Read Online The House of Special Purpose by John Boyne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Boyne
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heard of people that find a way to beat it.’
‘As have I,’ I told him, not wishing to offer him any false hope. Zoya and I had already spent weeks arguing over her decision not to seek any treatment but to allow the disease to work its way through her body and take her when it was finally bored of her. I had tried everything I could to dissuade her from this path, but it was useless. She had simply decided that her time had come.
‘Call me if you need me, all right?’ Michael had insisted. ‘Me or Dad. We’re here whenever you need anything at all. And I’ll stop by more often, OK? Twice a week if I can manage it. And tell her not to cook for me, I’ll eat before I get here.’
‘And insult her?’ I asked, chiding him. ‘You’ll eat what she puts before you, Michael.’
‘Well … whatever,’ he said, shrugging it off, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair and presenting that lean smileof his to me. ‘I’m here, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not going anywhere.’
He has always been a good grandson. He’s always made us proud of him. After he left, Zoya and I both confessed that we had been moved by his thoughtfulness.
‘A trip?’ I asked, surprised by her suggestion. ‘Are you sure that you would be able to manage it?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Now, I could, anyway. A few months from now, who knows?’
‘You wouldn’t prefer to stay here and rest?’
‘And die, you mean?’ she asked, perhaps regretting the words as soon as she said them, for she caught the expression of dismay on my face and leaned across to kiss me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. But think of it, Georgy. I can sit here and wait for the end to come, or I can do something with whatever time is left to me.’
‘Well, I suppose we could take a train somewhere for a week or two,’ I said, considering it. ‘We had some happy times on the south coast when we were younger.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of Cornwall,’ she said quickly, shaking her head, and it was my turn now to feel regret, for the name inspired memories of our daughter, and in that direction lay grief and madness.
‘Scotland, perhaps,’ I suggested. ‘We’ve never been there. I’ve always thought that it might be nice to see Edinburgh. Or is that too far? Are we being too ambitious?’
‘You can never be too ambitious, Georgy,’ she said with a smile.
‘Not Scotland, then,’ I said, imagining a map of Britain in my mind and looking around it in my imagination. ‘It’s too cold there this time of year anyway. And not Wales, I think. The Lake District, perhaps? Wordsworth country? Or Ireland? We could take a ferry over to Dublin, if you think you could manage it. Or travel south, towards West Cork. It’s supposed to be very beautiful there.’
‘I was thinking further north,’ she said, and I knew by her tone that this was no idle conversation, but something that she had been considering for some time already. She knew exactly where she wanted to go and would settle for nowhere else. ‘I was thinking of Finland,’ she said.
‘Finland?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why Finland, of all places?’ I asked, surprised by her choice. ‘It’s so … well, I mean, it’s Finland, isn’t it? Is there anything to see there?’
‘Of course there is, Georgy,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s an entire country, like anywhere else.’
‘But you’ve never expressed any interest in seeing Finland before.’
‘I was there as a child,’ she told me. ‘I don’t remember it very much, of course, but I thought … well, it’s as close to home as we could get, isn’t it? As close to Russia, I mean.’
‘Ah,’ I said, nodding slowly and considering it. ‘Of course.’ I pictured the map of northern Europe in my head, the long border of over seven hundred miles that stretched the length of the country, from Grense-Jacobsely in the north to Hamina in the south.
‘I’d like to feel that I was close to
‘As have I,’ I told him, not wishing to offer him any false hope. Zoya and I had already spent weeks arguing over her decision not to seek any treatment but to allow the disease to work its way through her body and take her when it was finally bored of her. I had tried everything I could to dissuade her from this path, but it was useless. She had simply decided that her time had come.
‘Call me if you need me, all right?’ Michael had insisted. ‘Me or Dad. We’re here whenever you need anything at all. And I’ll stop by more often, OK? Twice a week if I can manage it. And tell her not to cook for me, I’ll eat before I get here.’
‘And insult her?’ I asked, chiding him. ‘You’ll eat what she puts before you, Michael.’
‘Well … whatever,’ he said, shrugging it off, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair and presenting that lean smileof his to me. ‘I’m here, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not going anywhere.’
He has always been a good grandson. He’s always made us proud of him. After he left, Zoya and I both confessed that we had been moved by his thoughtfulness.
‘A trip?’ I asked, surprised by her suggestion. ‘Are you sure that you would be able to manage it?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Now, I could, anyway. A few months from now, who knows?’
‘You wouldn’t prefer to stay here and rest?’
‘And die, you mean?’ she asked, perhaps regretting the words as soon as she said them, for she caught the expression of dismay on my face and leaned across to kiss me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. But think of it, Georgy. I can sit here and wait for the end to come, or I can do something with whatever time is left to me.’
‘Well, I suppose we could take a train somewhere for a week or two,’ I said, considering it. ‘We had some happy times on the south coast when we were younger.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of Cornwall,’ she said quickly, shaking her head, and it was my turn now to feel regret, for the name inspired memories of our daughter, and in that direction lay grief and madness.
‘Scotland, perhaps,’ I suggested. ‘We’ve never been there. I’ve always thought that it might be nice to see Edinburgh. Or is that too far? Are we being too ambitious?’
‘You can never be too ambitious, Georgy,’ she said with a smile.
‘Not Scotland, then,’ I said, imagining a map of Britain in my mind and looking around it in my imagination. ‘It’s too cold there this time of year anyway. And not Wales, I think. The Lake District, perhaps? Wordsworth country? Or Ireland? We could take a ferry over to Dublin, if you think you could manage it. Or travel south, towards West Cork. It’s supposed to be very beautiful there.’
‘I was thinking further north,’ she said, and I knew by her tone that this was no idle conversation, but something that she had been considering for some time already. She knew exactly where she wanted to go and would settle for nowhere else. ‘I was thinking of Finland,’ she said.
‘Finland?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why Finland, of all places?’ I asked, surprised by her choice. ‘It’s so … well, I mean, it’s Finland, isn’t it? Is there anything to see there?’
‘Of course there is, Georgy,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s an entire country, like anywhere else.’
‘But you’ve never expressed any interest in seeing Finland before.’
‘I was there as a child,’ she told me. ‘I don’t remember it very much, of course, but I thought … well, it’s as close to home as we could get, isn’t it? As close to Russia, I mean.’
‘Ah,’ I said, nodding slowly and considering it. ‘Of course.’ I pictured the map of northern Europe in my head, the long border of over seven hundred miles that stretched the length of the country, from Grense-Jacobsely in the north to Hamina in the south.
‘I’d like to feel that I was close to
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