of fit that he hadnât had before and he was imagining it all, with the breathlessness the only real thing about it. He screamed and gasped and managed to turn his head sideways where there was air. He felt her hand try to force his face back into the pillow and he bit it, as hard as he could. She screamed and for a minute let go of him. He wriggled away and ran for the light of the other room. He heard her call after him drunkenly,
âIf it wasnât for you . . . ya wee shit!â
Those were the words she had used, he said. He then went on to tell what happened when a neighbour found him in the bottom hallway behind the bins wearing only his vest. Owen had spun him a few lies and had been taken in to his downstairs flat for the night. The man had provided him with striped pyjama bottoms with white draw cords, big as a tent, and had helped him roll the legs up until they reached Owenâs ankles. The next morning the boy went back up to his own flat. His mother had cried most of the day and had given him the money for enough chewing gum to last the week.
When Michael asked him about the story later, on different occasions, it remained substantially the same. There were some differences. Once he said that his mother had brought a cushion from the other room. Another time he said it was the man upstairs who had found him. Michael did not like to trip him up by grilling him on these points, for, on a matter so serious, it would have displayed a terrible lack of faith.
His bitter had inched its way down the glass without him being aware. He bought himself another. The crowd had become very noisy, laughing and shouting to make themselves heard above the din. There was no one drunk like in Ireland, but looking around it was hardly an English pub. The people in the bar seemed to be mostly tourists and foreigners. He had heard American accents and the girls in the opposite corner looked Spanish, like the posters of dancers. He felt secure in this atmosphere. If they mixed with the tourist crowd they would be very difficult to trace. Just another holidaymaker and his son.
The beer had begun to relax him and he felt warm. He actually felt he was on holiday. There was plenty of hope that they could make it. He yawned, finished his pint and felt that he could sleep.
On his way upstairs he noticed that the receptionist had finally gone. In the bedroom he put the light switch down slowly, minimizing the snap as it went on. He went over and looked at Owen as he undressed. He was still breathing normally. His elbow was high on the pillow over his head and his face was turned into its crook. The bedclothes had been pushed down about his waist and his new vest had rumpled up. His rib-cage, each bone outlined, rose and fell. His eyelashes were long and dark. Suddenly the boy smiled, not a grin, but a deep warm satisfied smile. Then he snuffled and began to snore lightly.
Michael had not seen that look on his face before. It depressed him, the thought that the only way the boy could be really content and happy was when he was sleeping.
Seven
The next morning at breakfast Owen made the waiter smile by asking for a third plate of cornflakes.
âLeave room for something else,â said Michael. But he neednât have bothered. Owen then went on to eat sausages, bacon, fried tomatoes and to finish what toast and marmalade was on the table.
âItâll not take long to fatten you up at this rate,â said Michael.
âSmashinâ,â was all Owen would say.
âWhat we need is a map of London. Then we can plan what to do.â Owen shrugged. In the foyer Michael bought an AâZ of London and they took it to their room to study it. From their window, Michael could see that it was a bright sunny day.
âRight,â he said. âLetâs not waste too much time over this or the best of the day will be over.â
Michael suggested various places he thought Owen might like to see, the
âIf it wasnât for you . . . ya wee shit!â
Those were the words she had used, he said. He then went on to tell what happened when a neighbour found him in the bottom hallway behind the bins wearing only his vest. Owen had spun him a few lies and had been taken in to his downstairs flat for the night. The man had provided him with striped pyjama bottoms with white draw cords, big as a tent, and had helped him roll the legs up until they reached Owenâs ankles. The next morning the boy went back up to his own flat. His mother had cried most of the day and had given him the money for enough chewing gum to last the week.
When Michael asked him about the story later, on different occasions, it remained substantially the same. There were some differences. Once he said that his mother had brought a cushion from the other room. Another time he said it was the man upstairs who had found him. Michael did not like to trip him up by grilling him on these points, for, on a matter so serious, it would have displayed a terrible lack of faith.
His bitter had inched its way down the glass without him being aware. He bought himself another. The crowd had become very noisy, laughing and shouting to make themselves heard above the din. There was no one drunk like in Ireland, but looking around it was hardly an English pub. The people in the bar seemed to be mostly tourists and foreigners. He had heard American accents and the girls in the opposite corner looked Spanish, like the posters of dancers. He felt secure in this atmosphere. If they mixed with the tourist crowd they would be very difficult to trace. Just another holidaymaker and his son.
The beer had begun to relax him and he felt warm. He actually felt he was on holiday. There was plenty of hope that they could make it. He yawned, finished his pint and felt that he could sleep.
On his way upstairs he noticed that the receptionist had finally gone. In the bedroom he put the light switch down slowly, minimizing the snap as it went on. He went over and looked at Owen as he undressed. He was still breathing normally. His elbow was high on the pillow over his head and his face was turned into its crook. The bedclothes had been pushed down about his waist and his new vest had rumpled up. His rib-cage, each bone outlined, rose and fell. His eyelashes were long and dark. Suddenly the boy smiled, not a grin, but a deep warm satisfied smile. Then he snuffled and began to snore lightly.
Michael had not seen that look on his face before. It depressed him, the thought that the only way the boy could be really content and happy was when he was sleeping.
Seven
The next morning at breakfast Owen made the waiter smile by asking for a third plate of cornflakes.
âLeave room for something else,â said Michael. But he neednât have bothered. Owen then went on to eat sausages, bacon, fried tomatoes and to finish what toast and marmalade was on the table.
âItâll not take long to fatten you up at this rate,â said Michael.
âSmashinâ,â was all Owen would say.
âWhat we need is a map of London. Then we can plan what to do.â Owen shrugged. In the foyer Michael bought an AâZ of London and they took it to their room to study it. From their window, Michael could see that it was a bright sunny day.
âRight,â he said. âLetâs not waste too much time over this or the best of the day will be over.â
Michael suggested various places he thought Owen might like to see, the
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