Eventually the man died. As his coffin was being taken to the usual place of burial, the corpse gradually became heavier and heavier till the mourners could carry it no further, and were forced to dig a grave right there and put him in it. Thus was his wish fulfilled and thus was he revealed as a liar of great capacity and boldness.
25 July
The British Apology
‘When I was appointed to my present position three years ago, I felt both privileged and humbled, and I stand before you today as conscious of that privilege and, I hope, as full of humility, as I was then. To lead an organisation which is also a cherished national institution is a very great honour, but with leadership comes responsibility, and it is my responsibility to stand, as I am doing now, here before you today.
‘Our organisation, a great British organisation, has let you, the great British public, down. For this we are profoundly and sincerely sorry. I, personally, am profoundly and sincerely sorry. I take full and personal responsibility for the profound and sincere sorrow which I feel personally and which the organisation feels collectively.
‘I also apologise unreservedly for having to make this apology. I am sorry that this apology has to be made, but it was to take responsibility for such apologies that I was appointed in the first place.
‘A wise man once said, “The buck stops here.” It does. It shall go no further. There is nowhere else for it to go. I am more profoundly and sincerely sorry about this than I can say, but that is why I stand before you today, apologising unreservedly.
‘There have been calls for my resignation. I do not intend to resign, and I make no apology for not intending to resign. I have considered my position, and I rather like it. Now is not the time for me to lose my salary, pension and associated benefits. I apologise to those who think I should resign, but I do not apologise for making no apology for not resigning. Now is the time for me to take full responsibility both for apologising and for not apologising, and this is what I am now doing.
‘I apologise in advance, sincerely and wholeheartedly, should I have to apologise again in another three years. But I do not apologise for making that apology in advance. It is a great honour and a privilege to stand here apologising to you today, and I am full of humility. I am sorry about that, but I cannot help it.’
26 July
The Scottish Apology
‘It wisnae me. I wis jist mindin ma ain business at the back o the shoap. In fact I wisnae even in the shoap. I wis oot. I wis speakin metaphorically when I said that. Because it isnae a shoap, is it? It’s a great big organisation. A national institution. So I couldnae hae been at the back o the shoap because that widnae be true, and I’m no a liar. So when I say I wis oot, I wis. Swear tae God. And when I say it wisnae me, it wisnae.
‘I didnae ask tae be the heidbummer. I wis jist mindin ma ain business at the back o the shoap when sumbdy tellt me tae go tae the front o the shoap, so I went. I’d never went there afore. When I say the front o the shoap I’m speakin metaphorically again. Ye can dae that when ye’re the heidbummer. Actually I went up in the lift tae the tap flair and there wis this room wi big windaes and squishy chairs and a drinks cabinet. And they said if I wis heidbummer I wid get tae sit in the squishy chairs lookin oot the windaes and I could drink the bevvy for free. Well, ye’d need tae be stupit no tae say yes tae that, widn’t ye? So I said yes. But that’s aw I did, said yes and sat in the squishy chairs and had a wee bevvy, and efter that I went oot. So it wisnae me.
‘Naw, I dinnae ken wha it wis. I didnae see nuthin. It might hae been the boy that wis in afore me. Ye better ask him. He might ken somethin. I dinnae. I wis jist mindin the shoap till sumbdy else came. But I wisnae really, coz I wis oot.
‘I saw some big boys earlier, runnin doon the street. I think it wis mibbe them. Naw, I didnae see their faces. And there’s nae point gettin the polis. They’ll be miles awa by noo.
‘Zat it? I’ll jist slip oot the back then. Sumbdy else’ll be alang soon.
‘Noo there’s an idea. It might hae been them.
‘But it definately wisnae me.’
27 July
The Sneer
‘I wish you wouldn’t sneer like that,’ Alex Mather said.
‘I am not sneering,’ Jill Mather replied.
‘You are too. Just hold that look right there and take it to a mirror and tell me it’s not a sneer.’
‘It’s not a sneer.’
‘You haven’t checked. I’m on the receiving end of it and from where I’m sitting it’s a sneer.’ He pointed to the back of the restaurant. ‘The Ladies is down there.’
‘I am not going to check how I look to you in a mirror. Perhaps you should check how you look.’
‘I’m not interested in how I look. Never have been.’
‘Well, let me tell you, you look ridiculous.’
‘That would explain the sneer. Simply because I utilise an object to illustrate an opinion which you dislike, you sneer.’
‘It is not a sneer. If it’s anything it’s a look of incomprehension. Because I don’t understand where you’re coming from, Alex. I don’t know what’s going on inside your head.’
‘My inner life. That’s what’s going on.’
‘Just the one? I don’t think so. And not so inner either. They tend to get out a lot.’
‘And you find that what? Embarrassing?’
‘Sometimes. But mostly just incomprehensible.’
‘Yet you never seem surprised. “You don’t fool me” is one of your common expressions. Reconcile that with “incomprehensible”. When did I first become incomprehensible to you? Was I incomprehensible when we were courting, for example?’
‘When we were courting? Excuse me while I lubricate the padlocks and blow the dust off the box files. Actually, don’t bother, I can remember. Back then you were slightly strange. Mysterious even.’
‘Same thing as incomprehensible.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Aye it is. Mysterious is good, though. You should try to think of me as mysterious. Intriguing. That might help.’
‘Help who? You or me?’
‘Help take the sneer off your face. Create an aura around me.’
‘I tell you what, Alex. I’ll take the so-called sneer off my face if you take the serviette that you claim represents the absurdity of organised religion off your head. Then perhaps we can enjoy our food. Is that a deal?’
‘I crumple my mitre before your infinite wisdom,’ Alex said.
28 July
So They Came to the Door
They had walked for many hours, and were tired and hungry, and fearful that it would soon be dark. Therefore they were gladdened when the path left the forest and became a broad red road. They walked on until the road divided to the west and to the east. And before them was a wall, too steep and too tall for them to climb, which stretched as far as they could see in both directions. So, not knowing which way to go, they sat down beside the road and rested.
In a while an old man in ragged clothes came towards them from the east. He had sandals on his feet and a staff in his hand. When he came up to them he asked why they had sat down.
‘Because we are weary,’ they said. ‘And we have come to the wall and do not know which way to go.’
‘Go the way I came,’ he said, ‘and you will come to a door in the wall. If you walk with courage it is not far, but if you walk in fear you will never reach it.’
Then he went down the red road towards the forest, and they watched until they could no longer see him.
Then they too set off, walking beside the wall the way the old man had come. And the wall was unbroken by any door, and the one took the hand of the other so that they would not be afraid. It was late yet the day did not grow dark.
Then the one said to the other, ‘I see the door,’ but the other did not see it. Yet it was there.
So they came to the door, and stood before it. And there was no handle or latch on the door. And the one who had not seen
the door knocked, and it did not open. And the one who had seen it pushed, and it opened. And they went in together, hand in hand, not knowing what they would find on the other side. And the door closed behind them.
The old man in the forest heard the door close, but he was not afraid.
29 July
The Old Man in the Forest
The old man in the forest heard the door close. He recognised it at once.
The sound came from far away, yet it was as clear and unmistakable to him as if he had been standing next to the door. Despite its softness, it was a sound of firmness and finality. Somebody had gone through to the other side, and they would not be back. Or at least, if they came again, they would remember nothing of the journey.
He heard the quietest sounds: a bird shaking its feathers in a tree, a burn trickling over pebbles, a deer stepping on dried leaves. Sometimes, he realised, he heard only the quiet sounds, tuning out aeroplanes, traffic, the clatter of machines, the roar of crowds in streets and arenas, the conversations of millions of people. Birds, water, wild creatures – he would hear these things long after everything else had fallen silent.
And the sound of the door closing in the wall: he would always hear that.
It was a low, wooden, blue door with no handle or latch. It made no sound when opened, only when closed.
He was the only one ever to walk back through the forest. Sometimes he met people coming the other way. Sometimes there was no one to meet.
He could not remember what lay on the far side of the forest. He knew only that it was there, a beginning or an end to the trees. He thought it probable that when he arrived he would turn and walk back. He would walk along the broad red road until he reached the wall, and then he would go to the west or to the east, it did not matter which, and he would come to the door.
If he had ever gone through the door, if he had ever knocked or pushed at it, he did not remember. If this had ever troubled him, it no longer did.
He saw two figures coming towards him, a long way off. They would be tired, hungry and perhaps anxious. He did not want to alarm them. He stepped into the trees and waited till they had gone past.
He was not afraid.
30 July
The Other Side
It was a low, wooden, blue door with no handle or latch. It had made no sound when opened, not a creak nor a groan; but when closed, the sound it made, though soft, was one of firmness and finality.
The first and immediate effect that this had was to make one of them try to open it again, despite the absence of handle or latch. When, on the other side, she had pushed, the door had yielded. When she pushed and pulled now, the door did not yield.
Her companion said, ‘So we cannot go back.’
She replied, ‘Should we not have come through?’
‘What else could we do? The wall might have gone on for ever.’
They looked at the wall. As before, it was too smooth and too tall for them to climb, and as before it stretched as far as they could see in both directions. Yet it did not seem unfriendly: its stone was of a warm, red hue, and when they put their hands to it they felt how it still held the heat of the sun.
‘I thought the day would soon be over,’ she said, ‘but look!’ She pointed to the sky, which was blue, and dotted with very white fluffy clouds that did not seem quite real. Yet the sunshine felt real enough, and so did the cooling breeze.
‘There is no road along the wall on this side,’ her companion said, ‘and no road or path going away from the door. What will we do?’
Before them stretched a vast expanse of short grass and moss such as you might find on the upper slopes of a hill. And perhaps the ground did rise, but in a gentle, not an intimidating, way.
She took a few steps from the door. The turf was both soft and firm. A phrase from some walking guide came back to her: good easy going along broad smooth ridges. There were no ridges, no visible peaks, just the slope, yet it seemed to invite them onto it.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said. ‘In that direction. All right?’
‘Yes,’ her companion said. ‘I was tired before, but no longer.’
31 July
This is It?
They had been walking in silence but neither of them knew for how long. The sun had not moved or, rather, where they were did not seem to have moved in relation to the sun. The slope rose, almost imperceptibly. The turf continued both soft and firm.
The one said to the other, ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ the other answered.
‘Tired?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I never thought it would be like this,’ the one continued. ‘I couldn’t imagine what it would be like. I didn’t know if there would be anything.’
‘Sunny uplands,’ the other said. ‘Didn’t you believe in sunny uplands?’
She recalled the phrase from a guidebook that she’d found so appealing: good easy going along broad smooth ridges. Wasn’t that a promise of something? Yet how could it have related to this?
She saw her companion wipe her brow: the first and only sign of discomfort in however long it had been. ‘Are you hot?’ she asked.
‘I was, but no longer,’ came the reply. They were walking now down a green track shaded by old trees and bounded by banks of wildflowers. She did not understand how the change could have happened without her noticing, but the open hill was gone. She did not really mind. Probably the track would lead to the hill in time. But what was time?
She thought, Is this what happens when you step through the blue door? It took an effort even to remember the existence of the door and that it was blue. Why remember it when there was no going back through it?
‘Do you think this is it?’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ her companion said. ‘What else could there be?’
‘There could have been anything. But why do I know this from somewhere?’
‘Perhaps you’ve been here before?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She paused, and could hardly tell which she liked better – the pausing or the walking. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘do you know, do you remember, your name?’
Her companion shook her head. ‘No. And you?’
‘No.’
‘Does it bother you?’
‘It did, but no longer.’
Suddenly she wanted the open hill again. She knew it would be there.
AUGUST
1 August
Dealing with It
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, ‘how well I would deal with such news. Not as well as how they’re dealing with it, I suspect.’
‘You would deal with it in your own way,’ he said. ‘Calmly, philosophically, realistically.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Yes you would, because that’s who you are.’
‘You don’t know the turmoil going on beneath the surface,’ she said, and gave him a serene smile and a look so measured it was impossible to believe that anything other than complete stillness lay below.
‘What else can they do?’ he said. ‘There’s no point in being emotional. They just have to accept the diagnosis, listen to the doctors and hope for the best. It’s out of their hands. And the best is pretty good these days. Twenty years ago it might have been hard to feel optimistic, but survival rates are so much better than they were. The fact that it was picked up early …’
‘Let’s hope early enough,’ she said.
‘And he’s not been feeling unwell. He looks exactly the same as he always does. Perfectly healthy.’
‘But he’s not. Beneath the surface.’
‘No, but if he was losing weight, or had a bad colour, or was in pain … But he isn’t.’
‘I said to her, if there was anything we could do …’
‘I said that too. To him. I meant it but I’m not sure he heard. Not that there is anything. It’s just a form of words, isn’t it?’
‘It’s an offering.’
He didn’t r
eply for a minute. The bus stopped, disgorged some passengers, took on others. All those lives, getting on and off, heading down side streets, going home, going to meet friends or lovers, going to be with someone or to be alone.
‘What did you mean just then?’ he asked as the bus lurched forward again. ‘What you said about turmoil? What did you mean?’
‘I was joking,’ she said. She laid her hand on top of his. ‘There is no turmoil.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
But something surged through him so unexpected and violent that for a moment he thought he might be sick. If something should happen to her …
He managed a smile. ‘That’s good,’ he said.
2 August
Street Theatre
‘Alex?’
Jill Mather turned. Alex had come to a halt in the middle of the pavement. He was staring, eyebrows raised, at a point about ten feet to his right, slightly above eye level. His right arm was bent at the elbow and the hand was held palm upward as if to catch raindrops or perhaps as if he were about to recite lines from Shakespeare. It was possible that he had been taken ill, but Jill doubted it. He was a frighteningly robust man.
‘What are you doing, Alex?’
He remained immobile, while the crowd flowed, more or less, around him. Some individuals had to jam on the brakes or swerve suddenly to avoid crashing into him. A woman pushing a pram had to divert off the pavement into the bus lane.
‘Hello?’ Jill waved her hand in front of his eyes, one of which winked at her.
‘Give me a coin,’ he said through barely parted lips. ‘Quick. In the hand.’
Shoppers, Chinese tourists, festival fun seekers and a man on stilts handing out flyers all navigated their way round Alex.
365 Page 25