After a few kilometres the kitten started to drool.
‘He’s travel-sick,’ Reilly explained.
‘Is he going to throw up?’ Axel frowned.
‘If he does, he’ll only throw up inside the cage,’ Reilly said, ‘and I’ve lined it with newspaper.’
Axel braked and turned into a Shell petrol station. ‘I forgot something,’ he said. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
He disappeared into the shop and returned with a carrier bag. Reilly heard him open the boot and rummage around. Then he was back behind the wheel.
‘I’ve bought some great food,’ he said. ‘Free-range pork.’
‘What kind of pork is that?’ Reilly asked.
‘From pigs that have been reared out in the open. They’ve never been confined in crates with other pigs.’
Reilly wondered if Axel might be having a laugh at his expense.
‘You want me to believe it tastes better than any other pork?’
‘Of course. A free pig is a happy pig, and a happy pig is a tasty pig.’
‘Now I get it,’ Reilly said. ‘A happy pig is a more expensive pig. And we can’t tell the difference anyway.’
‘I can,’ Axel said. ‘Pigs in crates can’t even turn around. They spend their whole lives standing up, crammed together, biting each other.’
‘I can’t imagine who might have sent that letter,’ Reilly said.
It was nearly nine in the evening when they pulled up at the grass bank in front of the cabin. They made two trips with the luggage, which they dumped on the floor, and then they lit the paraffin lamps. Reilly disappeared into his usual bedroom. He placed his bag next to his bed and made a disturbing discovery. The zip was not completely closed. Hadn’t he shut it properly? He unzipped the bag and looked inside. At the top lay a carrier bag from Shell containing paprika-flavoured crisps.
‘Did you open my bag?’ he called out.
Axel called back. ‘Is that a problem? My backpack was full.’
Reilly rummaged around in his bag. He made sure that the revolver was still there, inside the sweater. This new situation unsettled him. Perhaps he had already lost control? He shoved the bag under his bed, stood up and chewed his thumbnail.
‘Are you coming?’ Axel shouted. ‘We need to start cooking the pork.’ He looked in to see Reilly standing by the bed.
‘What’s up? You look weird.’
Reilly let the kitten out of the cage. It padded around and explored every corner of the room. Axel went out into the kitchen. He opened the package of pork fillet and held the large, pink lump of meat in his hands.
‘Here’s the free-range piggy,’ he said, ‘and look how happy he is.’
He took a knife from a drawer and placed it on a chopping board. It was a heavy-duty knife with a rubber handle, a long slim blade and a blood groove. A knife like that handles well. Reilly shuddered. It has superb grip. That knife can cut straight to the bone. He started to sweat. He was not sure he was in control. His body yearned for the feeling of well-being that the drugs normally induced. Perhaps he ought to get high?
‘Peel the potatoes,’ Axel ordered him. He shoved a bag in Reilly’s direction.
Reilly kept an eye on the kitten, which was still wandering around the cabin.
‘We need to keep the doors closed,’ he remembered. ‘If the kitten gets out, he won’t be able to find his way back.’
‘But he was born here,’ Axel reminded him. ‘And he needs to pee and much more besides. Go and find an old crate in the shed and make some sort of litter box for him. Get some sand from the shore.’
He cut the meat into suitably sized steaks, lit the gas stove and melted butter in the frying pan. He set the table and opened a bottle of red wine.
Later, over dinner, Axel looked at him for a long time.
‘How long have we known each other?’ he asked.
Reilly did the mental arithmetic.
‘We first met when we were six years old and now we’re twenty-five. That’s nineteen years.’
He stuck his fork into the free-range pork.
‘Friendships like that don’t grow on trees,’ Axel said. ‘Nineteen years. That’s a lifetime.’
Reilly nodded.
‘It takes a long time to build a friendship,’ Axel went on. ‘Think about all the people you meet during your life. At different stages. At nursery and at school, when you’re travelling or studying, at work. At parties, in the street and in shops. How many of them become friends for life?’
Reilly waited for Axel to continue.
‘Hardly any of them,’ Axel said. ‘Friendship is worth much more than love. Friendship is a commitment. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ Reilly said.
‘I think Jon reneged on his obligations,’ Axel said.
‘We’ll never know,’ Reilly said.
‘The letter,’ Axel said.
‘The business with the letter is totally bizarre,’ Reilly said, ‘but we can’t blame Jon because we can’t be certain.’
They looked at each other across the table.
‘It’s noble of you to think well of Jon, but being naive is dangerous.’ Suddenly he smiled a warm and broad smile. ‘A toast to humanity,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘A toast to God and His mysterious ways. And a toast to women who spread their legs for us. At least if we ask them nicely.’
After dinner they walked down to Dead Water.
From the shore they studied the surface of the lake, and they were mesmerised by its black sheen for a long time.
‘Dare we go out there?’ Axel said.
‘In the boat, you mean?’
‘No, on foot.’
Reilly snorted.
‘Everyone can walk on water,’ Axel claimed. ‘It’s merely a matter of weight distribution.’
Reilly picked a rush and started chewing it. He moved a couple of steps to the side. He did not like Axel being too close; you never knew what was on his mind. But Axel copied his movements.
‘Don’t let them get you,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them put you in a cell. It’ll kill you.’
Reilly stared at the point where Jon had let himself fall into the water. ‘I’m going to die sooner or later,’ he said. ‘It’s just a matter of time. I thought we agreed on that.’
‘Listen to me,’ Axel said. ‘This is serious. You will go mad. You won’t be able to take drugs either, not regularly, anyway. You’ll be sitting on your bunk, your teeth chattering, and no one will care about you. The prison service doesn’t waste resources on someone like you. They can’t be bothered to rehabilitate a scabby old drug addict. No one will visit you either. Who would come, Reilly? Do you think Nader will turn up and read aloud to you from the Koran?’
Reilly started walking back towards the cabin. He wanted to be with the kitten. He needed to get high. He wanted to curl up in a chair in front of the fire. Axel’s words were starting to get to him.
‘Putting someone in a prison cell is a form of assault,’ Axel said.
Reilly carried on walking.
‘And no one will want you when you get out, either,’ Axel shouted after him. ‘No one will give you a job or a place to live. Do you think that’s what you deserve?’
Reilly ran the last bit of the way and tore open the door.
‘That’s exactly what I deserve,’ he said. ‘And so do you.’
The fire had died down. Only a few red embers remained.
Axel rose from his chair and started clearing up. He was signalling that the evening had come to an end, like someone shutting a cafe.
Time, gentlemen.
Time for bed.
