‘The river helps smooth me out. My only regret is that there’s no way at all I can afford to live around here, unless I win the Lottery. There’s just no way I can get even a tiny little flat of my own, with a balcony looking out over the river. Or even just a window! My membership of the club still takes a huge chunk out of my wages—but I don’t regret that.’
It was almost dark when you stood up and decided to have a drink before going home. That was when I had seen you—in the pub. I don’t know how I could have ever missed you before. In my mind I reconstruct the scene. Yellow light pours out of the huge glass windows of the clubhouse, flooding over the concrete slipway and the mud exposed by the low tide. Instead of turning away from the water, you walk down the slope towards it. The river wasn’t far away, and would soon be back, covering up mud and concrete until the next time.
At best I am now wary of the water, and I like the dry land—it’s the mud that bothers me. It’s neither one nor the other, and I prefer to ignore it, as far as it is possible to.
I was right to think that this young man—you, Aaron—would be different. You said, ‘Just before I went back up to the road, I noticed something glinting just beyond where the concrete ends. I’m always hearing stories about the valuable things you can find in the mud. Some of the club members are as much into their metal detectors as their boats. I reached down quickly and snatched at the shining thing before the mud could cover it again. I washed it off in a puddle and wiped at it with a tissue. Under a streetlight I found it was a coin—a ten pence piece, an old one, but not very worn or scratched. I almost threw it away there and then—I was going to try to get it to hit the water just right, and skip over it a few times. But ten pence is ten pence, and it was different to all the other ten pence pieces I’ve seen.
‘I still wanted a drink. I usually go to the bar in the rowing club, but for a change I decided to go to the Strandside Arms.’
The old pub is a few doors along from the clubhouse. It’s a funny little place, more like an old cottage, all red brick and small rooms, not like the grand houses on either side, with their tall windows and steps up to the front doors. Mine is one of those fine houses, and the Strandside is my local.
‘As I had to drive I only asked for a half,’ you told me. ‘Dave counted the pile of coins I gave him, and handed one back. It was the one I’d just found. He said he’s not taking that one. He said they’re not legal tender now. Luckily I had plenty more change.’
As you held your glass in one hand and the ten pence piece in the other, you heard someone ask if he could have a look. You shrugged and handed me the coin. You would have seen a short, stocky man, nearly seventy, but still vigorous enough. I think—I hope—you would have thought me very well dressed for someone of my age—extremely casually, for me, but with the quality showing, unmistakeable.
Perhaps you thought: ‘I have to deliver to people like that around Hampstead and Highgate. They have a few pounds in the bank. Now what? He’s making a show of looking at the coin but he’s looking past it as well, at me. Now I know how the barcodes I have to scan feel.’
How right you were, Aaron!
‘Yes, this type was withdrawn from circulation when the ten pence was reduced in size, oh, must be twenty-five years ago now,’ I told you. ‘Before you were born, eh? The Queen looked young and calm back then.’ I smiled. You smiled back. I knew it was automatic: people like you, in your roles, are trained to be polite. ‘Do you know why they used to be this bigger size?’ I asked. ‘Do you want to?’
And you found yourself in my sitting room being shown my collection of silver half-crowns. I had introduced myself, and said that I lived in the house next door to the pub, and would you like to see some really interesting and attractive old coins? I don’t think you remembered saying yes, but you did. You were clearly a well brought-up young man. And I could keep up a flow of talk, too. I was on my best behaviour.
I said I’d seen you out rowing, and liked to see the young men exercising. I said something about being a student. I could tell you were not sure what I was going on about, but you did the right thing, Aaron. You didn’t contradict me. I knew you were uncertain, thinking that perhaps you had agreed too easily when I talked about us both being students of the Thames. For you it would have felt better to make a show of going along with what I said, rather than simply repeating that you were a delivery driver.
My coins were clean and bright for their age, almost as new. As I showed them to you I told you to call me Edward, and explained that I was retired. ‘I bought this house and settled down to spend my days reading Walt Whitman and watching the river flow by. I’ve got a few coins, a few nice pictures, and a shelf or two of nineteenth-century first editions. And there’s the Strandside Arms. But mainly I simply like watching the river—and the people on it.’
You got up and walked across to the tall doors opening onto the veranda. ‘I know this house from the outside,’ you said. ‘I’ve imagined sitting out there in the summer and doing nothing but what you’ve said, watching the river. And now I’m here.’
I cleaned your coin in distilled water and wiped it with a special cloth. ‘Keep it safe,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t the idea of finding treasure in mud appeal to you? It does to me. Something that was lost, swallowed by the river, and then rejected by it?’ You didn’t say anything. ‘All right, perhaps it wasn’t rejected, but you rescued it,’ I said, laughing. While you laughed, I drank you in again.
‘Sometimes I think I need rescuing, Aaron,’ I said. ‘Maybe I lead too easy a life in this lovely house, sitting up here, with just me and my possessions and the river. It was the best thing I did, buying this house. I’ve always found the river to be glamorous and fascinating, and I’ll watch it all day. But even so. . . .’
You were getting tired, stifling yawns with ever decreasing success. That made you all the more fetching. But I didn’t want you to go. You looked round, rubbing your shoulder, trying to make turning your head to catch a glimpse of the clock seem accidental. ‘I really have to go. I have to work tomorrow. . . .’
‘Yes, Aaron, you must get your beauty sleep, eh?’
I would have preferred to go on talking. You smiled again. I think you felt just a little unkind in having to take your leave of me—but no, you were not, not really.
The tide was right out when you left. I watched you cross to the low wall opposite and stare at the shrunken river. Then you turned and looked up at my veranda. I had opened the door, and stood—I must have been partially silhouetted—in the light coming from the sitting room. You looked away again quickly, as you started to walk along the road by the wall. You knew I had seen you glancing back.
Aaron, you stunning boy—what a discovery! Treasure from the river indeed! And yet it was right that you left when you did. Otherwise who knows what I might have said? I must not be sharp; I must be more patient. How kindly you indulged me by agreeing to my suggestion that we were both students of the Thames—but you were right to do so. I knew I had seen you out rowing with other members of that club, with the students practicing for their races.
I knew who you really were all along. Aaron? What’s in a name? I had hoped, almost certainly against hope, that I was not being too obvious in my scrutiny, but I was enjoying myself so much. I tried to be restrained, but subtlety was never my strong point. You would remember that, Patrick. So, then: Aaron—or Patrick?
Are you really going to come back? And what will you want?
You did agree to come back on Saturday afternoon—in full daylight. You said something about the view from my veranda, and I invited you to see for yourself. It could be that I had been in error, after all, when I described you—and to your face—as a ‘student of the river’. Your forgiveness for that crass remark illuminated me and was wholly worthy of you. Patrick, you have changed. Before, you would not have been so considerate.
***
That hot and sunny afternoon. . . . My sitting room glowed—its walls and the very air
filling it—as great bars of sunshine fell across the floor. The golden light melted outlines and fused the colours of carpets and wallpaper into a palette and form that only Turner could have attempted to capture. The curtains barely fluttered in the warm breeze as I paced the room waiting for you, checking and rechecking that everything was in its place and the food and drink I had bought to please you, Aaron, were exactly right. I deliberately kept off my veranda until the time we had agreed. Then I went out and sat down, letting the sun flood over me as I kept watch for your appearance.
You walked with such grace and elegance, despite the glare and the heat. You looked to be at such ease, as if you could never truly have been a part of that other world—the one on the other side of the houses and the main road—that faced away from the river. Surrounded by the sound of splashing and engines, shouts of joy and exertion, you threaded your way towards me, your white t-shirt a blinding patch of light moving ever closer.
I asked you if you were hot. You showed no sign of it. You smiled, shaking your head. ‘I love the heat,’ you said. ‘It makes me feel alive.’ Your clothes were immaculate—making the man. No doubt, Aaron, they had not been expensive, but if you had worn a threadbare tea-towel you would have carried it like a purple cloak of triumph. And you never had any idea—or was that another part of the wonder of you?
Patrick, you would have worn a straw or Panama hat. We all did in those days, in that sort of weather. We shook hands, Aaron, and you noticed—I’m sure you did—how I looked at your tanned and muscular arms, and the shy haloes of much paler skin where the sleeves of your t-shirt rode up. How much of you lay protected, still unburnt by the sun? I hope the mask hadn’t slipped—too much—as I sent you out onto the veranda while I poured some cold drinks. Your easy grin betrayed nothing.
‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ I said. ‘No rush,’ you said. ‘And thanks again, Edward.’
Yes, Patrick, when I saw you in your beautifully tailored blazer, white shirt and trousers, I allowed myself to speculate on the skin that lay beneath them. Certainly your neck was sunburned: for once you had left off wearing a tie! Your Panama hat was crisp and new. You swept it off and dropped it on my head. You looked at me quizzically, and I gave the hat back to you, replacing it with my own.
Aaron, you were so much more approachable. I suppose that is one good thing about the times we live in. On the veranda we sipped our drinks: tall glasses of gin, tonic, ice, slices of lime. If you did not like it, or was not used to it, you were too polite to say anything. You grinned and rubbed the frosty glass against your forehead. I can still see the tiny goose-bumps on your forearms. On the other side of the river, the trees swayed gently against the burning empty sky. This afternoon, the Thames filled its course: there was no mud to be seen.
‘Have you bought any new coins?’ you asked. ‘New old ones, I mean.’ I smiled at that, but didn’t answer immediately. Maybe I wanted to hear more of the sounds of the little riverside world, rather than my own voice—and rather than yours, just then. I had told you that I was retired, Aaron—that I had been able to buy the house and live a life of leisure. But did you think I have a safe full of gold and silver pieces and was always adding to it? No—just a tray or two of coins, that’s all.
Patrick could never grasp why a young man would want to gather and hold on to a few well-chosen and beautiful things, and even seek to accumulate some more. Appreciation of beauty, of anything outside of yourself, simply was not your talent, was it, Patrick? I had to do that, and for both of us. That was when I became a student of the river.
I don’t remember precisely how I answered you, Aaron, but you laughed, and your eyes flashed as intensely as the sun did just then, off the windows of a passing pleasure cruiser. You said, ‘I’ve put that ten pence piece in the glove compartment of my car. I’ll keep it there as my lucky coin. If I’d left it out this morning it’d be too hot to touch.’
That was the trouble, wasn’t it, Patrick? Too hot to touch, as it were? You could be so easy, so casual—and then you buttoned up your jacket and knotted your tie so tightly and clamped a hat firmly down upon your head. Yet we rowed on the river together and you were to become its deeper student as it took you away, leaving me nothing but your body—which was out of bounds, no-man’s land. I liked the water, and I liked the dry land—it’s what lay between that bothered and, I knew, absorbed me. Which was your true preference? Even in the boat it was neither one nor the other—and it was there I wanted to explore. You were never clear. So there was nothing for me.
As you looked at me over the thick rim of your glass, what did you see? An old man who once rowed and swam, who spent all available time on the river, but was now content with his possessions and to sit in his lovely old house and look? Did you ask yourself, Aaron, how a man could be simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by the river? I’m sure I told you that I no longer went out on the river. Perhaps you felt pity, or perhaps it was even gratitude, when you offered to take me out in a little boat. ‘I can hire one from the club no problem, and do the rowing for both of us. You could just relax, Edward. Enjoy the river. . . . There’d be no worries.’ Had I ever said I was worried? Frightened of it, perhaps, Aaron? Repelled and yet fascinated, yes—but frightened? I do not think so.
‘If only you would relax, Edward,’ you said, Patrick. You smirked, Patrick. That didn’t become you. ‘Relax. Don’t be so worried. Of course there’s no-one else. And nothing else.’ I hadn’t accused the river, at that stage. ‘You wouldn’t want me to not be fit and healthy, would you, Edward? Like you? I’m sorry if rowing and swimming makes me tired. Apart from studying that’s just about all I seem to have time and energy to do. But I’ll make it up to you, when I can.’ Yes, that’s all right then, I had thought. I’ll just wait in line for you. Or had I spoken that out loud?
I shook my head. ‘Thank you, Aaron, that’s very kind and thoughtful,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day, we’ll see. . . . ’ The sun had moved over to the west. The veranda had grown shady and my sitting room had filled with cool shadow. The river was still a stream of molten gold. Two teams of rowers barely disturbed the water.
We sat in your sitting room, didn’t we, Patrick? In your warm, sunny, and safe rooms. The windows were open to waving branches and fluttering birds. There was no way you would escape except through the door. You picked up the teapot and put it down again. ‘Are you jealous, Edward?’ you said, mocking. ‘Sometimes, you can want too much. You can lack finesse. I can find that tiresome. Do you understand?’
Oh, I did, all too clearly.
‘Let’s go for a row on the river, right now,’ you said quietly. ‘You want to be with me, so much, so very well, let’s be together. On the river. You used to like that, Edward. Would that do for now?’ I think you were really trying to make an effort then, by making me such an offer. Yes, I would be with you, but not also with you. If I had tried to explain, I wonder if you could have understood the difference.
It was as a member of the university rowing club that I had first met you, when our being inseparable on the water had led to our being inseparable away from it. I wanted to cry out ‘I drowned in you, Patrick, over and over again! Now there’s just the water!’ I knew that I would never be able to express my thoughts in any way except through vagueness and unease. How could I explain that I had been avoiding the river because it had taken you and I didn’t want it to take me, in case it would not let me drown in you? You did not notice when I was absent, of course. But I reached out and took your hand, didn’t I, Patrick? I made the effort too.
I had prepared a light and healthy meal for us, Aaron. I played what I intended to be a light avuncular role. ‘Fitness fanatic as you are, Aaron,’ I said, ‘I’m sure you don’t eat any of that terrible junk food that’s all around us these days. Burgers won’t help keep your strength up.’ I had decided for informality, so we ate pasta and salad and fruit buffet-style, trays and plates balanced on our laps as we sat on the veranda. You accepted a single glass of chill
ed white wine, because you said you would have to drive. I held back, possibly for later, the offer of a bed.
You ate the food with relish and took second helpings of everything. We sat in the growing shadow, the low sun painting the trees and the distant tall buildings. The river had shaken off most of its boats. Car doors slammed, engines revved and faded out. But I still looked at you, Aaron, as much as I looked out over the Thames. Your hair had faded almost white in the sun; your t-shirt glowed against the dimness and stretched alluringly as you moved in your chair.
I have to confess that your next remark took me by surprise. ‘What are you thinking, Edward?’ you asked.
I turned away and drank a mouthful of wine. It had lost the edge of its chill. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ I improvised. ‘Unless it’s that it’s a long time since I’ve been on the river.’
‘My offer’s still open,’ you said, smiling. Your teeth were very white. You must have been thinking that I was mad, when I lived here and had such opportunities. ‘Why has it been a long time?’
‘I’ve just grown too old,’ I told you, or it was something like that. ‘It might be too dangerous.’
‘Bad memories?’
Aaron! Did you know what you were saying? When I stuffed the coin into Patrick’s mouth—a detail I hope I got right, not being a classicist like him—it was with the notion that payment is made once, and for all time, and there can be no return. The fee was accepted and the river took the freight. But I have also been paying out ever since, as I’ve slowly diminished. Could you tell that, Aaron?
I muttered something about a close friend when I’d been at Oxford, and a tragedy. You looked genuinely sorry, and it was then that I almost offered to open more wine and show you where you could sleep. But I still held back. Laughter drifted up from the river.
Strange Tales V Page 9