Anyway I’d reached yuyayyi, and had just started thinking about going on to ihmarra to be red ihmaarra to be blood red, when Szegeti came out of Quaglino’s with a woman.
She said:
Of course I’ll drop you off.
He said:
You’re an angel.
She said:
Don’t be silly. But you’ll have to tell me how to go, I always get lost in those little streets.
I held my breath and he said:
Well, you know Sloane Street?
She said:
Of course.
They were walking down the street away from Piccadilly. I followed on the other side of the street, and he said:
Well, you turn right onto Pont Street and then it’s your fourth left—couldn’t be easier.
I said: EUREKA!
I said: Sloane Street, Pont Street, fourth left. Sloane Street, Pont Street, fourth left. Sloane Street, Pont Street, fourth left.
She said:
I’m sure we’ll get there somehow.
I followed them to a National Car Park. I waited by the exit so that I saw her dark blue Saab come out. Then I started walking to Knightsbridge. It was a long shot but I thought maybe she would not just drop him off but go in and if she did and I waited long enough I would see where she came out.
I got to Pont Street at about 2:15. The fourth left was Lennox Gardens. There was no sign of the Saab.
I decided to wait until the next day anyway and hope that I would see him leave. I walked back to Sloane Street where I had seen a pay phone but it only took coins. I went back to Knightsbridge and found a phone that took phonecards and called Sibylla. I said I was in Knightsbridge and needed to be there early in the morning so I thought I would just stay there but I did not want her to think I was being held hostage or sold into sexual bondage to a ring of paedophiles.
Sibylla did not say anything for a very long time. I knew what she was thinking anyway. The silence stretched out, for my mother was debating inwardly the right of one rational being to exercise arbitrary authority over another rational being on the ground of seniority. Or rather she was not debating this, for she did not believe in such a right, but she was resisting the temptation to exercise such power sanctioned only by the custom of the day. At last she said: Well then I’ll see you tomorrow.
There was a locked garden in Lennox Gardens. I went over the fence and lay down on the grass behind a bench. The years of sleeping on the ground paid off: I fell asleep instantly.
At about 11:00 the next morning Szegeti came out of a block of flats at the end of the street and turned the corner.
When I got home Sibylla had finished Carpworld. She sat in the soft chair in the front room huddled over Teach Yourself Pali. Her face was as dark and empty as the screen.
I thought I should be sympathetic but I was too impatient. What’s the use of being so miserable? What’s the point? Why can’t she be like Layla Szegeti? Anything would be better than this. Is this supposed to be for my sake? How can it be for my sake if I hate it? It would be better to be wild and daring and gamble everything we had. I wish she would sell everything we had and take it to a casino and bet it all on a single turn of the wheel.
The next day I went back to Knightsbridge. He had left at 11:00 the day before so I thought I’d better get there before 11:00.
I got there at 9:00, but I couldn’t get in. There was a speaker phone and a buzzer: Szegeti was on the third floor. I sat on the steps to wait. Half an hour went by. I stood by the speaker phone as if looking for a name. Twenty minutes went by.
At 9:56 a woman with a bag of shopping let herself in and I followed her through. I headed for the stairs to avoid awkward questions: I ran up the stairs three at a time.
At 10:00 I went up to the door and rang the bell.
A man in a white uniform came to the door. He said:
What do you want?
I said I had come to see Mr. Szegeti.
He said: Mr. Szegeti is not receiving callers.
I said: When would be a good time to come?
He said: It is not for me to speculate. Would you like to leave your card?
But now a voice from another room called out something in Arabic. I could tell it was Arabic but I couldn’t understand it; this was annoying as I thought my Arabic was pretty good. I had read 1001 of the Thousand and One Nights and the Muqaddimah and a lot of Ibn Battuta and I read Al Hayah whenever Sib bought a copy to keep her hand in. The voice must have said something like It’s all right, I’ll take care of it, because the man in white bowed and walked away, and Szegeti came into the hall. He was wearing a red and gold brocade robe; his hair was wet; he was wearing a lot of perfume. My opponent was a dandy of the Meiji period. This was it.
I wanted to meet you, I said.
He said: How very flattering. It’s rather early, though, don’t you think? In the days when people paid morning calls they paid them in the afternoon, you know. The custom has died out, but this civilised conception of the day is preserved in the description of a performance beginning at four o’ clock as a matinee. You wouldn’t expect a matinee to begin at ten in the morning.
No, I said.
As it happens, however, you would have been doomed to disappointment had you come at a more suitable time. I have an appointment at two—hence my unseasonably matutinal appearance. Why did you want to meet me?
I took a breath. He raises the bamboo sword. He draws it back with beautiful economy.
I’m your son, I said. I could not breathe.
He paused. He was perfectly still.
I see, he said. Do you mind if I smoke? This is rather sudden.
Sure.
He took a gold case—a gold case, not a pack—from a pocket. He opened it: the cigarettes had dark paper, and a gold band near one tip.
He took out a cigarette; closed the case; tapped the cigarette on the case; put the case back in his pocket. He took out a gold lighter. He put the cigarette in his mouth; cracked the lighter; held the flame to the tip. All this time he did not look at me. He put the lighter back in his pocket. He inhaled on the cigarette. He still hadn’t looked at me. At last he looked at me. He said: