The Search by Iain Crichton Smith Page A

and see you?”
    Douglas hesitated for a moment and then said, “You could come here, I suppose,” and gave him an address which Trevor copied down furiously on to the back of a page of his lecture notes.
    â€œOn the other hand,” he said, “it might be more convenient for you to come here.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” said Douglas. “Whatever you want. You can come here if you wish.”
    â€œAll right,” said Trevor. “I’ll come and see you. I’ve got a lot to tell you. When should I come?”
    â€œWould you like to come tonight?” said Douglas.
    â€œYes, of course. I shall be there fairly soon.” And then inconsequentially he added, “Which part of Scotland did you originally come from?”
    â€œAyrshire.”
    Trevor wanted to continue speaking, as if Douglas were his only link with reality but couldn’t think of anything to say to him. Other people could chatter on about nothing in particular but he couldn’t.
    â€œAll right then,” he ended lamely. “I’ll be along about half-past seven. Is that okay?”
    â€œYes,” said Douglas. “No worries.”
    When he had put the phone down Trevor finished his whisky and then restlessly switched on the radio. A woman was interviewing someone about unemployment.
    â€œHave you got much to live on?” she asked. Trevor switched the radio off and went out to the balcony. As he looked down on the lawn where the men and women were drinking and laughing he felt isolated and without energy. It seemed to him that the scene below him, the people, the trees, and the black cat were assembled into a drama of which he himself was the author. The flute player was still composing his watery notes, bubbling over a dry landscape. Many of the leaves were falling from the trees, and lying on the lawn in yellow patterns.
    He sat there for a long time and then decided that he ought to bring something to Douglas. Would a bottle of wine be sufficient? And what about the wife and child? He went down to the shop which adjoined the college and bought a flagon of white wine with the remains of the money that he had left over from the bus fare. He realized that he had forgotten to go to the bank and explain what had happened to him in Sydney and he cursed himself for his forgetfulness. Still, he had some money in his case which he could use. Feeling more restless than ever he decided that he could walk to the bank, which was in the city centre.
    He took his passport out of his case and pulled the door shut behind him. He would need some money for the taxi that would take him to Douglas’s house. He walked briskly out of the college again as if he had a renewed purpose in life, hoping that the people in the bank wouldn’t be too officious. It seemed to him that his life which had been ordered had now become disordered. How had he not thought about the bank when he had been downtown before? Why, when he had come over to Australia he had written in a notebook all the places he would visit, and the dates in which he would be in those places. It was in fact lucky for him that he had thought of locking his passport and air ticket in his case when he had gone to Sydney. In that sense he had been more fortunate than he had deserved. He mopped his face with his handkerchief as he walked along, removing his jacket and carrying it over his arm, and making sure that his wallet wouldn’t fall out.
    He remembered, when the plane had landed briefly in the damp heat of Singapore, seeing a native lying under the shadow of the wing of a huge plane as if to protect himself from the intense humid heat: and later how some natives with their names written on the backs of their shirts had entered the plane to clean it. They talked to each other in their own language, which of course he hadn’t understood. He had wondered vaguely what sort of life they led. Why, they were like servants attending