The Dinosaur Feather(143)

He entered a round tower that appeared on his left. The ascent was almost without steps, a smooth spiral, and he tripped and fell on his knees. Thinking he was alone, he swore out loud, but a younger man, on his way down, stopped and looked shocked. Clive exploded and screamed at the young man, who retreated, said something, but left in the end.

Clive was alone. What was happening? In the old days, when he was younger, the sun had shone and when he leaned across his desk to look out into the garden, he would see Kay sitting there, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, and the boys dipping their toes in an inflatable pool, squealing and drinking lemonade through curly straws. Once, a respectful silence had accompanied his arrival at work; Michael had been twenty-two years old, bright green like a newly hatched grasshopper, delirious with happiness because he had been promised a postgraduate place in two years’ time and grateful for being allowed to type out Clive’s lecture notes and laminate the covers of all Clive’s reference books in the meantime. Once his sons had looked at him with admiration in their eyes, once Jack had loved him.

Clive felt the cold and he stood up. He needed Kay. It was no good without her.


He called her from a telephone booth. Around him, people fought their way through darkness and it snowed lightly. Clive’s heart nearly exploded when Kay answered the telephone. Not Franz, not Franz’s wife. Kay.

“Kay, I love you,” he whispered. “I don’t want to live without you. I can’t live without you. I’ll change. I’ll never hit you again. I’ll make it right with the children. Take me back, please. I’ll try harder. I promise.” Clive struggled to hold on to the handset; the wind seemed to change direction, it started blowing directly at his back and the hand that held the telephone. His telephone card counted down. There was silence down the other end.

“Kay?”

“Call me tonight, Clive,” she said, suddenly sounding tender. “I can’t talk now. I’m going out with Annabel. But tonight I’ll be . . . in our house. You can call me then.” She hung up.

A flash of jubilation exploded in his chest. It wasn’t too late! Kay loved him!

He went back to the hotel. Michael had left three messages. Clive left one for him. If he didn’t get the meaning of that one, he had to be an idiot. He went to his room and switched on his computer. He wanted to book a trip for Kay. She had never been across the Atlantic and had often mentioned how much she would like to see Paris. It was sixty degrees in Paris, nothing like the raw cold that dominated Copenhagen. He checked flight departures and began to plan. There was a departure from Vancouver, via Seattle, over London and onward to Copenhagen the next day at 1:20 p.m., arriving at Copenhagen Tuesday morning at 6:20 a.m. Clive could meet Kay here and together they could fly on to Paris at 12:35 p.m. He paid for the ticket with his credit card. Almost two thousand Canadian dollars for a return flight. It was a lot of money. But then he remembered he hadn’t bought Kay a present for their silver wedding anniversary. He also remembered he didn’t want to be alone. He tried to call her at Franz’s, but no one answered. He imagined she would like some time to pack. Soon afterward he fell asleep. He slept heavily and only surfaced a couple of times, when the telephone in his room rang angrily, but he slipped back to sleep the moment it stopped. At first, he dreamt about Helland, about Kay, about the boys, about Michael and Tybjerg. They all apologized to him. The dream changed and became about Jack. Jack stood close to him, smiling, as he said something. Clive couldn’t hear what it was because there was music playing. Clive asked Jack to repeat himself, but when he did, Clive could still not hear it. Suddenly, Clive realized that Jack’s face was that of a child. He was as tall as a grown man and wearing a grown man’s trousers and thin sweater, but his face was a boy’s; the sharp upper lip, which had pointed at Clive for nearly forty years, his eyes filled with a child’s admiration. Clive’s groin throbbed. Jack smiled and nothing felt wrong. You’re allowed, Jack said. The music had stopped. It was very quiet. Clive knelt in front of Jack and carefully pulled his trousers down over his slim hips.

Clive woke up with a start and sat bolt upright in the bed. He was dripping with sweat. He dried himself furiously with a towel and tried to rub away the stains on the sheet. His watch on the bedside table glowed fluorescent green. The alarm would soon go off to remind him to call Kay. Clive showered and when he sat, clean and refreshed, in the chair by the telephone, he called Kay. She answered after four rings.

“Hi,” she said gently. “I’m glad you called.”