being flippant. They do use the place as a radio and TV transmitter, but it’s basically just one of man’s muscle- flexing exercises. This is downtown.’
The expressway, on a kind of elevated ramp, rolled past the backs of warehouses and billboards. Because the buildings were so close, the speed the car was travelling at was exaggerated and Banks felt as if he was on a roller coaster.
Finally, Gerry branched off, drove through an industrial wasteland of dirty old factories with external plumbing, then turned on to a busy street. Most of the buildings seemed quite old and run-down, and Banks soon noticed that nearly all the shop signs were in Chinese. Roast ducks hung by their feet in shop windows and teeming stalls of colourful fruit and vegetables blocked the pavements in front of grocery stores. One shop displayed a handwritten sign offering a mysterious combination of LIVE CRABS & VIDEOS. The street was bustling with people, mostly Chinese, pushing and shoving to get to the best deals, picking up and examining wares. The rich smell of food gone bad in the heat, mingled with the aroma of exotic spices, drifted into the car along with the suffocating air. A red and cream tram rattled along its track beside them.
‘Chinatown East,’ Gerry said. ‘Not far to go now.’
He continued up the street past a prison and a hospital. To the left was a broad green valley. Beside the road, it sloped like a huge lawn down to the broad bottom, where a busy expressway ran beside the brown river. Above the trees on the far side, the downtown towers shimmered, greyish blurs in the heat haze.
Gerry turned right into a tree-lined street and pulled up in the driveway of a small brick house with a green and white porch.
‘Home,’ he announced. ‘I’ve got the bottom floor and there’s a young couple upstairs. They’re generally pretty quiet, so I wouldn’t worry too much about noise.’ He put his key in the lock and opened the door.
‘Come on in. I’m dying for a cold beer.’
The place was small and sparsely furnished - apparently with cast-offs bought from second-hand shops -
but it was clean and comfortable. Books stuffed every possible shelf and cavity. The Gristhorpe clan certainly seemed to be great readers, Banks thought.
Gerry led him into the small kitchen and took two cans of Budweiser from the fridge. Banks pulled the tab and poured the iced, slightly malty beer down his throat. When Gerry tipped back his can to drink, his Adam’s apple bobbed wildly.
‘That’s better,’ he said, wiping his lips. ‘I’m sorry it’s so hot in here too, but I can’t afford an air-conditioner. Actually, I’ve lived in worse places. There’s a good through-draught, and it does cool down a bit at night.’
‘What’s this area of town called?’ Banks asked.
‘Riverdale. It’s gone very yuppie in the past few years. Property values have shot up like crazy. You’ll see the main drag, the Danforth, if you walk or take a streetcar up to the corner. It used to be all Greek cafйs, restaurants and twenty-four-hour fruit and vegetable stores. Now it’s all health foods, late-night bookshops, and bistros with long-stemmed wineglasses and coral-pink tablecloths. All right if you like that kind of thing, I suppose.’
‘And if you don’t?’
‘There’s a few unpretentious places left. You get some good blues at the Black Swan on Saturday afternoons. And then there’s Quinn’s, not a bad pub. Some of the old Greek places are still around, but I can’t say I’ve ever been fond of Greek food myself - it’s all greasy lamb, eggplant and sticky desserts as far as I’m concerned.’
They sat down on the sofa, an overstuffed maroon 1950s monstrosity with arms like wings, and finished their beers.
‘Your uncle said you had to go to a conference somewhere,’ Banks said. ‘I hope I’m not driving you out?’
‘Not at all. Actually, the conference isn’t so important, but Banff is a great place - right on the edge of the Rockies - so I’ll get a bit of hiking and partying done too.’
‘How are you getting there?’
‘Sneezy.’
‘How far is it?’
‘A couple of thousand miles. But you get used to distances like that here. Sneezy’s done it before. She quite likes long journeys. I’ll take my tent and camp out on the way. If you need a car…’
Banks shook his head. ‘No. No, I wouldn’t dare drive on the wrong side of the road. What’s the public transport like?’
‘Very good. There’s a subway, buses and the streetcars you’ve seen. We don’t call them trams here.’
‘I was surprised,’ Banks said. ‘I haven’t been on one of them since I was a kid.’
‘Well, now’s your chance to make up for lost time. I use them a lot myself to get around the city. Often it’s not worth the bother of parking in town, and the cops can be pretty sticky about drinking and driving.
Oops, sorry.’
Banks laughed.
‘Anyway,’ Gerry went on, delving into a drawer and bringing out a couple of maps, ‘this is the city - easy to find your way about as it’s mostly an east-west, north-south grid system. And here’s the transit map. It’s not as complicated as the London Underground, so you shouldn’t have much trouble.’
And Gerry went on giving information about subway tokens and free transfers from one mode of transport to another. But after the journey and in the sweltering heat, Banks felt his eyes closing. He could do nothing about it.
‘Here,’ Gerry said, ‘I’m boring you to death. I don’t suppose you’re taking any of this in.’
‘Not much.’
‘Do you want to go to bed?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a nap.’
Gerry showed him the bedroom.
‘Isn’t this your room?’ Banks asked.
‘It’s OK. I’ll bed down on the couch tonight.’
‘I can do that.’
‘Not necessary. I’m off early in the morning anyway. This’ll be your room for the next week.’
Too tired to argue more and, frankly, grateful for a bed, Banks undressed, sank on to the mattress and fell asleep within seconds.
When he woke he was disoriented at finding himself in an unfamiliar bed. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. It was hot and dark, and the sheets felt moist with sweat. Hearing sounds in the front room, Banks rubbed his eyes, pulled on his trousers and walked through. He found Gerry stuffing clothes into a huge backpack. For a moment, it made him think of Bernard Allen.
‘Hi,’ Gerry said. ‘I thought you were out for the count.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Ten o’clock. Three in the morning, your time.’
‘I just woke up suddenly. I don’t know why.’
‘Jet lag does funny things like that. It’s much worse going the other way.’
‘Wonderful.’
Gerry grinned. ‘Beer?’
‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
‘Sure. We’re not all coffee-drinking barbarians out here, you know.’
Gerry switched on the television and went into the kitchen. Banks sank into the sofa and put his feet up on a battered pouffe. A pretty woman was talking very intensely about a debate in the House of Commons.
Again Banks felt the shock of being in a foreign land. The TV newscaster spoke with an odd accent - less overbearing than the Americans he had heard - and he knew none of the politicians’ names.
Gerry brought the tea and sat beside him.
‘There might be a couple of things you can help me with,’ Banks said.
‘Shoot.’
‘Where can I find Toronto Community College?’
‘Easy. The subway’s the quickest.’ And Gerry told him how to get to Broadview station by streetcar or on foot, where to change trains, and where to get off.
‘There’s another thing. Do you know anything about the English-style pubs in town? Somewhere that sells imported beer.’
Gerry laughed. ‘You’ve certainly got your work cut out. There’s dozens of them: the Madison, the Sticky Wicket, Paupers, the Hop and Grape, the Artful Dodger, the Jack Russell, the Spotted Dick, the Feathers, Quigley’s, not to mention a whole dynasty of Dukes. I’ll try and make a list for you. What’s it all about, by the way, if that’s not top secret?’
‘I’m looking for a woman. Her name’s Anne Ralston.’
‘What’s she done?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know.’
‘How very secretive. You’re as bad as Uncle Eb, you are.’
‘Who?’
‘Uncle Eb. You mean you don’t know…?’
Banks shook his head. Gristhorpe had never mentioned his first name, and his signature was an indecipherable scrawl.
‘Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. He won’t thank me for it, if I know him.’
‘I won’t tell him I know. Scout’s honour. Come on.’
‘It’s short for Ebenezer, of course.’
Banks whistled through his teeth. ‘No wonder he never lets on.’
‘Ah, but that’s not all. His father was a grand champion of the labouring man, especially the farm workers, so he called his oldest son Ebenezer Elliott - after the “Corn Law Rhymer”.’
Banks had never heard of Ebenezer Elliott but made a mental note to look him
