John Boyne - The Absolutist

“Of course,” she said, tapping the table in immediate recognition that we had stayed too long. “You don’t have to go back to London yet, though, do you? I’m enjoying our talk.”

“No, not yet,” I said. “Not for a few hours, anyway.”

“Good. It’s such a beautiful day, I thought we might go for a walk. I could show you some of the places where Will and I grew up. You really have to see some of Norwich—it’s a beautiful city. Then we can have a late lunch somewhere. And there’s just one thing I’d like you to do for me, but I’ll tell you that in a while, if you don’t mind. If I ask you now, I think you’ll refuse me. And I don’t want you to refuse me.”

I said nothing for second or two but then nodded. “All right,” I agreed, getting up and taking my overcoat from the stand as she put her own coat on. “Let me just pay for the teas,” I said. “I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”

I watched her as she made her way towards the door and out on to the street, buttoning her coat as she stood glancing around for anyone she might recognize. She didn’t resemble Will physically, of course. They were very different types. But there was something in the way that she carried herself, a certain confidence mixed with a sense that although her beauty would be noticed by others, she rather wished it wouldn’t be. I found myself smiling as I looked at her and then turned back to pay for the teas.

“I’m sorry about before,” I said to our waitress as she took my money and counted out change from the till. “I hope we weren’t becoming a bit of a trial for you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “You were a friend of Will’s, then?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, we served together.”

“It was a disgrace,” she hissed, leaning forward, fire in her eyes. “What happened to him, I mean. It was an absolute disgrace. Made me ashamed to be English. You won’t get many around here that will agree with me on that, but I knew him and I knew the kind of man he was.” I swallowed and nodded, taking the coins from her and putting them silently in my pocket. “There’s not many people I respect as much as I do Marian Bancroft,” she continued. “She’s one in a million, she is. Despite everything that happened, she offers such help to the ex-servicemen around her. You’d think, all things considered, that she would hate them. But she doesn’t. I never know quite what to make of her, actually. She’s a mystery.”

I frowned, realizing that I hadn’t even asked Marian what she did in Norwich, how she spent her days, how she filled her time. It was typical of boys like me; we were so wrapped up in ourselves that we didn’t think the world held a place for anyone else. I heard a quick ringing sound, the chiming of the bell over the door as someone left, thanked Jane and said goodbye.

Before leaving the café, I patted my pockets, checking for my wallet and the packet of letters, which was still in my overcoat, and satisfied that all was in place I opened the door and went outside. Marian was right: it was a beautiful day. Bright and warm with no breeze but no overbearing sunshine either. It was a perfect day to go for a stroll and I had a sudden vision of Will walking along these cobbled streets next to some unfortunate lovesick girl who would be doing all she could to keep up with him, sneaking sly glances at his handsome face, dreaming that perhaps at the next turning, where no one could see them, he would do the most unexpected but natural thing in the world and turn to her, take her in his arms and pull her to him.

I shook my head, dismissed the idea, and looked around for Marian. She was standing no more than ten or twelve feet away from me, but not alone. The man from the café had followed her out and was standing before her, gesticulating wildly. I didn’t know what to make of it and simply stared at them before registering that there was something aggressive about his behaviour. I walked quickly towards them.

“Hello,” I said. “Everything all right here?”

“And you,” said the man, raising his voice and jabbing a finger in my face as he glared at me with thunder in his eyes, “you can just take a step back, friend, because none of this concerns you and I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions if you come any closer. Do you understand me?”

“Leonard,” said Marian, stepping forward and placing herself between him and me. “This has nothing to do with him. You’ll leave it alone if you know what’s good for you.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Marian,” he said, which at least made me understand that these two knew each other and he wasn’t just some stranger assaulting her in the street. “You won’t answer my letters, you won’t speak to me when I call at the house, and then you take up with someone else and flaunt it in front of my eyes. Who do you think you are, anyway?” he asked, this last question addressed to me, and I looked at him in astonishment, not knowing what I could possibly say in response. He was in a pure rage, his cheeks scarlet with anger, and I could see that it was all he could do to stop himself from pushing Marian out of the way and knocking me to the ground; instinctively, I took a pace back. “That’s right, you’d better back away,” he added, so pleased by this move that he began to advance further towards me, probably thinking that he could intimidate me. The truth was that I wasn’t in the least frightened of him; I simply had no desire to involve myself in some sort of street brawl.

“Leonard, I said stop it!” shouted Marian, pulling at his coat and dragging him back. A few people passing on the street stared at us with a mixture of interest and contempt but kept walking, shaking their heads as if they expected nothing better of our type. “It’s not what you think. You’ve got everything wrong, as usual.”

“Got it wrong, have I?” he asked, turning to her as I studied him a little more closely. He was taller than me, with brown hair and a ruddy complexion. He looked like someone who knew how to handle himself. The only thing detracting from his strong physical presence was a pair of owl-type spectacles perched on his face, which made him look more academic. And yet the argument against this was the commotion that he was causing here on the street. “Got it wrong? When I see the two of you sitting there for almost an hour, chatting away to each other like a pair of cooing mynah birds? And I saw you take his hand, Marian, so please don’t tell me there’s nothing going on when I know what my own eyes are telling me.”

“And what if there is something going on?” she shouted in reply, the colour coming into her cheeks, too. “What if there is? What business is it of yours, anyway?”

“Don’t give me that,” he began, but she stepped closer to him, her face almost in his as she roared at him.

“I’ll say whatever I like, Leonard Legg! You have no hold over me. Not any more. You mean nothing to me now.”

“You belong to me,” he insisted.

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she cried. “Least of all you. Do you think I’d ever look at you again? Do you? After what you did?”

“After what I did?” he said, laughing in her face. “That’s rich, that is. Why, even the fact that I’m willing to put the past in the past and still marry you should show you the kind of man I am. Getting mixed up with a family like yours won’t do me any favours, will it, and still I’m willing to do it. For you.”

“Well, don’t bother,” she said, lowering her voice; in an instant she had regained her dignity. “Because if you think I would ever marry you, if you think that I would debase myself so much—”

“ You debase yourself ? Why, if my parents even knew that I was talking to you, let alone forgiving you—”