The Day Aberystwyth Stood Still

Chapter 14

I opened my eyes and stared up into the face of Sauerkopp holding an ice cream. He smiled. I closed my eyes and waited. I opened them. He was still there, sitting on a grey-blue hospital chair, next to a grey-blue bedside table.

‘Everything is grey-blue,’ I said.

‘They do it to be soothing on the eye,’ he said.

‘Blue and grey.’

‘Soothing, you see? Soooooooooothing.’

‘Yes, I feel calm.’

O fervent eyelids letting through

Those eyes the greenest of things blue

The bluest of things grey.

‘That’s lovely.’

‘Swinburne. A much under-appreciated poet if you ask me.’

‘You’re eating ice cream. You’re always eating ice cream.’

‘I like it. Do you want one?’

‘Not really. It’s nice here, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Such a shame you have to leave.’

‘Do they need the bed?’

‘No, but it might be a good idea for you to depart before they find out you are not Nathan Carolingus, which is the name we booked you in under, but Louie Knight, a small-time Aberystwyth shamus wanted for attempted murder.’

‘I didn’t attempt to kill anybody.’

‘No, Louie Knight did. He shot a man called Meici Jones. Nathan Carolingus was just an innocent bystander.’

‘How did Nathan get these bruises on the back of my head?’

‘Meici put up a brave struggle and defended himself stoutly using a rounders bat until Louie Knight pulled out the gun and shot him in the shoulder. He’s not on the critical list, but that was more due to luck than intent on the part of Louie. In the confusion Nathan Carolingus got hit by the bat.’

‘I know Louie Knight, he wouldn’t shoot anyone.’

‘Someone shot Meici, and he says it was Louie. He said Louie attacked him for no reason outside his office.’

‘Did they find the gun?’

‘Not yet. It’s probably in the river or somewhere. They usually are. Meici Jones works for the human cannonball –’

‘I know who Meici Jones is. Why did you kill Mrs Lewis?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Who did, then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think it was you. I think you like killing people.’

‘I’ve never killed anyone in my life, and if I had I certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed it.’ He stood up and removed his hat which had been hanging from my saline-drip dispenser. ‘If I were you, I’d walk out of this room filled with furniture which you rightly point out is predominantly blue-grey; turn left outside the door and take the lift, which is situated at the midpoint of the corridor. You press G and emerge on the ground floor some seconds later and turn left and then straight ahead, and in less than a minute you are outside feeling the warm sun on your pallid face.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know; running might not be a bad plan. There’s a cleaner’s cubbyhole opposite the Gents, just before you get to the lift. There are some overalls in there. Take a clipboard, too. No one ever stops a man with a clipboard.’

‘When I walk out carrying my clipboard, is that when I get arrested?’

‘It’s no trap. Why bother? If I wanted them to arrest you, I’d tell them now.’

‘Why are you helping me?’

‘You work for the Aviary. It’s my job to look after people who work for us.’

‘I don’t work for the Aviary.’

‘That’s for us to decide.’

‘You really going to let me go?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I like you. We’re on the same side.’

‘No we’re not.’

‘You and I have got a lot in common. I know you don’t think so, but that’s because you have formed the wrong opinion of me.’

‘Underneath it all you are just a cuddly toy, is that it?’

‘No.’

‘Everything you say is . . . is . . . a riddle wrapped in . . . how does it go?’

‘A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’

‘Yes, that’s it. That was Winston Churchill, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, indeed, talking about Russia.’

‘You and Russia: a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’

‘Except that I know what’s inside the enigma.’

‘You’re doing it again.’

He winked.

‘You said you and I are on the same side. What side is that?’

‘The side where they don’t put people’s heads on sticks.’ He tipped his hat, about to leave.

‘No, wait. We’re not on the same side. You think if you say it often enough it will come true and you won’t have to feel so bad about yourself. But it’s not true. For all my faults, I’ve got a heart. I can think and feel and love. Right now I’m hurting. What would you know about that? You who works for some shadowy organisation with the morals of a dungeon toad. You who slinks about in the shadows, looking at life through jaundiced eyes, a sour expression on your face. You and I are not the same because there are things that are sacred to me but you don’t know anything about that. You wouldn’t know what it means.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a photo. ‘It’s a nice speech, Peeper, but as I say, you are wrong about me. Sooner or later you’ll realise it.’ He held the picture out in front of me. It showed a little girl, maybe six or seven, playing on a rocking horse. ‘This is my little girl. Her name is Johanna. She’ll be eight on Sunday, only I won’t be there to share it with her because she lives in Scotland with her mum, a woman who took such a dislike to me she doesn’t want me near my little girl. They don’t even have a phone, not because they can’t afford one but just so I can’t hear her voice. On Sunday she’ll have lunch with her grandparents and I’ll call. They’ll give me five minutes if I’m lucky and that will be it until Christmas.’ He put the photo back in the wallet and took out a five-pound note. ‘I don’t know if that counts as sacred in your book, maybe you set the bar higher than me. But those five minutes every year are all I have.’ He put the five-pound note down on the bedside table. ‘Here’s your bus fare. Don’t hang around, just do as I told you. Lift to the ground floor and turn left, not forgetting to drop by the cleaners’ cubbyhole next to the Gents.’

I waited for a few minutes after he left and then followed his instructions. It didn’t seem like there was much else to do.

The wind from the sea thudded incessantly against the wall of Miaow’s caravan. She scraped takeaway Chinese food from their silver-foil containers onto three plates. In the background the TV news warned the public not to approach me.

‘There’s only one thing to be done,’ said Miaow. ‘I’ll have to turn myself in.’

‘That’s a silly idea,’ I said.

‘But you didn’t shoot him, I did.’

‘We’re not turning you in.’

‘What else can we do?’ She brought the plates over and set them down on the table.

‘We’ll think of something.’

There was a knock on the door and Calamity walked in without waiting for an answer. She struggled for a second or two to close the door in the gusting wind. She walked over and kissed me.

‘How’s the invalid?’

‘Sore,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘We’re lucky your head’s made of wood.’

‘I wish my heart was.’

She winced and hugged me. ‘Oh Louie.’

‘It’s OK. It’s not the first time I’ve been an outlaw. Where have you been?’

‘Asking around. Mrs Bwlchgwallter went to stay with her sister in Trawscoed, but then she disappeared from there during the night. She hasn’t been back to the shop, so I guess we can go and have a look round for the tape.’

‘We’ll go first thing in the morning.’

‘Let’s eat,’ said Miaow. She poured wine into paper cups and we snapped apart the sets of wooden chopsticks.

Calamity raised the chopsticks holding a bail of twirled noodle clear of the sauce. ‘The way I see it, all roads lead to the mayor. We need to get Meici to change his story. Meici works for the mayor. That human-cannonball job is the only decent thing he’s got in his life; it would kill him to lose it. The mayor can take it away from him.’

‘And the mayor’s our friend; he would do that for us,’ I said.

‘Don’t be like that, Louie. I hate it.’

‘I’m wanted for attempted murder.’

‘And I’m trying to help you. You’ve got to hear me out. All roads lead through the mayor. I agree that’s not a great start, but we’ll come to that. First we have to get Meici to change his story.’

‘And tell them I did it,’ said Miaow.

Calamity sighed with exasperation. ‘No, the story is an unknown John Doe shot Meici. All Meici has to agree is it wasn’t Louie. He was mistaken.’

‘Meici was on TV a while back appealing to me to give myself up,’ I said.

‘That’s where the mayor comes in. We get the mayor to lean on him. All roads lead through the mayor.’

‘This is the mayor who chopped up my desk.’

‘Yes, the mayor who chopped up your desk. It makes no difference; he’s the one we have to work on. Why do you think Meici is doing this?’

‘How many reasons do you need? He’s a berk, he doesn’t like me, and he found his bride’s hanky in my car so he thinks he’s Othello.’

‘Those are all good reasons, but my guess is the mayor put him up to it. I can’t see Meici having enough smarts to invent it himself.’

‘Is it so very difficult?’

‘Actually, I think it is,’ said Calamity. ‘I don’t think it’s an easy thing to do, especially for a bloke who has spent his life living with his mum and never doing anything of his own volition. Don’t forget he was hanging out there in order to attack you. Because of that he would probably be too scared to tell a lie like this on his own.’

‘I agree,’ said Miaow.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Personally I think he is very capable of making it up himself, it seems just the sort of mean playground lie he would have learned to tell in school. But let’s assume you are right. Let’s suppose the mayor put him up to it.’

‘This all started when Raspiwtin walked in with the Iestyn Probert case. There’s something about it the mayor really doesn’t want aired in public. We’ve got to find out what that something is. Don’t you agree?’

‘I agree,’ said Miaow.

‘In a sense,’ I said. ‘We already know. The kid in the silver suit.’

‘The one from the flying saucer,’ said Miaow.

‘I’m not buying that part of it.’

‘Who was he, then?’ said Calamity.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It was obvious he had to be from the saucer. Why else would he be wearing a silver suit they couldn’t get off him? Why else would they suppress the information? Why else would the Aviary be involved?’

‘I don’t know the answers to these questions, but I’m sure there are some, somewhere.’

Calamity pulled a face.

The caravan door opened and Raspiwtin walked in holding a gun. It was pointed at me; they usually are. ‘Poppet, are you all right?’ he asked Miaow.

‘Mr Raspiwtin, what are you doing?’ she asked.

‘He hasn’t hurt you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Thank God I came in time. Phone the police.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Do as I say, Poppet. This man is dangerous. He shot a man in cold blood.’

‘No, he didn’t, I did.’

‘No, she didn’t, I did.’ I smiled. He looked confused.

‘Look, Mr Raspiwtin –’

‘Please try and call me Iolo Yefimovich.’

‘Iolo Yefimovich, I know you are very keen on me, but that doesn’t give you permission to enter my caravan uninvited.’

‘But I came to save you!’

‘I don’t want to be saved.’

Calamity produced a length of connecting pipe from a camping-gas cylinder and pressed it into the base of Raspiwtin’s skull. ‘Drop the gun,’ she said.

‘I must advise you, I’m not afraid to die.’

‘We’re not afraid to kill you. Shoot him,’ I said.

‘Move out of the way first,’ said Calamity. ‘If you sit there you’ll get some of his face in your eye like you did with that lollipop woman we shot.’

‘Oh! Don’t remind me!’ I moved aside. ‘I hate it when it goes septic.’

‘Good Lord!’ said Raspiwtin, appalled by the image conjured up. Miaow grabbed the hand holding the gun, dragged it towards her and pressed the barrel into her stomach.

‘Poppet!’

‘Go on, shoot! I’m the one who shot Meici Jones.’

‘Might be a good idea to drop the gun,’ I said.

He loosened his grip and Miaow took the gun off him and handed it to me. I took out a handkerchief and wiped it, then held it still wrapped in the hanky.

‘As I said, I’m not afraid to die,’ said Raspiwtin. ‘In a way I have died many times.’

‘We don’t have to kill you, we could just shoot you in the knee. I hear it is very painful and you can’t bend your leg again for the rest of your life.’

‘Yes, a shot to the kneecap is a terrible wound. I must implore you not to consider that option.’

‘Tell me who you are.’

‘Iolo Yefimovich Raspiwtin.’

‘Who do you work for?’

‘Humanity.’

‘If he moves, shoot him,’ I said to Calamity, who was still holding the copper pipe to his ear. I stood up lazily, took a step forward, then cracked the gun barrel on his kneecap. He howled and crumpled to the floor.

‘Imagine how it must feel to get shot there.’

Tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Can I have a drink?’

I nodded. Miaow poured some wine into a paper cup and handed it to him.

‘And maybe some of your sweet-and-sour? I am very hungry.’

‘Do you want to play Ludo as well?’ I asked.

‘You would regret that decision; I am a most formidable opponent across the Ludo board.’

‘Sit at the table,’ I told him.

Calamity slipped the pipe into her pocket and we took up positions at the table. I kept the gun trained on Raspiwtin. He began to eat.

‘You are in a difficult position,’ said Raspiwtin with a mouth full of half-chewed noodle. He took a gulp of wine. His spirits had been raised by the turn of events. ‘Your hiding place here at this caravan has been revealed.’

‘Who to?’ I asked.

‘Me, of course.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then it sounds to me like you are in a difficult position. It sounds like we might have to kill you after all.’

‘If the police find out,’ said Miaow, ‘I will turn myself in.’

‘Of course they will find out, where do you think we are? Outer Mongolia?’

I kicked Raspiwtin’s knee. He winced. ‘Don’t get too cosy,’ I reminded him. ‘Now, suppose you pay for your supper by telling us the truth about who you are. The real story.’

‘I have told you the real story. My name is –’

‘Your name is Iolo Yefimovich Raspiwtin. We heard that bit.’

‘I was born in the district of Ponterwyd, overlooking the Nant-y-Moch River in 1931.’

‘I think you told us that last time.’ I said.

Raspiwtin ignored me. ‘My story really begins before that, many aeons ago, at the very dawn of time when there were just tribes wandering across the great empty savannahs; simple hairy folk who sought food and shelter and were spiritually at peace.’

‘I’m not sure you need to go back quite so far,’ I said. ‘Maybe you could skip forward a few million years to somewhere around 1931 or possibly later.’

Raspiwtin scowled at me. ‘I was a child of notable piety. Already in the womb, through careful listening, I learned the rudiments of the Lord’s Prayer. As an infant I developed calluses on my knees from praying, and it is said I put aside my nurse’s pap during Lent. I was brought up by my grandmother, who sent a few pennies every month to the Catholic church to help the orphanage in the Gilbert Islands. She wrote a letter to the Vatican describing my precocious piety, and, to our great astonishment, I was offered an apprenticeship at the age of twelve in the Vatican laundry, under the tutelage of Father Theophrastus.’

‘I think you told us about the laundry, too,’ I said.

‘Yes, but this is an important milestone in the development of my apostasia. You must understand, you see, the effect it had on my second day when I told the boys how I had been selected on account of my piety. “Oh really!” they laughed, “is that what you call it?” “Yes, yes,” I said and told them about the scholarly essay I had submitted. How their mocking laughter echoed through the laundry! How my ears burned! How my eyes stung with tears! Those wicked imps! They told me that the clerics never looked at the essay, only at the photo which accompanied it. “Don’t you see how pretty we all are?” they asked. “Didn’t you wonder why they wanted a photo of you in your swimming costume?” Oh, those wicked boys!’

‘I think he’s playing for time,’ said Calamity. ‘Maybe he thinks the cops are coming.’

‘He’ll lose his kneecaps if they do.’

Raspiwtin continued unabashed. ‘You asked me who I was. And what I have just laid out before you is a very, very small part of the story of what I am.’

‘OK, what are you doing in Aberystwyth?’

‘I was coming to that.’

‘It didn’t look like it.’

‘I told you I was here because of a Burmese girl.’

‘You told me about her, you said you were in love with her and she was murdered; this you found greatly upsetting. So much so that you burst into tears.’

‘These are very tender feelings.’

‘So is your kneecap. And by the way, I found a newspaper cutting with the same story, so I’m not convinced it really happened to you at all.’

He gave me an insouciant smile and continued. ‘After the tragedy in Burma I was recalled to Rome, where my tutor took me into the postroom. In there they had a pile of letters from kind old widows all over the world who sent us postal orders to help with the orphanages. We searched for one from my own grandmother in Ponterwyd, cashed it at the Vatican post office, and spent the night drinking and whoring on the proceeds. During that night Father Theophrastus instructed me in the terrible truths of this world.’

‘What does this have to do with anything?’ I asked.

‘Everything! You see, eventually I returned from this land of shadows . . .’

‘Does it have anything to do with the Zed Notice?’ asked Calamity.

He looked slightly taken aback. ‘You know about the Zed Notice?’ He paused, momentarily stuck for words. ‘That is nothing to worry about.’

‘Tell us what it is,’ I said, aiming the gun at his knee and squinting along the top of the barrel. ‘Then we’ll decide whether it’s anything to worry about.’

He made a dismissive gesture with his hands as if a Zed Notice was a parking ticket. ‘It’s just a piece of clerical work. For crimes of the level of Tower of Babel and above. Usually involves a simple razing of the town and then ploughing of the fields with salt. Tell me, have there been any deliveries of military-grade ploughs at the railway station that you know of?’

‘Not that I have been informed,’ I said.

‘That’s good,’ said Raspiwtin. ‘These things are hardly ever enacted. It’s when the ploughs turn up that you have to worry.’

‘I’ve got a great idea,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you tell us again, in simple terms, what you think you are doing in Aberystwyth.’

Raspiwtin paused and beamed at us like a stage conjurer preparing his pièce de résistance. ‘My goal in visiting Aberystwyth is nothing less than the emancipation of humanity from a prison it has been inhabiting, unaware, for ten thousand years.’

‘You should see the camera obscura while you are here as well,’ I said.

‘Ah, you scoff! Because you think I am just a dreamer, a . . . a visionary. While you, Mr Knight, you think you are a cynic whose heart is steeped in the dark milk of disillusion, or so you fancy. But, in truth, you are wrong on both counts. When I say I mean to be the instrument of humanity’s deliverance, I do not talk of some vague and abstract rarefied theoretical position but of things wholly definite and concrete. And you, dear Louie, are a stranger to the contents of your heart: it is not bitter gall that flows there, but love, yes! Love! Your heart is bruised but it is big, it contains multitudes, and it is for this reason alone that I have chosen you to aid me in my task.’ He put the cup down on the table. ‘Tell me, Louie, are you familiar with the Japanese word koan? It is the name of a type of conundrum upon which Zen monks meditate in order to achieve enlightenment. A well-known example is, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” During my early years I discovered a koan of my own, one that turned my world on its head. It concerned the atom-bomb raid on Nagasaki at the end of the Second World War. Nagasaki was a Catholic city, you see, founded by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century and home to sixty thousand Catholics, including many orders of Holy Sisters. I read an article in Life magazine once about the military chaplain on Tinian Island in the Marianas, from where the bombing raid took off. On the day of the mission he said a prayer for the success of the raid and blessed the crew. The target they were to aim for was the Urekami Catholic cathedral in the centre of Nagasaki. The effect on me of this koan was quite, quite shattering.’

‘Lots of people died, not just Catholics.’

‘Of course, all civilian deaths were equally regrettable. And yet . . . surely if such a thing is possible, this is even more insane? Bombing ourselves? What greater insanity can be conceived of than this, that the priest blesses the mission that goes to bomb his own cathedral? I pondered this riddle for many years.’ He stood up. ‘And now I must leave it for you to ponder. Thank you for the excellent meal. It has all been charming.’

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘I need to make some phone calls; I’ll be back in a short while.’

‘No, you won’t,’ I said, ‘because you won’t be going anywhere.’

‘I really do have to go.’

‘I’ll shoot your knees out.’

He smiled and opened the door. ‘No, you won’t. You’re too kind, Mr Knight. Any fool can see that.’

He was right. He walked out. Leaving just a scent of Parma Violets like a mauve ghost.