These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

As the ambassador walks the father and son to the door, Zan presents him with a gift. “I hope it doesn’t seem completely vain,” Zan mutters, “it’s. . ”

“Yes!” the ambassador exclaims appreciatively, examining the book. “Mr. Brown told me that you are a novelist of repute.”

“Uh, well, ill repute maybe. I used to be a novelist, fourteen years ago. . ”

“But you have written a novel,” the other man protests, “therefore that makes you a novelist.”

Zan smiles. “That’s what my wife says.”

“I shall let you know what I learn, Mr. Nordhoc.”

“I’m extremely grateful for all your time and trouble.”

“I know that you are worried but I believe it shall be for naught and all will be well. And by the way, congratulations!”

“Oh. . ” Zan thinks he’s referring to the book. “It was fourteen—”

“Yes!” the ambassador exclaims. “For what is happening in your country! Its great new adventure!” but to Zan, the election already is beginning to seem a long time ago.

Across Kensington Road, Sheba and Molly are nowhere to be found in the park. It is, as Molly noted, a big park, so Zan and Parker spend the better part of an hour south of the Serpentine searching everywhere. Zan remembers that the last time he was in this park, almost thirty years ago, an IRA blast killed eight people. “Probably,” Parker suggests to his father, “they went back to the hotel.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” Zan answers uneasily. The two head east along the edge of the park, crossing Carriage Row. Bloomsbury is a half-hour walk. For all the Tube’s gleaming futurism, Parker still hates places close and dark; but a growing dark seed in Zan trumps the boy’s protests and they catch the Piccadilly line at the Knightsbridge underground. By the time they ascend — as evening falls and their neighborhood comes alive with light and people — and arrive at the hotel, Zan almost persuades himself that the woman and girl will be there.