The Search by Iain Crichton Smith Page B

to transient overlords, vassals to the aristocracy of the sky. And then the plane was airborne and they were heading into the sun and as the blinds were down because of the film that was being shown the windows suddenly became like the windows of a cathedral, encrusted with a blood-red colour. Down below were the fields which looked exactly like strips of linoleum or marquetry, wooden barren floors. And in the sea were boats with strangely shaped sails. Now the strangeness returned to him as if it had some deep significance.

Eleven
    A T A QUARTER-PAST seven he took a taxi from the college to the address which Douglas had given him and which was in Melba. It occurred to him that he wasn’t as nervous now as he had been in Sydney, as if the city of Canberra itself, bureacratic, governmental, guaranteed order, though of course this might be an illusion. He tried to speak to the taxi driver who was unaccountably silent, and then gave up and looked out of the window. It disturbed him a little that the taxi driver didn’t seem to know where the street was, and had in fact taken out a map which he unfolded and studied while the cab was standing at the traffic lights. At last he found the street on his map and they sped on. Lights twinkled all over the city making it lustrous and beautiful.
    At last the taxi stopped at No. 158 Morgan Close, though the number Trevor wanted was 154. He told the taxi driver that he would find the house himself and went to see whether 154 was two doors down from 158. It turned out however that 157 was next to 158. As he searched for the house the rain began to fall heavily and he sheltered under the overhanging roof of a tin hut, hearing the heavy drops banging above him like hailstones. The houses didn’t seem to be in a good area and he asked a fat woman who was puffing her way up a brae in the rain where 154 was. She pointed down the hill to another row of houses. The raindrops bounced from the road and in the distance he saw sheet lightning illuminating the sky. There were dull, hollow bursts of thunder.
    He made a rush for the houses which she had indicated and as he ran along a pathway he saw Douglas standing at a window looking out. He knocked on the door and after a while Douglas came to it.
    â€œDid you have difficulty finding the house?” he asked Trevor, whose jacket had been drenched by the rain.
    â€œYes,” said Trevor angrily.
    â€œMy wife and child are out,” Douglas told him, ignoring the fact that he looked enraged. The room into which Trevor was led seemed to be reasonably well furnished with black leather armchairs, and paintings on the walls. One of the paintings showed a face red as the sun resting on spindly legs, and its savage, almost primitive colouring made him wonder once again if there was something psychologically wrong with Douglas. The latter appeared tense and smoked continually.
    They sat down opposite each other and Douglas said,
    â€œWhat did you find out then?”
    Trevor told him everything that had happened to him and Douglas listened intently though rather impatiently, smoking furiously.
    He didn’t seem to have much sympathy for Trevor even when the latter told him that he had been hit on the head.
    â€œThat happens if you’re not careful,” he said. “Did you find out anything about Norman?”
    â€œNo,” said Trevor. “I still don’t know where he is.”
    â€œI’d better tell you what he told me,” said Douglas at last. “You’re not going to like this.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œAs I said, what Norman told me. I don’t think you know him very well. That is my impression though I may be wrong. He’s totally different from what you think he is. I imagine you consider him rather stupid because he didn’t read books and left school early, but you would be wrong about that. Norman has worked out a technique for survival, you know. We all had to do that. I