Mr. Gwyn (26 page)

Was it hard?

Nonsense.

Even shooting?

Even that.

Did you ever shoot, afterward?

At first. But I wasn't the type to enjoy it. I liked other things more.

Like?

Understanding. I liked to understand. And then I liked the criminals. The crazies. I liked to understand them. At one point I began to study. It's the only thing I
almost
finished in my life. They used me for that, at the police.

For that what?

When they needed to understand the minds of criminals or crazy people. I stopped shooting and for quite a while they used me for other things, where there was no need for guns. I was the type of policeman they send to the roof to talk to people who are going to jump, you know?

Yes.

They called me when there were letters from maniacs to read.

Cool.

I was good at it, then.

Why do you keep saying I
was
good at it?

I say what?

I
did
this, I
did
that… aren't you a cop anymore?

I am, but I stopped doing anything good long ago.

Who said so?

Me, I said it.

Excuse me a moment… 3471, Detective Pearson… Yes, the boy is with me… I know… I know perfectly well… It wasn't a good idea… I know what the orders were, but it wasn't a good idea, does it seem to you a good idea to keep a boy all night in that wretched hotel after what happened to him? Is that what you'd call a good idea?… I know… Well, you know what you can do with your rules?… Do what you want, you know how much of a damn I give about it… He's here with me, I told you… No, I'm not telling you,
but it's the right place for him… Make all the reports you want, then I'll make one, too… What kidnapping, what the hell are you talking about, I'm only taking him… No, I'm not going back, let's end it here… Do what you want… You know how much of a damn I give… Fuck off, Stoner, over and out.

Sorry, kiddo.

That's okay.

Sorry for the curse words.

That's okay.

They can't do anything to me.

No?

Four days and I'm done. I turn in the badge and retire. They can't do anything to me. You might be my last job—I want to do it well and in my own way.

Do the police retire?

If they don't get knocked off first.

Knocked off?

Killed.

Oh.

Let's do like this, push that button, the first on the left, and turn off the radio. That way they won't interrupt us anymore.

This one?

Yes. Good.

Is there also a siren?

Yes, but it's broken. There's the blue light, if you want.

The blue light that spins on the roof?

Yes. It should be under the seat. With the cans.

I'd like it.

Okay. Take it out.

This?

Open the window and stick it on the roof.

It won't fly off?

I hope not. It's supposed to be magnetic. But I haven't used it for a while.

Done.

Put up the window, that's a bitter cold coming in. Okay, let's turn it on. Voilà. Cool, no?

It's really the police light.

You like it?

I don't know.

Something's wrong?

There were all lights like that, in front of the house.

If you don't like it let's take it down.

I don't know.

You don't like it, kiddo, let's take it down.

There was the big light of the fire and then all those lights came.

Take it down, go ahead.

Sorry.

For what? They're horrible lights, you're right.

Where should I put it?

Throw it back there, but put up that window.

There were all those faces I'd never seen, and that blue light on them all. Then there was the smell.

Let's talk about something else.

No.

When we get there we'll talk about it if you want.

No, now.

I'm not sure it's a good idea.

Did someone set it on fire?

We don't know.

A house doesn't catch fire by itself.

It can happen. An electrical wire, a stove left on.

Someone set it on fire. Was it friends of my father?

I don't know. But we'll find out.

You'll find out?

I'm retiring, Malcolm. That shit Stoner will take care of it. He's a shit but he's good at what he does.

You have to tell him that it didn't catch fire by itself, our house.

Okay.

They burned it down.

Okay.

Suddenly there was fire everywhere. I saw it.

Okay.

My parents were fighting. When they fight I go out.

Yes, it's a good system, I also used it.

I jumped off the sidewalk, on my bike, in front of the house. Then came that fire. I left the bike there and went closer. I looked through the big window…

…

…

…

What's strange is that they didn't escape.

Who?

My father and mother. They did nothing to escape. My father
was sitting at the table, with his bottle of wine, and the gun lying next to it, as usual. My mother had come out of the kitchen and was standing in front of him. And they were shouting. But they didn't…

Okay, now let's talk about something else, Malcolm.

No.

Malcolm…

They were shouting at each other. They were shouting on top of each other. And meanwhile everything was on fire.

Okay.

They wouldn't have died if instead of shouting at each other they had run away. Why didn't they?

I don't know, Malcolm.

That's why I couldn't move. I looked at them. I couldn't move. Everything started getting hot, so I began walking backward. I stopped where it wasn't hot anymore. But I couldn't help looking.

Get me a can, Malcolm.

Just a minute. Will they ask me why I didn't go in and save them?

No, they won't ask you.

Tell them it's because I saw that thing.

Okay.

I didn't see my father, but my mother was like a torch, she caught fire at a certain point, but even then she didn't start running away, she stood there like a torch.

Then the woman took one hand off the wheel and placed it on one of the boy's hands. She gripped it hard. She slowed down a little because she seldom drove and wasn't confident, she didn't like driving with a single hand. In the dark, on that road in the emptiness. But
she kept her hand tight on the boy's, being careful not to swerve—she wanted to tell him to stop it, but also that if he wanted to keep going she would hold him by the hand. He said again that at the end there was nothing left of the house, and asked her how it was possible that nothing could remain of a house, after fire had seized it, in the darkness of the night. The woman knew the exact answer was that a lot of things about that house would remain forever, and that he would spend a lifetime getting it out of his head, but instead she said yes, it was possible, if a house was of wood it could be reduced to a pile of ashes, however strange that might seem, if one night a fire decided to consume it, if the hearth in the living room caught fire at night. It was all smoking, he said. It will smoke for a very long time, she thought. And she wondered if there is a possibility, a single one, of returning to look from a distance when we always, all of us, have some smoking ruin before us, and that boy more than any other. I am a terrible driver with just one hand, she said. The boy took her hand and placed it on the wheel. I can manage, he said. Then they were silent for a long time. There was that road leading eastward, without ever turning, or just slightly, to avoid a patch of woods. In the light of the headlights it revealed itself little by little, like a secret of small importance. They occasionally met a car, but didn't look at it. The boy took a can, opened it, offered it to the woman, then remembered that business of driving with one hand, so he brought it to her lips and she then burst out laughing and said that no, she couldn't—there were a ton of things like that she couldn't do, she said. You know how to drive at night, said the boy. This time, yes, said the woman.

But I'm doing it just for you, she added.

Thank you.

I'm glad to do it. It's a long time since I did something willingly.

Really?

So
willingly, I mean.

You're strange, you don't seem like a cop.

Why?

You're fat.

The world is full of fat policemen.

You're not dressed like a cop.

No.

And this car is gross.

Hey, kiddo, you're talking about a Honda Civic, property of the Birmingham police department.

Inside. The inside is disgusting.

Ah, that.

Yes, that.

Every morning, at headquarters, they wash the cars, but not mine, I don't want mine washed.

You like it like this.

Yes.

There's popcorn everywhere.

I love popcorn. It's not easy to eat it while you're driving.

I understand.

And then you see me like this now, but I was a real knockout, you know?

I didn't say you're ugly.

Right. I'm very beautiful. And I was even more. In all honesty, my tits are famous in all the police stations of the Midlands.

Wow.

I'm joking.

Oh.

But it's true, I was a beautiful woman, I was a very beautiful girl, and then I was a very attractive woman. Now it's something else.

What?

It doesn't matter to me anymore.

I don't believe it.

I know, you don't believe it if it doesn't happen to you. Like a lot of other things.

Do you have a husband?

No.

Children?

I do have one, but I haven't seen him for years. I wasn't very good at being a mother. It went like that.

You were good at being a cop.

Yes, for a certain period, I was.

Then you got fat.

Let's put it that way.

I understand.

I wouldn't be so sure, but all right.

No, really, I understand.

What do you understand?

You're like my parents. When the fire broke out they didn't escape. Why does it happen to you people?

Well, now, what are you talking about?

I don't know.

Damned if I would have stayed to get burned up in that house, believe me.

…

Sorry, I didn't mean that.

It's okay.

I meant that I always escaped when the house was on fire, I swear, I escaped plenty of times, I've done nothing but escape. It's not that.

Then what is it?

Come now, that's a lot of questions.

It was just to find out.

Then find me some popcorn, there should be some on the backseat.

Here?

Somewhere. A family pack already open.

There's nothing.

Look on the floor, it must have fallen off.

Down here?

And what the hell is that?

But she wasn't talking about the popcorn. She was seeing something in the rearview mirror that she didn't like. Hell, she said again. She narrowed her eyes to see better. There was a car, in the distance, behind them, and from the blue light on the roof it appeared to be a police car. That shit Stoner, thought the woman. Then instinctively she pressed the accelerator and bent slightly over the steering wheel, murmuring something. The boy turned and saw the car with the blue light, distant in the darkness. It didn't have a siren, only that blue light. He glanced at the woman and saw her concentrated
on driving, her hands gripping the steering wheel. She read the road with her eyes almost half-closed, glancing from time to time in the rearview mirror. The boy turned again and it seemed to him that the car, back there, was closer. Don't turn, the woman said to him, it brings bad luck. She added that when you're followed you shouldn't pay attention to who's following you, you have to focus on your choices, stay clear-headed, and know that if you give your utmost no one will capture you. She talked to relax and because gradually she had begun to slow down, tired. If, on the other hand, you're the one following, what you have to do is repeat everything he does, without stopping to think, thinking wastes time, you just have to repeat what he's doing and when you're within range detach yourself from his brain and make your choice. Nine times out of ten it works, she said. If you don't have a wreck like this under your ass, obviously. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw the police car rolling impassively toward them, like a billiard ball toward the hole. Who knows how he found me, that shit, she said. I told you he's good at what he does, she said. Hide the cans, she said. What cans? The beer, she said. The boy looked around but there really weren't any cans. Maybe they were sliding under the seats, in the midst of the popcorn and all that incredible stuff like the box for a hair dryer, a crumpled poster, two fishing boots. No beer, he said. Good, said the woman, and then she said it would be better if he stretched out on the seat and pretended to sleep. It occurred to her that that would keep Stoner from shouting. It would be better if they avoided shouting. Speaking calmly, maybe she would convince him. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the blue light was now flashing fifty yards away. I can't manage to do anything
right anymore, she thought. And she was seized by the anguish that suffocated her at night, in the sleepless hours, when every piece of her life passed through her mind, and there wasn't one in which a creeping, inevitable end wasn't written. She took her foot off the accelerator slightly and the car behind closed in. The boy had shut his eyes, the blue flashes under his eyelids, closer and closer. The police car put on its blinker and slowly came alongside them. The woman said to herself that she had to remain calm, and thought of the first words she would say. Let me do my job, she would say. The car came alongside, and she turned. She glimpsed a face that she didn't know, a young cop. He seemed to be nice enough. He stared at her for a moment and then raised his thumb to ask if everything was all right. She smiled and made the same gesture. The car accelerated, and when it was twenty yards ahead got back in the lane. The woman knew exactly what was happening in that car. One of the two was saying something about the strangeness of women who go driving at night. The other would say nothing and this meant that they wouldn't stop, there was no reason to. If she wants to drive at night, let her, he would perhaps have said. She saw them grow distant and she continued to drive in the most disciplined way possible, in order to be forgotten. She thought she had made it when she saw them disappear around one of the rare curves, and then she gripped the wheel with her hands, because she knew how it worked and she wouldn't be surprised to find them stopped along the road, beyond the curve, waiting for her. She glanced at the boy. He was motionless, eyes closed, head leaning to one side of the seat. She said nothing to him and started to take the curve. All right, she said softly. She saw the road stretching ahead in the darkness and the
blue light flashing in the distance. She slowed down a little and kept driving until she saw a turnout on the side of the road. She braked and drove into the turnout, stopping with the engine running. She let go of the steering wheel with her fingers. Fuck, she thought. Just listen to that shit heart pounding, she thought; anything frightens me now. She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and began to cry, in silence. The boy opened his eyes and looked at her, without moving. He wasn't sure how things had ended up. He looked at the road, but there were no blue lights around, only the darkness of before and nothing else. And yet that woman was crying, and in fact now she was really sobbing, rhythmically beating her head against the steering wheel, but softly, without hurting herself. She didn't stop for a while and the boy didn't dare to do anything, until she suddenly raised her head, dried her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket, turned to him and, in a rather cheerful voice said, Just what was needed. The boy smiled.