Joseph O'Neill - The Breezes

All that was left of his father was a thin dustiness in the air above the court and black dust-stains on his clothing that a single low-temperature wash would remove. Billy turned and ran away across the courts, elbows beating like flippers, his champion swimmer’s bulk ungainly in its movement over land.

My father escorted Mrs Rasmussen back to her car, and then he and I got into the Volvo. This time, he took the wheel.

After we had been on the road for a few minutes, I asked him whether I might have use of the car the next day.

‘What for?’ he asked.

It was a routine question, but I wished he hadn’t asked it. ‘I need to get to Waterville,’ I said. I hesitated. ‘To see Angela,’ I said.

He didn’t respond.

I felt I owed him an explanation. ‘I need to see her. We need to talk about— ’

‘Take the car,’ Pa said, cutting me short.

I said, ‘I— ’

‘Take the car,’ Pa said. ‘I don’t want to hear about it.’

We drove on. The day’s brightness had turned my father’s sunglasses almost black, obscuring his eyes. With his white shirt and dark tie, he almost resembled a secret serviceman.

We stopped at a traffic light and Pa reached up and opened the sunroof. He leaned back in his seat and tilted his head against the headrest, relaxing his neck muscles.

‘It’s green,’ I said. ‘It’s green, Pa,’ I said.

The Volvo lurched forward, then stalled as he mistimed the clutch. We caught the red again.

‘I tell you, John, this car is in need of a service,’ Pa said. He was sweating as the sunlight poured directly through the sunroof, and he wiped away a moustache of droplets with his sleeve.

He looked away, into his wing mirror. He said, ‘John, I want to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me truthfully.’ He coughed. ‘You were there just now, you saw what happened to Merv.’ He coughed again. ‘Well, I’ve been trying to figure a lot of things out recently.’

‘What is it, Pa?’ I said.

‘What I’m going to say may sound stupid, John. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.’

He adjusted his glasses in his embarrassment, then drove forward as the lights changed colour. ‘Do you think — do you think that Merv, do you think, well, do you think that Merv will, I don’t know … I mean, what’s going to happen to Merv?’

He gave me a quick, anxious glance to see how I would respond. My poor father was deadly serious.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, looking straight ahead. ‘I think …’ I stopped. ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘You don’t think that, well, that it’s impossible that, you know, Merv is alive elsewhere?’

I didn’t answer immediately. I was thinking of heaven, the habitation of God and his angels and the beatified spirits, of a cloudland with a pearl-studded gate supervised by St Peter, of harp-playing, winged souls at immortal play, of cherubs and of the ninefold celestial hierarchy. What a limitless machine of fantasies was the human mind.

I said, ‘Of course it’s not impossible, Pa. Look up there,’ I said, gesturing at the sun in the sky. ‘Now that’s impossible — a gigantic spinning ball of fire which gives life to a lump of rock millions of miles away. And yet there it is. What it’s doing up there, I don’t know, but it’s there.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Pa said.

I spoke with conviction. ‘That’s right. Everything is impossible, Pa, and yet everything is right here. Who’s to say, if that sun is up there, that Merv isn’t too?’

‘That’s true,’ Pa said. ‘You can never rule it out, can you?’

‘I don’t think you can,’ I said, looking ahead.

We arrived back at the flat. He took his glasses off. His eyes were as red and dark as ever. ‘Well, thanks for coming along, son. You’ve been a comfort to your old man.’

‘No problem,’ I said, stepping out. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning to get the car. You really don’t mind?’

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You do what you have to do.’

That night, Angela rang up.

‘Hello there,’ she said.

I was calm with tiredness. ‘Hello,’ I said.

‘I–I just wanted to make sure you were coming,’ she said.

‘I’m coming,’ I said.

She said nothing for a moment. ‘Are you driving over?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

She said, ‘What time do you think you’ll be here? I don’t want to rush you or anything,’ she added quickly. ‘I mean, get here when you can. Any time is fine for me.’

‘Lunchtime, I suppose. Maybe a bit later.’

‘That’s fine. That’s great.’

There was a noise as she moved. She would be sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her feet neatly tucked together in front of her. She never made use of chairs.

She said, ‘How is your father?’

‘He’s OK,’ I said. ‘All things considered.’

‘That’s good,’ she said. There was another pause. ‘I’ve always admired him, you know,’ she said with feeling. ‘I’ve always thought he has a wonderful outlook on things.’

‘Right,’ I said.

Angela said, ‘We need to talk, you know, my darling. About us, I mean.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘This is horrible, John. I’m so sorry about everything.’

I didn’t reply. Then I said, ‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘Bye, Johnny. Bye, my darling.’

Steve turned in at about midnight and I stayed on alone in the sitting-room, watching television. I was too exhausted to go to bed and too exhausted to think.

I watched a sitcom, I watched a late-night chat show and then, as I was on the point of dropping off, a cartoon appeared on the screen. It was my old pal — old Wile E. Coyote.

It was the same old story, with Wile E. compulsively embarking on a succession of ruses which resulted in a succession of devastating own goals. But then something remarkable occurred. Disgruntled with his failed attempts at interception and entrapment, Wile E. Coyote decided to meet head-on the roadrunner’s great advantage, speed, and to this end he procured a rocket, which he lined up in the direction of his prey. He then straddled the missile, ignited its fuse and, perched like bronco-buster, screamed successfully towards the roadrunner at great velocity; too successfully, in fact. The bird ducked and, overpowerful and unstoppable, the rocket propelled the coyote beyond the horizon and through the stratosphere and so deeply into outer space that our faint planet dwindled behind him to darkness. Then abruptly the rocket exploded like a firework, sending a shower of sparks into the black heavens, and the jinxed dog vanished into the nothingness. I contemplated the impossible: Wile E. Coyote, a goner?

Not so. The scintillations from the explosion settled into a grid of stars; a fresh constellation appeared in the night in the shape of a wolf with a bow.

I sat there in thrilled wonderment. He had done it. He had got out.

I went to bed uplifted.

I actually dreamed of Merv. I dreamed of him as a bunch of stars: the Hunchback with a Racquet.

The train is moving more smoothly now, sliding through the stony purple uplands that lie to the east of Waterville. We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. I’m glad, now that I’m here, that I allowed Pa to talk me out of coming by car.

I went to pick up the Volvo at about ten o’clock this morning. Trusty was dozing contentedly on the sofa, but he wasn’t about. I went upstairs to his darkened room to find him: Pa?

No reply from the form in the bed.

There was a rough dawn as I pulled open the curtains. ‘Right, come on, let’s go.’ I shook his dangling white leg, with its vandal’s spray of burst veins. ‘Come on, up we get. Come on, Pa.’