things for effect and I wouldn’t state things of which I’m not sure.’
‘No doubt what you say is true, Mr Disvan, but I can’t help my fear.’
Successfully hooked at last I could not forbear to indulge my curiosity. ‘Fear of whom?’
Springer looked at Disvan in a querying manner and he, by way of reply, merely shrugged. This seemed to answer whatever doubt held him back and the old man could then unload his burden.
‘Fear of the person or thing that took forty years of my life.’
‘Who was that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You mean someone took forty years of your life but you don’t know their name?’
‘No, he never told me it—not in all that time. His name’s not all that important.’
‘No?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Well, how were all those years stolen from you, then?’
‘By holding me captive so that the active years of my life passed me by and were wasted in nothingness.’
‘That’s very serious. Who was responsible, then? The state?’
‘Certainly not, I’ve never ever been in trouble with the law.’
‘Some person, then...’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
I sighed, being somewhat exasperated, and tried another approach. ‘Well, where were you held prisoner then?’
‘At the bus stop.’
My initial response was one of anger at being so obviously taken for a fool but this was soon overridden by the transparent sincerity of the old man’s face. Nevertheless my response was still rich with sarcasm. ‘You were imprisoned for forty years at a bus stop, were you?’
‘Not any bus stop; the bus stop on the way to my house. But essentially, yes, that’s correct.’
‘If that’s so, I ask once again: who by?’
‘By the creature that waits there.’
‘And that’s the reason you won’t pass by it on your own?’
‘Exactly. He might see me and make me wait with him again.’
‘But if you’re with other people that can’t happen?’
‘I’m not sure but it seems a lot less likely.’
‘Explain this to me.’
‘What’s to tell? I’ve told you it all.’
‘It’s not much of a tale for an event of forty years duration.’
‘Time itself means very little. What is there to say of an accountant’s life even if he lives to be a hundred? Nothing very much happened to me in those forty years so there’s nothing much to recount.’
‘Go on, Bob,’ said Disvan, ‘you ought to tell him the full story.’
Springer took this in and then turned to address me. ‘Do you want that? Do you genuinely want to understand why I am as I am?’
‘Yes,’ I replied in all truthfulness. ‘Tell me how you were deprived of the days of your youth.’
‘My youth?’ He chewed upon that bitter notion before continuing. ‘Yes, that’s what I lost, I suppose—and my young manhood and early middle age as well. I was only in my twenties when I was captured, you see.’
‘How did it occur?’
‘On a ordinary day, or evening to be more precise. I was going to get a bus into Goldenford to see a movie; on my own as usual. It was about sevenish. I was done up to the nines and I can remember very clearly that the sun was almost down and it was drizzling. The shelter wasn’t there in those days, just the stop and the bench set back from the road, and I recall getting quite wet and feeling miserable.
‘Then, just a few moments before the bus would arrive—for you could trust the timetables then—I heard a voice call me by name. That surprised me because I’d thought I was alone but when I turned round I could see that there was an old man sitting on the seat and he was beckoning me. There didn’t seem to be anything really amiss although I felt sure there’d been no-one on the seat when I’d arrived. Even so I put that out of my mind for I very often travelled from that stop and consequently felt pretty much at ease there.
‘ “How can I help you?” I said, going up close to the person who’d spoken to me. It was nearly dark by that time, you see, and
‘No doubt what you say is true, Mr Disvan, but I can’t help my fear.’
Successfully hooked at last I could not forbear to indulge my curiosity. ‘Fear of whom?’
Springer looked at Disvan in a querying manner and he, by way of reply, merely shrugged. This seemed to answer whatever doubt held him back and the old man could then unload his burden.
‘Fear of the person or thing that took forty years of my life.’
‘Who was that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You mean someone took forty years of your life but you don’t know their name?’
‘No, he never told me it—not in all that time. His name’s not all that important.’
‘No?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Well, how were all those years stolen from you, then?’
‘By holding me captive so that the active years of my life passed me by and were wasted in nothingness.’
‘That’s very serious. Who was responsible, then? The state?’
‘Certainly not, I’ve never ever been in trouble with the law.’
‘Some person, then...’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
I sighed, being somewhat exasperated, and tried another approach. ‘Well, where were you held prisoner then?’
‘At the bus stop.’
My initial response was one of anger at being so obviously taken for a fool but this was soon overridden by the transparent sincerity of the old man’s face. Nevertheless my response was still rich with sarcasm. ‘You were imprisoned for forty years at a bus stop, were you?’
‘Not any bus stop; the bus stop on the way to my house. But essentially, yes, that’s correct.’
‘If that’s so, I ask once again: who by?’
‘By the creature that waits there.’
‘And that’s the reason you won’t pass by it on your own?’
‘Exactly. He might see me and make me wait with him again.’
‘But if you’re with other people that can’t happen?’
‘I’m not sure but it seems a lot less likely.’
‘Explain this to me.’
‘What’s to tell? I’ve told you it all.’
‘It’s not much of a tale for an event of forty years duration.’
‘Time itself means very little. What is there to say of an accountant’s life even if he lives to be a hundred? Nothing very much happened to me in those forty years so there’s nothing much to recount.’
‘Go on, Bob,’ said Disvan, ‘you ought to tell him the full story.’
Springer took this in and then turned to address me. ‘Do you want that? Do you genuinely want to understand why I am as I am?’
‘Yes,’ I replied in all truthfulness. ‘Tell me how you were deprived of the days of your youth.’
‘My youth?’ He chewed upon that bitter notion before continuing. ‘Yes, that’s what I lost, I suppose—and my young manhood and early middle age as well. I was only in my twenties when I was captured, you see.’
‘How did it occur?’
‘On a ordinary day, or evening to be more precise. I was going to get a bus into Goldenford to see a movie; on my own as usual. It was about sevenish. I was done up to the nines and I can remember very clearly that the sun was almost down and it was drizzling. The shelter wasn’t there in those days, just the stop and the bench set back from the road, and I recall getting quite wet and feeling miserable.
‘Then, just a few moments before the bus would arrive—for you could trust the timetables then—I heard a voice call me by name. That surprised me because I’d thought I was alone but when I turned round I could see that there was an old man sitting on the seat and he was beckoning me. There didn’t seem to be anything really amiss although I felt sure there’d been no-one on the seat when I’d arrived. Even so I put that out of my mind for I very often travelled from that stop and consequently felt pretty much at ease there.
‘ “How can I help you?” I said, going up close to the person who’d spoken to me. It was nearly dark by that time, you see, and
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