could begin a conversation. What he now needed was a gesture that would say to her: Enough.
Robert’s hand had rested lightly on his shoulder, and now it was gone. Robert was once again putting away the violin with the care which a mother might bestow on her child, and King was leafing through the pile of scores. Amongst them was a folder, which he opened, and found several sheets of handwritten notes.
‘Oh,’ said Robert, ‘don’t look at those!’ and King obeyed.
‘Is it poetry?’ King asked. He had noticed the even spacing of the lines.
Robert blushed, and confessed to having penned the odd bit of verse, though at the moment he was also doing some translations of foreign poets, and this was what the folder mostly contained. He had been working on them in his office before coming to King’s flat.
King tried to ask him about his writing, but Robert was embarrassed to discuss it, and so turned the conversation back to Charles.
‘Why don’t you take up the pen? Your little story about the crowd of hostages the other day might make an interesting essay!’
In fact, Charles had already considered this. On Saturday, before Anne had arrived at his door to disturb him, he had begun working on an article to which he had given the title ‘The River of History’. There was at that time a brief craze for pamphlets of all kinds. Though still illegal, they were tolerated; and you would find them everywhere – pasted on walls, or lying on a seat when you got on a bus. Left between the pages of library books – even hidden amongst the tins on a supermarket shelf. Anonymous, irrepressible voices, which came from unknown underground presses, or illicitly used photocopiers. Not only on political topics – there would be song lyrics about all the usual things, or gossip – even recipes. It was more than a fad – it was an experiment with limited freedom of expression, and people were delirious with excitement at the idea. Now King wanted to join in – he wanted to make a pamphlet of his essay. He told Robert about it.
‘A spring rises in a mountain somewhere; it flows down-hill into a valley, where it meets other streams. They merge and form a great river which flows into the sea. If you look at the shape of the river on a map, what do you see? At the coast, there’s the thick line which represents the river at its fullest. Go back inland along its course, and you see the river split into its tributaries, and they again split; until you have the feathery pattern of mountain streams which is how the whole thing began. Now ask yourself, what was each stream trying to do? Was it trying to find a river to flow into? No – it was simply responding to the force of gravity, by finding the shortest path down the mountain. Each of the streams does this, and so they find themselves merging in the valley below and producing a river which could provide electricity for a whole town – or sweep away an entire community. The course of the river – from that feathery pattern in the mountains right down to the place where it meets the sea – is dictated by the shape of the landscape, and the force of gravity.
‘Now imagine a nation of individuals. Each one is driven by some natural force – the will to survive, to rear children, and so on. Each acts in response to this; yet the result is some great surge in one direction or the other, like the course of the river.
‘Or imagine those hundred people and the lone machine-gunner. They all run, or they all stand. In either case, each person is responding to the same instinctive urge, but the slightest difference in circumstances can mean the difference between escape and survival, or else death.’
‘But Charles, if you’re trying to say that the course of history is like the course of a river, then there’s something else you ought to take into account. The river doesn’t simply follow the landscape – it changes it. What about erosion, and sedimentation, and all those other things that geographers go on about?’
‘Yes, yes of course. But my picture is more complicated even than that. Not only does this “river of history” change the landscape which it flows through, but the landscape itself is constantly changing anyway, because of other factors. You could think of each person as having his own personal “landscape” determined by the way everyone else behaves; and he in turn affects other people’s behaviour. It’s a dynamical thing.’
‘I’m getting lost, Charles. But it seems to me, that you think history can be turned into some kind of equation. I suppose you think then we could predict everything that’s going to happen in the future?’
While King was writing, Anne had come to disturb him. And he had imagined two streams, running briefly together, then splitting and following their separate paths down different sides of the hill.
He knew that Robert had not understood what he was saying, but this only made him more eager to finish writing it down, and make his ideas clearer.
‘I’ve got it, Charles. What you’re saying, is that we’re at a watershed. Is that it?’
‘Yes, but what I want to know is how the geography of the landscape is determined in the first place. Why have we reached the watershed now, and not ten years ago?’
‘That’s what historians are here for, Charles. But I look forward to reading your essay.’
‘Why don’t you help me? I’m thinking of putting together a pamphlet – we could include some of your poetry. Might be able to find some more people who could contribute on a regular basis. I’m going to call it Flood. How does that sound?’
King had said nothing to Anne about Flood. He and Robert had played a couple of sonatas together, and now he felt he knew Robert better than he knew the woman with whom he had slept a dozen times. He found this thought distasteful, but he could not deny it.
Robert said he’d think about the pamphlet, but that he’d better be going, and would ring soon to arrange another musical session. He took a page from his folder, turned it to its blank side, and casually tore a strip from the bottom on which to make a note of King’s number. And he wrote beside it the letters FLO in neat script, like an index in a file. Yes, he said, he’d think about it. Then he stood up, and King showed him to the door. They shook hands warmly before parting.
It was a time of hope; there was a sense in those days that history was about to happen. Like a flock of birds that was swirling, while some unseen force was trying to decide whether to send them veering one way or the other. Yet five years later, all that would remain would be the memory of some tanks, and some brave people facing teenage soldiers. Five years later, Robert would be married to that woman in whose bed King had lain asleep until half past nine. And he would receive a phone call, asking him to report to the police station.
10
‘Take a seat Mr. Waters. My name’s Inspector Mays; Constable Perkins here is going to take the notes. We think you might be able to help us with an investigation we’re carrying out at the moment. Give us the benefit of some of your education. First in Classics and Ancient History, it says here.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can you read Greek?’
‘If that’s what you need then I think you’ve got the wrong man, Inspector.’
‘Perhaps. We’ll see. But you’re obviously a very talented fellow – I can tell why they’re so keen on getting you to write this book. What does Anne think about it?’
‘My wife? Nothing in particular. I mean, she’s pleased. Well, we haven’t really discussed it.
’
‘She should be proud of you. It’s a great honour.’
‘Yes, but I mean, I’m not really at liberty to discuss it with her.’
‘No, I suppose not. You’re as well to be cautious. Says here she’s a teacher. Should know all about discipline. Are you a believer in discipline?’
‘I believe in teaching children right from wrong.’
‘And how do you do that?’
‘By setting the right example.’
‘So what do you do when a child does something wrong?’
‘I tell him off.’
‘Is that all? There is a danger with that, isn’t there? Spare the rod? If you let them get away with little things then they end up doing far worse. You know, some people say that the law in this country is a bit too severe in some cases. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s … appropriate.’
‘Always?’
‘Yes.’
‘Our philosophy sounds a bit different from yours, though. You see, we don’t believe in sparing the rod. It’s all very well setting a good example, but for some people that still isn’t enough.’
‘Bringing up a child isn’t the same as policing a nation of adults.’
‘Really? I’m not so sure. Sometimes adults need to be taught right from wrong. Sometimes they need a rap on the knuckles if they’ve been a bit naughty.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Does the name Ganymede mean anything to you?’
‘Ganymede? No.’
‘I thought you had a First in Classics?’
‘Yes. I mean it’s mythology, not history.’
‘History, mythology, it’s all the same to me. Don’t you know the story?’
‘Let me think. Wasn’t he the one who was abducted by Zeus, disguised as an eagle? Zeus was in love with him.’
‘In love with him. You know what he’d get for that nowadays, don’t you? Five years, easily. Not counting the abducting bit. Investigating judge wouldn’t be too happy with that either. What do you think about that, Mr. Waters? Five years. Would that be a bit harsh?’
‘It’s the law.’
‘Yes, but do you think it would be “appropriate”?’
‘I suppose that society has to be protected.’
‘Indeed. Fancy a cup of tea, Mr. Waters? Perkins, go and do the honours. You see, we’ve reopened an old case. Funny how it happens – something turns up, something insignificant – but it’s a bit odd, and it makes you curious. Then you take a look in the files and you find you’re onto something. We’re looking for someone who used the name Ganymede. Sort of a codename. Any ideas?’
‘No.’
‘Sure about that? A friend, maybe?’
‘I’m quite sure. What’s this person supposed to have done?’
‘Why don’t you tell me a bit more of the story, now it seems to be coming back to you?’
‘I don’t think there is any more.’
‘Zeus kept him as his cup bearer – his catamite, in fact. Don’t need a First in Classics to be able to go and look that up in a book. But I also read something about him being put among the stars. I couldn’t find a constellation called Ganymede.’
‘It’s Aquarius.’
‘Ah, I see. My wife’s birth sign, that. Funny. You believe in all that stuff Mr. Waters?’
‘No. But I’m a Libra if you’re interested.’
‘Yes. We know. Put it there Perkins, that’s it. How do they get Aquarius from Ganymede?’
‘Water bearer. It’s Latin.’
‘Of course. Water. That makes sense. Want some milk and sugar in your tea? I’m off the sugar at the moment – the wife has put me on another diet. All a matter of self-control, I suppose. Self-discipline. Are you a believer in self-discipline?’
‘I like to think so.’
‘Not the sort who’d go discussing classified information with his friends and family?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘The sort of person who can keep a secret?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you have many secrets?’
‘No. I mean, this book they want me to work on …’
‘I’m not asking you about the book, Mr. Waters. You’re not here to be vetted – that’s for Section Five to deal with. We just need some help in our enquiry. So let’s get back to Ganymede. Not a nice story, is it? All about child rape, as far as I can see.’
‘I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that.’
‘Then how would you put it?’
‘It’s a myth; you’re not meant to take it literally. It’s symbolic.’
‘What does it symbolize?’
‘I don’t know. It could be many things. There are lots of stories about Zeus carrying people away for one reason or another; often the abduction really represents something more abstract, like being seized by some emotion or idea. And there are other interpretations, of course. The eagle is a symbol of power …’
‘Of state authority, for example? Seizing a little boy and carrying him away? Taking him into care, say, if his parents were a bad social example?’
‘Are you trying to accuse me of something?’
‘It’s only hypothetical; don’t take it personally. You see, I’m just trying to get some insight into this “Ganymede”. What sort of person he might be, how he might think.’
‘I still don’t really understand how I’m supposed to be of help to you. I haven’t told you anything you don’t already know.’
‘But we’ve hardly started yet. I’ve still got a lot more questions, Mr. Waters. Maybe not today, though. No rush. You’re something of a writer, aren’t you? This book, and so on. Do you ever do any other writing? Stories, poems, anything like that?’
‘I’m not the creative type. I stick to facts.’
‘Then you’re a man after my own heart. Finding out the facts, that’s what we’re both interested in. I think that maybe we have a lot in common. Got any friends who write?’
‘Not that I know of. It isn’t a crime, is it?’
‘Depends what sort of thing you write about. And an artistic personality can sometimes indicate a lack of good judgement in other areas. In the moral sphere, for example. You see, when people are morally weak, it can lead to more serious things. If someone can’t be part of normal society, then he feels isolated, outcast. Perhaps all he needs is a little help and guidance. A little self-discipline. Otherwise he might become anti-social, or even subversive. I think “Ganymede” may be in need of some guidance. And I think that you – with your expert knowledge – might be in a position to help us find him.
‘But time is pressing, Mr. Waters; you’ve been a great help to us today. Perhaps when you go away and you’ve got more time to reflect on what I’ve said then something more will come to mind that you feel is worth discussing. We can talk about it next time. But for the moment, I’d better let you get back to work – Perkins will show you out. Goodbye for now, Mr. Waters. And give my regards to the family.’
11
While Robert was at the police station, Charles was sitting through a seminar. He found it frustrating and tedious. He felt irritated that he had allowed Robert’s anxiety to take hold of him. What was there for Charles to be afraid of?
During the rest of the afternoon, he expected to get another call from Robert, but there was nothing. He checked the three copies of his paper, and wrote out a summary for the Office of Publications. Then he took everything to Joanna, so she could type the summary and send the paper to the Journal of British Physics. He found Joanna alone, fiddling with her typewriter; she seemed to be having trouble with a key that was sticking.
‘Do you need a hand with that?’ he said.
‘I’ll have to send a note to Maintenance.’
‘If we can sort it out now it’ll save you the trouble. Let’s have a look.’ He bent over the keyboard and began to poke at the keys and levers. ‘If you wiggle it about a bit they sometimes sort themselves out.’ He was
leaning closely over the stubborn typewriter, and so now was Joanna. He could smell the harsh edge of her perfume, and he was aware of her breasts beneath her stiff white blouse.
‘Don’t waste your time with it, Dr. King.’ She didn’t move.
‘If I can just reach this bit in here – see, it’s got a bit bent. See it there?’ Joanna leaned in closer to look, and King could almost feel her breath against his cheek. ‘Difficult to give it the right sort of pressure from this angle.’
‘I might be able to reach. My fingers are smaller.’
‘Try not to break a nail. That’s it. Just push.’
His dislike for Joanna didn’t prevent him from enjoying this moment. As she pushed at the troublesome component, he watched the stiffening of her body. Despite her slightly resentful attitude towards his interference, she was nevertheless happy and willing to go through this little piece of flirtatious theatre.
‘There, you see?’ He tapped the key several times and watched the lever rising again and again to stamp its letter on the empty roller.
‘Thanks. You’ve got quite a way with these machines, haven’t you?’
‘Pity I can’t actually use them.’
‘What about your paper? You said you typed it yourself.’
‘Oh, yes. What I meant was, I got a friend to do it.’
‘And did you have to bribe her as well?’
‘Look, Joanna, I didn’t mean any offence with those stockings.’
‘None taken. I was simply too busy, otherwise I’d have done it. And they’re nice stockings. Let’s say I owe you one.’
‘Alright. Let’s. And in the meantime, maybe you could type this summary for Publications, and send these off.’
‘I think I can manage that. Leave it all there.’
‘Right. Oh, and Joanna – do call me Charles.’
Then he went upstairs to the tea room, where a few people had gathered after the seminar. He avoided the speaker, who was in deep conversation anyway, and took a newspaper from the rack. Then he sat down near Henry, who was scribbling equations on a napkin and explaining something to one of the postgraduates.
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