visitors.’
‘Indeed I do, Bob.’
‘That’s unworthy of you, Mr Disvan. My problem shouldn’t deprive me of the right to some dignity and courtesy, you know.’
‘Quite right, well said. I apologise.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Look, can we go now?’ I interposed. ‘I have to be up early to go to work tomorrow.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Springer in a placatory way, ‘the sooner the better.’
We left along with the rest of the pub’s patrons but soon lost them in the maze of darkened streets as each went their separate way. There was no conversation in our little group and I did not press any further for an explanation from Springer or Disvan. If indeed there was an explanation for this present episode (and one could not count on it in present company) then its revelation must await some future time, for I was in no mood for long stories or excuses.
Trebizond Crescent, our destination, was not a long way from The Duke of Argyll but it seemed far enough that night when there appeared to be no good reason to make the trip. Consequently I began to harbour a degree of mild resentment towards the man who had set me upon it and answered somewhat sharply when, halfway along, he made a further demand.
‘Eyes left!’ Springer hissed.
‘What?’
‘Eyes left, you fool!’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’
‘Humour him, Mr Oakley,’ said Disvan in a neutral tone, ‘he thinks he’s doing you a favour.’
‘Eyes left! Don’t look over there or he’ll see you.’
‘Who will?’
‘It doesn’t matter, just don’t look and keep walking.’
Springer seemed genuinely alarmed, indeed almost frantic, and was, I observed, marching ahead very briskly with his face turned firmly to the left. Disvan, presumably by way of compromise, was staring at the ground as he walked along.
As previously explained, I was in a recalcitrant frame of mind and little disposed to stand any more nonsense from the old man. I therefore stopped and looked in the direction forbidden me but saw nothing unusual. Exactly as on our side of the road a strip of wooded wasteland bordered the pavement and beyond that the lights of a few large houses, well set back from the road, could be seen. Directly opposite me was a bus shelter of the more modern type lit by its own neon filament, but no-one was standing by it or sitting on its obviously older bench seat. Apart from ourselves the whole road was deserted and empty even of motor traffic and I could see no-one or no-thing whose gaze I should avoid as Springer insisted.
In the time it took to satisfy myself of this my two companions had progressed a further hundred yards up the road where they now waited for me. I hastened to join them.
‘There’s absolutely no-one over there, Springer. What on earth were you on about?’
‘That was a very silly thing you did, Mr Oakley, if I may say so.’
‘Why?’
‘You may have been lucky enough not to see him but he was studying you—rest assured.’
‘Who, for God’s sake?’
‘No blasphemy please, Mr Oakley,’ said Disvan quietly.
‘I’m sorry but really... this is ridiculous. Just look for yourself, Mr Springer, back down the road. There’s not a soul about.’
‘I daren’t,’ Springer said, and kept his attention fixed firmly to the front.
‘Well, if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose.’
‘No I won’t. Let’s move on, please.’
And this we did without further debate, albeit with bad grace on my part.
Ten more minutes of silent and brisk walking brought us at last to Springer’s house. Once there he made for the door like a drowning man, pausing only to shout a seemingly genuine ‘thank you very much’ at us before slamming it shut. We then heard the rattling of chains and sliding of bolts as fortress Springer was made secure for the night.
‘What the bloody hell was that all about, Mr Disvan?’
‘That, Mr Oakley, was all about a man’s complete submission to fear.’
‘Very
‘Indeed I do, Bob.’
‘That’s unworthy of you, Mr Disvan. My problem shouldn’t deprive me of the right to some dignity and courtesy, you know.’
‘Quite right, well said. I apologise.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Look, can we go now?’ I interposed. ‘I have to be up early to go to work tomorrow.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Springer in a placatory way, ‘the sooner the better.’
We left along with the rest of the pub’s patrons but soon lost them in the maze of darkened streets as each went their separate way. There was no conversation in our little group and I did not press any further for an explanation from Springer or Disvan. If indeed there was an explanation for this present episode (and one could not count on it in present company) then its revelation must await some future time, for I was in no mood for long stories or excuses.
Trebizond Crescent, our destination, was not a long way from The Duke of Argyll but it seemed far enough that night when there appeared to be no good reason to make the trip. Consequently I began to harbour a degree of mild resentment towards the man who had set me upon it and answered somewhat sharply when, halfway along, he made a further demand.
‘Eyes left!’ Springer hissed.
‘What?’
‘Eyes left, you fool!’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’
‘Humour him, Mr Oakley,’ said Disvan in a neutral tone, ‘he thinks he’s doing you a favour.’
‘Eyes left! Don’t look over there or he’ll see you.’
‘Who will?’
‘It doesn’t matter, just don’t look and keep walking.’
Springer seemed genuinely alarmed, indeed almost frantic, and was, I observed, marching ahead very briskly with his face turned firmly to the left. Disvan, presumably by way of compromise, was staring at the ground as he walked along.
As previously explained, I was in a recalcitrant frame of mind and little disposed to stand any more nonsense from the old man. I therefore stopped and looked in the direction forbidden me but saw nothing unusual. Exactly as on our side of the road a strip of wooded wasteland bordered the pavement and beyond that the lights of a few large houses, well set back from the road, could be seen. Directly opposite me was a bus shelter of the more modern type lit by its own neon filament, but no-one was standing by it or sitting on its obviously older bench seat. Apart from ourselves the whole road was deserted and empty even of motor traffic and I could see no-one or no-thing whose gaze I should avoid as Springer insisted.
In the time it took to satisfy myself of this my two companions had progressed a further hundred yards up the road where they now waited for me. I hastened to join them.
‘There’s absolutely no-one over there, Springer. What on earth were you on about?’
‘That was a very silly thing you did, Mr Oakley, if I may say so.’
‘Why?’
‘You may have been lucky enough not to see him but he was studying you—rest assured.’
‘Who, for God’s sake?’
‘No blasphemy please, Mr Oakley,’ said Disvan quietly.
‘I’m sorry but really... this is ridiculous. Just look for yourself, Mr Springer, back down the road. There’s not a soul about.’
‘I daren’t,’ Springer said, and kept his attention fixed firmly to the front.
‘Well, if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose.’
‘No I won’t. Let’s move on, please.’
And this we did without further debate, albeit with bad grace on my part.
Ten more minutes of silent and brisk walking brought us at last to Springer’s house. Once there he made for the door like a drowning man, pausing only to shout a seemingly genuine ‘thank you very much’ at us before slamming it shut. We then heard the rattling of chains and sliding of bolts as fortress Springer was made secure for the night.
‘What the bloody hell was that all about, Mr Disvan?’
‘That, Mr Oakley, was all about a man’s complete submission to fear.’
‘Very
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