Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [255]
‘No. I was the one who became invisible.’
‘You said you liked it there. You wrote and said you were happy. It was all fun and games.’
‘What was I supposed to say? When I write, my sorrows stay inside. The others saw me – Mr and Mrs Sutherland, Pinche, Popsy the dog. But I didn’t. They were very kind to me, but I lost sight of myself. All that peace was finishing me off. So I decided to leave.’
‘I always said the countryside is good for a visit,’ remarked Polka. ‘For what the Portuguese call a pickenick.’
‘Pinche’s the one who likes it. To start with, he came with me to London, but couldn’t get used to it. He even worked as a sandwich-man for a time. Dressed up as Sherlock Holmes to advertise the detective’s museum. He also worked as an executioner of tourists. That photo . . .’
‘The uniform didn’t suit him,’ observed Polka. ‘He didn’t look very comfortable with the axe.’
‘No. He went back to Sussex, far-flung Chichester. He loves it there. Mr Sutherland, Lena’s husband, the pilot, lives for his fuchsias. He’s a breeder. Mixes them, obtains new colours. Produced one so white, virtually albino, he called it Miss Griffin. Shame the invisible man didn’t find his invisible mate. Another time. Mr Sutherland barely speaks, but chats away to his flowers. Gets on very well with Pinche. Says he has green fingers, a way with plants. One day, he’ll be the best at fuchsias.’
‘There’ll be something else in Pinche’s life apart from fuchsias.’
‘He’s a girlfriend who rides a bike.’
‘Bike woman!’ exclaimed Polka. ‘I thought so.’
Yes, O thought, they passed each other so often they fell in love. Passed each other every day without speaking. Started to communicate with the calligraphy of their bikes. She once performed an unexpected 180° turn, ended up facing him. And so on. The most important day was when the wind tried unsuccessfully to push them over. He gazed at her admiringly. She was older than him. Perhaps twice his age. Until then, he’d seen very few women on a bike. The first was called Miss Herminia, who was said to be mad. Now he thought it wasn’t like this, she was probably pedalling against her madness. He fell in love with the cyclist who stood up to the wind. Their outings got longer. When he thought she was about to leave, he’d draw another phrase on the road. This made him happy, drawing circles around her. When he told O, she burst out laughing, ‘She’s much older than you!’ ‘The bike, you mean,’ he replied. Winked. And walked off.
‘I didn’t tell you,’ said O to Polka, ‘but before I found that job in the hospital, I was a waitress. Wasn’t much fun. I had an argument, that’s why I didn’t tell you. The owner was on my back all the time. One of those guys who do their own work badly, but are always watching what others are up to. I went after some people who’d forgotten to pay. When I came back, he told me off for leaving the café without his permission. So I grabbed him by the neck, lifted him clean off the ground, and he said something no one’s said to me before, “You are a half-man!”’
‘What did you do?’
‘I yelled at him, “Not half, I ain’t.”’
‘Well said, that girl!’ cried Polka.
‘You’re at home. You’ll be better here than in hospital.’ Polka keeps quiet. He knows what this means. He’ll be better for as long as he lasts. But there’s nothing he can do about it. What amazes him is the bed.
‘And this bed?’
‘It’s orthopaedic,’ said O. ‘Goes up and down. Has a little engine.’
‘Well, give it a go! That’s brilliant! Does it go any higher? Make it go higher.’ Then, looking worried, ‘It must have cost a lot . . .’
‘Social Security paid for it.’
‘Did they?’ he asked with mistrust. ‘Well, we may as well make the most of it. Move it up and down.’
In this way, whenever he had a visit, Polka would ask to be lifted aloft and from up on high would greet the visitor with the gesture of a carnival minister:
‘Sursum corda!’
One day, with the bed raised, he tells her he can’t see.
‘What is there to see, Papa?’
‘I thought I’d see better from up here. But I can’t see a thing. Here or there. A bit of mist, that’s all.’