Chapter 16
A century or two later I was shaken awake by hands too gentle to be cops’. I opened my eyes. I was alone on a bench on the Prom. Vanya and Clip had gone. I looked up into the face of a monk. He had wispy white hair, shaved into a tonsure, and was wearing a cowl the same colour as the stormy sky.
‘Louie, you mustn’t sleep here,’ he said. ‘It isn’t right. Why don’t you come with us, we’re going for a cup of tea.’ And then, while the fog cleared in my mind, he grasped my hand softly and said, ‘I’m John Nepomucene, the Patron Saint of Silence.’
Another man stepped out of the shadows and said, ‘Yes, come with us, Louie, you can’t sleep here.’ He wore a plain dark suit that had seen many years of wear, with an old-fashioned shirt from which the collar had been detached. The studs still hung in the eyelets at his neck, pressing against his Adam’s apple. His throat was scrawny and had the soft blush on it of a man who had shaved before coming out this evening, and had done so every evening of his adult life in a ritual involving a badger-fur brush, and unperfumed shaving soap smelling lightly of municipal toilets. His hair was white, but neatly trimmed, thin on top. He smiled at me, his face was wrinkled but suffused with health. It was the kindest face I had ever seen. His hands were resting on the bar of a shopping trolley similar to the one belonging to Ffanci Llangollen and in the trolley, lying on top of the plastic bags, was a bowler hat and a violin case.
They set off. I fell into step behind, with John Nepomucene. I said, ‘I don’t think there will be anywhere open. The cafes close fairly early.’
‘Maybe we’ll be lucky.’
‘How did you get to be a patron saint?’
John Nepomucene chuckled. ‘Oh! thereby hangs a tale. I was working at the court of King Wenceslas, preaching, converting, that sort of thing. Trouble was, old King Wenceslas had a short fuse and I was taking the confession of his wife. Take my advice, Louie, never get yourself into a situation like that. Naturally he wanted to know what his wife had been getting up to. If you knew his wife, you wouldn’t blame him. How do you handle a situation like that? He had me tied to a wheel, set on fire, and thrown into the Moldau. Even now my skin comes out in goosebumps when I recall how cold the water was.’
‘What was the wheel for?’
‘I’ve no idea; he didn’t say. I can tell you from personal experience that it doesn’t add anything of any great significance to the displeasure. Seven stars appeared above the town after my death, which was a nice touch.’
The man in front turned and said, ‘We’ll try the cafe on the Pier.’
I said, ‘There isn’t one.’
‘O ye of little faith!’ said John Nepomucene.
When we arrived at the Pier, the video shop had been replaced with a cafe. It was a humble affair of bare wooden floorboards, tables and chairs, a jukebox and a Formica counter. On the counter there was a silver tea urn and a glass case containing custard slices. I had seen it before somewhere long ago but I couldn’t remember where. Although I was pretty certain it wasn’t in Aberystwyth. The cafe was empty and we walked in and sat down at a table. The old man excused himself and walked off towards the sign saying ‘Gents’.
‘Your friend doesn’t say much,’ I said.
‘He’s one of those guys that speak softly and carry a big stick.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Don’t you know? It’s the Big Guy. The Boss.’
‘Of the cafe?’
‘Not just that. Of everything. The world.’
‘Not God?’
‘He prefers to be called Jehovah.’
I absorbed this new information. ‘What’s He doing in Aberystwyth?’
‘It’s like Hitchcock, you know how he liked to appear as an extra in his own movies? Nothing special, you know, just a fleeting glimpse of his face in a crowd shot. It’s like that.’
God came back and sat down. I looked around at the empty room.
‘I really like silence,’ I said. ‘It’s the best thing you did.’
God smiled warmly, but with a hint of tiredness in His old watery eyes. ‘That’s kind of you to say, Louie, but the truth is, that is about the only thing in your universe that I had no part in. It was there when I started.’
‘Oh.’ I was keenly aware of having said the wrong thing. ‘But of course that’s not the only thing I like.’
‘Please don’t feel bad,’ said God.
John Nepomucene yawned and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m worn out, the sea air always does this to me. Is it OK if I . . .?’
‘Sure,’ said God, ‘you go.’
John Nepomucene shook my hand and disappeared into the night.
‘He’s a good guy,’ said God simply. He took out a stick of rock and unpeeled the Cellophane. He began to suck thoughtfully.
I played with my teaspoon for a while and then said, ‘I have to ask.’
‘I know.’
‘You probably get sick of being—’
‘Just say it, Louie.’
‘Why do we have to suffer so much?’
He examined the stick of rock, held it an inch away from his chin, lost in thought. The silence lasted a whole minute. He took a deep breath and said, ‘It was a mistake. It was my first attempt, I got it wrong.’
‘Attempt at what?’
‘A universe.’
‘Oh.’
‘They told me suffering would give it “depth”.’
‘Who did?’
‘The other deities. They didn’t want me to win. They saw my stuff: Kilimanjaro, new-born lambs, lapis lazuli, Polynesia, Saturn, bluebells. They knew it was good. They said it needed more dark stuff to set it off, more light and shade – like a chessboard.’
‘You mean it was a competition?’
‘Yes.’
‘You entered the universe for a competition?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you win?’
In answer, God gave me a look of such desolate sadness it pierced my heart. He took a quiet suck of the rock and added, ‘It was my human condition that let me down.’
I gave him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder.
‘My later ones were much better.’
I said, ‘I’ve never been to this cafe before but it seems strangely familiar.’
‘I took it from
‘Of course.’
‘It’s one of my favourites. Do you know the one thing they really loved? The one thing I made that really tickled the other deities?’
‘No idea.’
He held up the stick of rock. ‘This.’
‘They liked Aberystwyth rock?’
‘Rock they liked. Doesn’t have to be from Aberystwyth. The stuff I showed them said Eden. It really tickled them, though. They kept looking at each end and professing in wonder, “The letters go right through! How on earth do they do that?” And I said, “I don’t know, it’s a mystery. One of the profoundest mysteries of my universe.” ’
‘Surely not quite as profound as time and space and stuff?’
‘Those things are not so very mysterious to me.’
