any more and I wasn’t going to follow him any further.
He could see it in my face. He was astounded. His eyes went very round and his mouth trembled, but he didn’t cry. After he’d sat staring at his feet for a while he got up and started putting his
shirt on, very deliberately, button by button. Then he said in a casual voice, ‘All right.’
‘What?’
‘You stay here. I’ll leave the food with you. I don’t think I’ll be too long. A couple of hours. See you later.’
He was already moving away. I wanted to say something, but what? In every sense he was leaving me behind. I looked into the trees and when I turned around again he’d disappeared.
I was defiant for a while. I took out the sandwiches and drank a beer. But my little moment was fading already and I was sorry for what I’d done. How bad could it be, getting to the top of the
cliffs? And he’d only meant well. I had an impulse to pack up and follow him, but I didn’t even know which direction he’d gone in.
Now a shadow had come over the day. And down here in the little hollow the sun had gone too. The pool was a dark mirror, its surface cracked and broken by the force of the water. The spray was
cold and the outline of the cliffs crept steadily over the forest. High up there it was a hot day, but I felt chilly and alone. I remembered the monstrous lizard shape struggling in the water.
Now I felt watched. The trees were a dark cryptic presence all around me, the rocks bulged with hard inner life. It had been years since the world observed me like this; it made me a child
again. I had a memory of the bottom of our garden and how huge and complex it was on the day that my mother had died.
When I set out walking it wasn’t to follow him. I was still naked; I was just walking into the trees. I don’t know what I was looking for. Just to move, to move. The leaves were densely packed,
but there was an opening that might’ve been a path. An animal track down to the water. Quite quickly, the river was only a noise behind me, fading away. The dank bush thinned out into undergrowth
and air, still edged with a filigree of branches, through which I was trying to find a way.
And then it was there. The house. Or rather – my first sight of it – a diamond-shaped grid of wire, overgrown with creeper and half rusted away. A fence. And beyond it, sinking into the leaves,
a glimpse of a gable and a broken front door.
A house. Here. Why? I took a full step back, not to touch.
But nobody lived here. You could see that right away. Nobody had lived here for a long time. There was no trace of a garden; it was all wild and rank. The windows were glassless and black. And
the fence – which was once formidable – was folding and falling in on itself.
I went over. There was a place a little way along where the fence was completely flat and you could step in. Now there was the ghost of what had long ago been a path. A few smooth stones, the
faintest trace of a verge. But the flowerbeds had erased themselves, leaking and overflowing in a mess of weeds and leaves until no shape was left. I went up the front steps on to the porch. Cracks
and cobwebs and watermarks. The front door was burst on its hinges. I stepped through. Why did I want to go in? Just to see it.
I went down a long passage with doors leading off into empty rooms, no furniture, no pictures, no objects. The place had been cleaned out, and maybe not by the owners. Other people had been here
since: there were the remains of a fire, not too recent, in the corner of one room. And a scattering of cigarette butts that had paled with time. Down the long wall of the passage somebody had
scratched a huge word, BEASTIE, in big drawling letters that collapsed towards each other. But in the little dunes of sand that had collected on the floor, the only footprints were mine.
It was hard to know what the rooms had been for. In one of them, the last, a cracked sink and linoleum floor gave some
He could see it in my face. He was astounded. His eyes went very round and his mouth trembled, but he didn’t cry. After he’d sat staring at his feet for a while he got up and started putting his
shirt on, very deliberately, button by button. Then he said in a casual voice, ‘All right.’
‘What?’
‘You stay here. I’ll leave the food with you. I don’t think I’ll be too long. A couple of hours. See you later.’
He was already moving away. I wanted to say something, but what? In every sense he was leaving me behind. I looked into the trees and when I turned around again he’d disappeared.
I was defiant for a while. I took out the sandwiches and drank a beer. But my little moment was fading already and I was sorry for what I’d done. How bad could it be, getting to the top of the
cliffs? And he’d only meant well. I had an impulse to pack up and follow him, but I didn’t even know which direction he’d gone in.
Now a shadow had come over the day. And down here in the little hollow the sun had gone too. The pool was a dark mirror, its surface cracked and broken by the force of the water. The spray was
cold and the outline of the cliffs crept steadily over the forest. High up there it was a hot day, but I felt chilly and alone. I remembered the monstrous lizard shape struggling in the water.
Now I felt watched. The trees were a dark cryptic presence all around me, the rocks bulged with hard inner life. It had been years since the world observed me like this; it made me a child
again. I had a memory of the bottom of our garden and how huge and complex it was on the day that my mother had died.
When I set out walking it wasn’t to follow him. I was still naked; I was just walking into the trees. I don’t know what I was looking for. Just to move, to move. The leaves were densely packed,
but there was an opening that might’ve been a path. An animal track down to the water. Quite quickly, the river was only a noise behind me, fading away. The dank bush thinned out into undergrowth
and air, still edged with a filigree of branches, through which I was trying to find a way.
And then it was there. The house. Or rather – my first sight of it – a diamond-shaped grid of wire, overgrown with creeper and half rusted away. A fence. And beyond it, sinking into the leaves,
a glimpse of a gable and a broken front door.
A house. Here. Why? I took a full step back, not to touch.
But nobody lived here. You could see that right away. Nobody had lived here for a long time. There was no trace of a garden; it was all wild and rank. The windows were glassless and black. And
the fence – which was once formidable – was folding and falling in on itself.
I went over. There was a place a little way along where the fence was completely flat and you could step in. Now there was the ghost of what had long ago been a path. A few smooth stones, the
faintest trace of a verge. But the flowerbeds had erased themselves, leaking and overflowing in a mess of weeds and leaves until no shape was left. I went up the front steps on to the porch. Cracks
and cobwebs and watermarks. The front door was burst on its hinges. I stepped through. Why did I want to go in? Just to see it.
I went down a long passage with doors leading off into empty rooms, no furniture, no pictures, no objects. The place had been cleaned out, and maybe not by the owners. Other people had been here
since: there were the remains of a fire, not too recent, in the corner of one room. And a scattering of cigarette butts that had paled with time. Down the long wall of the passage somebody had
scratched a huge word, BEASTIE, in big drawling letters that collapsed towards each other. But in the little dunes of sand that had collected on the floor, the only footprints were mine.
It was hard to know what the rooms had been for. In one of them, the last, a cracked sink and linoleum floor gave some
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