unworldly man such as you, in the hope of deceiving him into believing it is his.’
‘You mean,’ said Sospan, ‘like Mary and Joseph?’
‘That is an extreme example of the phenomenon. Far more humdrum examples are to be found in the
Sospan stared out at the sea, surrounded by the shattered fragments of his world. ‘And if I do that and it turns out to be mine?’
‘Then you should do the honourable thing,’ I said.
Vanya and I took our ice creams to the seaside railings and watched the slow drift of people packing up on the beach. At some point, once the heat loses its edge, a chill breeze can arise that throws a soft shadow over our joy.
‘Things are far worse than I expected,’ said Vanya gloomily. ‘I saw Calamity in Great Darkgate Street, she has told me everything.’
‘What has she told you?’
‘About the troll brides.’
‘I wouldn’t pay any attention to that, it’s not serious.’
‘Do you think my worries can be so easily dismissed?’
‘You can worry about anything you like but I wouldn’t waste time on troll brides.’
‘This is a bitter blow. Of all the fates that I imagined might have befallen the child whose spirit possessed my daughter this is one I did not consider.’
‘I’m sure the ones you did consider are far more likely.’
‘My grief is not so easily assuaged. To become the bride of a troll is a fearsome fate, especially for a child. The Portuguese have a word for this heaviness in my heart,
The sky in the west had turned the colour of geraniums and Aberystwyth began to unfold like a rosebud in time-lapse photography; a sick rose whose innards have been eaten by a worm. The air turned sultry and the breeze of the summer night wafted over the Prom heavily laden and moist. A rich assortment of smells were intricately intertwined in the sensual tapestry: vanilla, dead mollusc, seaweed, aftershave, suntan lotion, spilled ice cream, soiled nappy, stale sweat, the electric ozone smell of the machines in the amusement arcades, take-away curry, fried onions, chips, hot dogs, testosterone, salty breeze, fish milt and, of course, prowl car, handcuff grease and the unmistakable sour fumes of police sarcasm.
Vanya produced a bottle of vodka from a bag, took my arm in his and we ambled along the Prom. The shift changed, the decent folk began to scurry away to their chalets and caravans, and the dance began; the giddy jig. The hustlers and the hoods and fixers, the druids in their sharp Swansea suits, the girls in the stovepipe hats and dreams of making it sparking in their eyes, the drunken brawling sailors, the morose fishermen and melancholic tradesmen, the lonely and the damned, the haunted and the hunted and the exiles all converged on the electric-blue Prom to sweat away the night.
Vanya breathed in deeply and exhaled with appreciation. ‘Bignoniaceous,’ he said. ‘The word is bignoniaceous.’
I gave him a puzzled look.
‘Yes, my dear friend Louie, bignoniaceous. There is a word for everything and for this experience too, there is a word.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It describes a type of plant with trumpet-shaped flowers adapted for pollination by bats. Did you know that? I have great respect for this mammal. Few animals are quite so unfairly slandered as the harmless and affable bat. Their sonar is so good they can use it to catch fish; their sense of smell is far superior to that of the bee. All that the rose needs to do to attract the noble bee is give off its hot vapour to the summer breeze, and yet what is the scent but that of the rose? The rose smells of its own essence, which is a feat we all manage, and counts as no great achievement. But the bignoniaceous plant, faced with the challenge of attracting the attention of the far more discerning, though unloved, bat has to try harder. Bignoniaceous plants smell of cabbage and mice. Did you know this?’
I confessed that I did not.
‘I have come to the conclusion this is the same trick repeated every spring by the old courtesan Aberystwyth. She cakes on the all-concealing foundation, and stands at the back of the chorus line, where the shadows are deeper, hoping that her faded charms will last another season, while the leg-kicking strumpets at the front twirl petticoats that flash and blaze like fireworks in the hot footlights. Is it not so, dear Louie?’
‘I’ve never heard Aberystwyth described like that before but it captures her perfectly.’
He examined my face to see if I were in earnest and finding that I was said, ‘The vodka is good.’
A thought flashed across my mind like a swallow through a barn. I realised a simple truth: I loved Vanya, although I was not sure why.
We reached the end of the Prom beneath Constitution Hill and we each placed a single foot upon the railing in accordance with a ritual whose origins are lost in the mists of time.
Vanya spread his arms and exclaimed, ‘Yet the bat is generally disdained by poets, even though bat- pollination is responsible for one of the greatest gifts from animals to mankind, namely tequila. As an analgesic for the soul it is far more effective than the breathless rose-scented summer night. In fact, it is precisely this quality of the summer night that tequila can cure. But the crowning glory of the bat-pollinator’s art is the durian fruit from Southeast Asia. It is something of an acquired taste. A Victorian traveller once described the experience of eating it as that of eating strawberries and cream in a public convenience. This is because the odour has a faint whiff of carrion about it. To which is added notes of civet, sewage, skunk spray, turpentine, caramel, onions, custard and gym sock.’
We turned and walked back, towards the bandstand. It is not likely that anyone would have eaten strawberries and cream in the convenience in the public shelter on the Prom, but as we passed it by an old woman emerged eating jam tarts. She pushed a shopping trolley across the zebra crossing. It was Ffanci Llangollen. In her trolley was a dirty woollen coat, black-and-yellow-hooped football socks, mitts and a fake sheepskin hat screwed up into plastic shopping bags from which all the lettering had worn away.
‘I love the old Prom,’ she said. The words weren’t really addressed to us, nor anyone, but said simply to the night. She had long ago learned not to expect a response.
I said, ‘We all do.’
Uncle Vanya offered her the bottle of vodka and she looked grateful and surprised. She took a drink and patted her chest as she registered the invigorating effect of the medicine. ‘Your smell reminds me of my time in the Stolypin car,’ said Uncle Vanya. ‘I do not mean that unkindly,’ he added quickly. ‘That was the greatest event in my life. We seek happiness with an insatiable hunger, like plants seek the sun, and yet it is the dark times in which we gain our real insight into the mysteries of life.’
Ffanci, whose entire life had been spent exemplifying this philosophy, did not deem it worthy of comment and took another drink. Vanya took Ffanci’s trolley and wheeled it over to the shelter. I left them and walked over to the Spar on Terrace Road to buy more bottles. I sensed it was going to be another of those nights. An old man in a charity shop suit stood by the door and asked me for the price of a cuppa. I gave him a fiver and told him not to waste it on tea or any other type of soft drink. He thanked me for the advice, and waited discreetly for me to leave before going in to buy something to slake his thirst.
When I returned they were absorbed in Uncle Vanya’s life story.
‘In the camps men would play cards and because they had nothing to wager they would stake your life. And you would not even know it until the moment came for the gambler to pay his debt. You could be in the same room and remain unaware that they were playing for the privilege of murdering you. This was the way of the two men Yuri and Ivan. They befriended me and showed me great kindness and I was too naive to understand that no good could come from their solicitude. Instead, I was touched. No one had ever shown me kindness before. Perhaps the kindness of the wolf is better than nothing to a lonely man. The other inmates perceived this and watched in silence, striving to keep the mocking look from their faces as Yuri and Ivan gave me extra rations. They told me they were going without food themselves in order to help a fellow Christian soul and I was deeply touched. Of
