Sing Like You Know the Words (18 page)

-When we arrived, they decided
there was nowhere to land all of us. The bay was too small. So they
said the ones at the back, like me and my mates, would have to go
back to the ship and try again next day. Terribly sorry chaps hope
it’s not inconvenient for you. You can imagine our comments.

-And you went back to the same
place next day?

-Yes but, since we’d been so
polite as to announce our intentions the day before, the Argies
decided it would be rude not to have a reception ready for us.
Their planes came to shoot us out of the water, and our planes
weren’t there. Seems it wasn’t our day to have air cover,
unfortunately. We never got out of the boats. Some were blown to
pieces. I had a few scratches and came away a bit deaf, so the
doctor sent me off to the hospital. You know for maybe five seconds
I thought about saying no, I need to stay here with my mates. That
kind of insanity is catching. So now here I am. Never fired a gun
in anger and can’t say I´m sorry. Paid my debt to queen and country
and my life is my own again. I don´t know, I may even be due a
pension at some stage, though I expect it will be a useless medal
instead.

-I can see that you’re waiting
for something more, but really that’s all there is to say. Okay we
did see people, our mates, with bits blown off, or pumping blood
out of them. Some of them didn’t come home and that’s not very
nice, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Other than that, we
just did what we were told. There and back again: that´s your war
Tim. Hard to see the point of it really.

Tim paused to watch as a young
girl dressed in tight jeans and a baggy sweater walked past in the
direction of the bar. He must have been less than fascinated
though, because he continued.

-What else did I learn? That
it´s like I told you before I went: indecision kills and one person
has to give the orders and others follow them. We shouldn´t have
been stuck where we were. It was one of those army versus navy
things. But shit happens: everyone was trying to do their best. Oh
and people bleed more easily than you would think, and everyone
secretly thinks they are going to live forever until they
don´t.

It wasn’t much. Still more
disappointing for Matthew, was that Tim did not express any
seething resentment or sense of betrayal. He listened to Matthew’s
comments about the Belgrano sinking, that it was just murder and
everyone knew it: how the war could have been avoided but for that
deliberate act. Tim only shrugged.

-Murder. I suppose so, but
that’s a funny word to use about a war? People killing each other
is the deal. War’s just murder with fancy dress. What did you
expect to happen?

Matthew felt challenged. He
started to feel the old anger welling up as he spoke. No
hostilities had started. The ship was sailing away from the
declared exclusion zone. Tim’s voice when he replied was calm and
weary, as if he’d aged for a moment.

-The direction of sailing
doesn’t mean anything, he said. That’s how you patrol, forward and
back, like sentry duty. And no hostilities? I don’t know what you
mean by that. All those guns and boats and planes and it’s not a
war? It was a submarine sunk that ship yeah? And if the captain had
known there was one of our subs under him, do you think he would
have invited the commander aboard for tea?

Matthew felt that the ground
shifting under him and that as usual he wasn’t explaining himself
well. The central issue, he insisted, was that the conflict was
pointless and unnecessary and entered into only to save the
reputation of a government.

-Maybe you’re right Matt and the
world is run by evil men obsessed with their own greed and egos. I
can’t be bothered worrying about it. What I saw, I told you; more
like a series of cock ups going on all over the shop; just like
everyday life. Nothing where it´s wanted: too much of this, not
enough of that: parts that don’t work: plans that don’t work. I
just wonder, you know, maybe no one is ever in charge; even if some
people think they are.

-Before I went away I might have
agreed you couldn’t have a war without someone deciding that there
should be one, and what it was for: but now, well if you told me
that my war was just the result of a series of accidents, I’d have
to ask you if you thought there was any other kind.

Matthew decided to drop it. No
use to argue with Tim. He’d been there and lived through some
horrible times. He was entitled to any consolation he could find
right now. In time he would probably see things differently.

-So what now, he asked. Do you
have any plans?

-Plans. Well I’ve been
discharged by the doctor and I can tell you that I’ve also made a
full recovery from any lingering work ethic I might have been
suffering. Let’s be honest, I never had that too badly to start
with. Not like my dad; living for work until he wasn’t needed any
more and got thrown out. I’ll not be looking for a job while the
money lasts. I think the first thing for me, and I hope you, is to
get very drunk, starting now.

-Agreed, but after that,
what?

-That will be then, this is
now.

On this score at least, Tim was
as good as his word. Although he claimed not to have been affected
by his experiences, it was soon clear to Matthew and everyone else
that Tim was not the same. His behaviour was even more outrageous
than when he had been at college, but there was a new hardness to
him. Before, he’d always been part of the company. He would be the
one pushing things towards the edge, but they were all in it
together and nobody went too far. At least then he’d seemed to have
some idea where the edge was.

Something he’d seen had showed
him that really there were no limits. Now every night had to be a
carnival. Friends with jobs and ordinary lives could not keep up,
but new acquaintances seemed to spring up around him.

The old friends were willing to
indulge him at first. Of course he would have demons to exorcise,
even if they were not to be spoken of. They waited for the Tim they
knew to come back, but meanwhile there was something scary about
his intense and joyless hedonism.

His drinking had changed. Before
he used to drink when he was in a good mood. Now he drank to feel
less mean, though the result was not always what he intended.

Tim had never been without
something unexpected, biting, and usually funny to say to the
smallest audience. Now he was just as rude but morose with it; not
even trying to be funny. And these days he could be threatening,
though he looked smaller and skinnier than ever. There was a
suggestion of violence about him sometimes. Other nights he would
down three or four drinks quickly, showing no sense of enjoyment,
and then an internal switch would click, the engine would start to
run again and he’d be fine, except no-one knew for how long. Anyway
you could see that the engine no longer had brakes that worked.

One night as Matthew was walking
him back to his flat, Tim was taken by the idea that someone ought
to put some bricks through the windows of the Houses of Parliament.
Matthew left him mumbling at the front door when Tim finally
managed to fit his key in the lock, but something made him retrace
his steps. He found his friend still in the street, loading
builder´s rubble into a car that he was in no condition to
drive.

More than once, Tim disappeared
from the general company halfway through a boozy night and Matthew
found him lying in a nearby street, apparently asleep.

Tim had always been able to
handle drink. Small as he was, at the end of the night, he’d been
the one whose speech was clear, up for any stupid prank, and sober
enough to carry it off. He could be a nasty and malicious drunk,
but he could be the same when he was sober. Friends forgave him
because he made them laugh; but it was not so amusing when you
couldn’t make out what he was saying, or when he started to repeat
himself endlessly, or sit in silence for an hour.

It got so you had to watch him
all the time. He might suddenly turn uncontrollable or incapable,
or he could just wander off leaving you to worry whether he would
ever find his way home.

It was just no fun to know him,
and you never knew when he’d started drinking in a day or even at
what point the trouble would start. In the beginning, fifteen or
sixteen drinks might do it to him, but later it might be six or
seven. Some nights he could still drink all night and seem fine.
When it came to the point that two or three drinks would start
things spinning, it was obvious that the problem was not going to
solve itself, but so far as Tim was concerned there was no
problem.

Nothing much was said. In the
end they all just accepted that the old Tim was gone. He was a
danger, mostly to himself; a liability no one wanted to take
on.

It was still not quite a year
since Tim’s return when Matthew went to see him at a rented flat
he’d not long moved into. It was close to the town centre, on the
eleventh floor of a building that seemed to shift unsteadily in the
strong wind. The hallways were dirty and echoing but at least the
lift was working. Tim did not encourage him to come in but Matthew
more or less insisted. He was shocked to find that the place was
more squalid even than their old student house in the worst times.
Tim hadn´t lived there long enough for simple neglect to do this.
It was as if he had soaked up the decay that pervaded the whole
building and determined to concentrate it in his own space.

Tim saw him looking around at
the unwashed plates and bowls, the piles of dirty clothes and used
bedding spread about randomly; the second hand furniture with the
sofa that was missing a leg.

-It’s just temporary, Tim
said.

-You need to get out of here.
Have you thought about looking for a job yet?

-Three million people
unemployed, didn’t you hear? Tim replied.

-But you have a degree. The army
makes you more employable. You’ve got lots of advantages.

-I don’t want a job just yet,
okay? I waste too much time at the jobcentre as it is. Most of the
people down there, when you talk to them, they’re desperate for
work; so let them have it. Selfish of me to take it from them isn´t
it? I don’t need much to get by.

-Your family would help if you
let them.

-Talking about my dad? Poor old
bastard is worse off than me. No job and he’s trying to keep up
appearances. Quite frankly I don’t give a shit about appearances.
You can probably see that. Just a good thing they have the mortgage
paid off.

-Tim, no one wants to push you.
But you can’t carry on like this. If it was something to do with
the army ...you could get help you know.

-It has nothing to do with the
army. I wish people would shut up about that.

-But what do you do all day?

Ah, that´s the real question.
What do you do? That’s what really worries the normal people; they
feel threatened if someone isn´t hard at work like them. Most
people need it you know, so they have a reason to get up in the
morning, and somewhere to be at whatever time the clock is telling
them. Well I don’t need that; never did. You know why they want to
be chained to the clock don’t you? Because it keeps them numb;
stops them having to worry about feeling anything, or wondering who
they are, or where their life is going. Fuck them.

-So what do you do? Matthew did
not want to be drawn into a conversation like this with Tim.

-You need to know? My week
starts on Tuesday, when I go down the office to sign on. Can you
confirm that you are not undertaking any employment? Yes I can
confirm that. Are you making efforts to find employment? Yes, my
waking hours are exclusively dedicated to that end. Is there any
particular kind of employment that would be appropriate for you?
Yes, I have always had a yearning to be a philosopher king and
govern my subjects with enlightened despotism. When the time comes
they will love me for it. So then I get my little green slip of
paper, which is called a Giro, and I take it to the post office and
it turns into money. Once I have the money I can get a drink, and
then the week really begins.

-How long is it going to
last?

-They give you a brand new Giro
every week.

-You know what I mean.

-Well, you know the Latin – ars
longa vita brevis? It means you can be arseholed for a long time in
a short life.

Matthew made one more try

-Tim, people who care about you
can’t stand to see you like this.

-They don’t have to, do they?
Did I ask them to? They can all piss off. You too Matt. I never
liked any of you anyway.

***

Patricia’s inquiry finally ran
its course at about the same time as the war ended. It seemed to
her that it had been a waste of time, a drudgery that left a bitter
taste.

Nothing of any significance had
come to light about Mr Obuswu’s death, even though the report
seemed to have made everyone happy. The authors were praised for
their clarity, and patient, methodical investigation, as well as
their dedication. Local politicians queued up to add their
endorsement. Everyone who commented was sure that relations between
the different communities would move forward on a basis of improved
trust as a result of the work that had been done.

Patricia had to admit that what
Gerald told her was right: you couldn´t keep forever looking and
looking just on the basis that something didn’t feel quite right.
The last word is rarely spoken about anything in law or in life, he
said, and perhaps just holding the inquiry had been more important
than anything it was likely to discover. It was a good lesson for
her was that you had to deal with events on the basis of the
information that you could reasonably obtain, and then move on.
That sounded like good advice but Patricia found it hard to take.
She was sure that there was another story that remained hidden. In
her mind, she had failed.