his jaw.
This made an awkwardness in the room, which I felt I must end for Natty’s sake. ‘Before we set sail,’ I said, ‘I have a request. I was not able to say goodbye to my own father – for reasons you will understand. Can I ask you: will you give me a memory of him that I might have instead?’
I thought Mr Silver would ignore my request or brush it aside, so contemptuous was the expression on his face. But as the words sank into his brain they exerted a most curious influence. His eyes widened, his features relaxed, and a smile spread through him that was as warm as sunlight. It gave me a glimpse of the sweetness my father had witnessed many years earlier – the sweetness that was always false, and expedient.
‘Jim!’ he said, as though suddenly astonished. ‘Dear boy! You saved my life and you kept your word. We were two of a kind. We wanted to save our skins and get rich, didn’t we lad? Liberty and riches, they were the things.’
These were sentiments I had heard before, at our first meeting, but now they were uttered with a deeper sense of recognition. And my response to them was the more uncertain, because although I understood that Mr Silver was speaking of my father, I could not help gaining the impression that he thought of me as his own child.
This was not the memory I had requested, but it gave me a reassurance about the journey that was very welcome – at the same time as it troubled me.
So welcome, in fact, and so troubling, that for a moment I stoodquite still and felt nonplussed. When I was able to move again I surprised even myself. I stepped forward and kissed the crown of the old man’s head; it was a thing I had neglected to do when leaving my own father a few hours earlier, for fear of waking him. The threads of white hair felt ticklish against my lips and the skin very tight.
‘You are a good boy, Jim,’ he murmured as I straightened again. ‘You are a good boy and you must take care of Natty. You must …’
But the voice cracked as he spoke, so whatever he intended to say was lost. Instead, and with an awkward gulp, he lurched out to grasp his daughter’s left hand and my right, holding them together in the grip of his claws and shaking them slowly up and down.
With the light pouring over us, and the wind pressing against the window, and the immense silent pageant of London and its river spread out below, it was a moment of the most complex solemnity. A wedding and a farewell at once. And when it was finished, Mr Silver threw our hands into the air, making us understand that he was sending us on our way, and if we stayed any longer we would offend him.
It was a sudden conclusion, although no doubt for the best. It allowed Natty the dignity of seeming trustworthy to her father, and us both the privilege of feeling united in a common purpose. I waited a moment while Natty once more laid her hand on her father’s brow, closing her eyes as she did so – as if, by a great effort of concentration, she could absorb all the knowledge preserved inside his skull. Then she moved swiftly to collect Spot (who was now settled more calmly on his perch) before joining me again.
We walked slowly backwards out of the room as if departing from royalty, and kept our eyes fixed on Mr Silver for as long as possible. He never stirred – except, as the door closed, to lift one long hand and so repeat the blessing we had asked for.
CHAPTER 9
The
Silver Nightingale
As I look back today from the vantage point of my later age, I am astonished that so much remained unsaid during our final interview with Mr Silver. Very little about my father. Next to nothing about the adventure they had shared. Nothing whatsoever about their later lives. Our haste in setting sail was partly to blame for this – and also my reluctance to ask questions, having already heard so many answers at home. The main reason, however, was my youth. I showed insufficient curiosity about the means of arriving in a
This made an awkwardness in the room, which I felt I must end for Natty’s sake. ‘Before we set sail,’ I said, ‘I have a request. I was not able to say goodbye to my own father – for reasons you will understand. Can I ask you: will you give me a memory of him that I might have instead?’
I thought Mr Silver would ignore my request or brush it aside, so contemptuous was the expression on his face. But as the words sank into his brain they exerted a most curious influence. His eyes widened, his features relaxed, and a smile spread through him that was as warm as sunlight. It gave me a glimpse of the sweetness my father had witnessed many years earlier – the sweetness that was always false, and expedient.
‘Jim!’ he said, as though suddenly astonished. ‘Dear boy! You saved my life and you kept your word. We were two of a kind. We wanted to save our skins and get rich, didn’t we lad? Liberty and riches, they were the things.’
These were sentiments I had heard before, at our first meeting, but now they were uttered with a deeper sense of recognition. And my response to them was the more uncertain, because although I understood that Mr Silver was speaking of my father, I could not help gaining the impression that he thought of me as his own child.
This was not the memory I had requested, but it gave me a reassurance about the journey that was very welcome – at the same time as it troubled me.
So welcome, in fact, and so troubling, that for a moment I stoodquite still and felt nonplussed. When I was able to move again I surprised even myself. I stepped forward and kissed the crown of the old man’s head; it was a thing I had neglected to do when leaving my own father a few hours earlier, for fear of waking him. The threads of white hair felt ticklish against my lips and the skin very tight.
‘You are a good boy, Jim,’ he murmured as I straightened again. ‘You are a good boy and you must take care of Natty. You must …’
But the voice cracked as he spoke, so whatever he intended to say was lost. Instead, and with an awkward gulp, he lurched out to grasp his daughter’s left hand and my right, holding them together in the grip of his claws and shaking them slowly up and down.
With the light pouring over us, and the wind pressing against the window, and the immense silent pageant of London and its river spread out below, it was a moment of the most complex solemnity. A wedding and a farewell at once. And when it was finished, Mr Silver threw our hands into the air, making us understand that he was sending us on our way, and if we stayed any longer we would offend him.
It was a sudden conclusion, although no doubt for the best. It allowed Natty the dignity of seeming trustworthy to her father, and us both the privilege of feeling united in a common purpose. I waited a moment while Natty once more laid her hand on her father’s brow, closing her eyes as she did so – as if, by a great effort of concentration, she could absorb all the knowledge preserved inside his skull. Then she moved swiftly to collect Spot (who was now settled more calmly on his perch) before joining me again.
We walked slowly backwards out of the room as if departing from royalty, and kept our eyes fixed on Mr Silver for as long as possible. He never stirred – except, as the door closed, to lift one long hand and so repeat the blessing we had asked for.
CHAPTER 9
The
Silver Nightingale
As I look back today from the vantage point of my later age, I am astonished that so much remained unsaid during our final interview with Mr Silver. Very little about my father. Next to nothing about the adventure they had shared. Nothing whatsoever about their later lives. Our haste in setting sail was partly to blame for this – and also my reluctance to ask questions, having already heard so many answers at home. The main reason, however, was my youth. I showed insufficient curiosity about the means of arriving in a
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