Canarino. Katherine Bucknell

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СКАЧАТЬ with light. ‘That really describes him, I swear to God. I have no hesitation in bragging. He’s wise and he’s subtle. He gets things that people never get, nuances. And he’s patient, too, like someone who isn’t worried about getting his share. Or—as if he’s already been served, and he’s just enjoying it.’

      ‘So how old is he? A hundred?’

      ‘No. Younger than us—thirty-eight.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And what? You want details?’

      ‘I always gave you girl details. Try me. Teach me, for Christ’s sake!’ David smiled, raising both hands in expostulation.

      ‘Well, wait till you meet him. You’ll see. He’s gorgeous to look at, sexy—skinny but pretty strong. Not as tall as me, but then who is? Great legs and—’ Leon paused, a flush spread suddenly over his grin, and then he said, ‘He wears glasses, big brown eyes. And—you notice his cheekbones, or the way it’s sort of hollowed out underneath them, and his lips. He’s got amazing big lips, beautiful.’

      Leon looked sly, reflective.

      David leaned closer, lifting his chin.

      Leon said, ‘And he’s black.’

      ‘Okay,’ said David very slowly, blankly. ‘Whatever.’

      Then they both burst out laughing again, and they went on laughing for a long time, pushing their chairs back from the table, rubbing their faces. The restaurant was empty. David was exhausted. He could hardly react to anything anymore. He was feeling completely silly, as though he’d been rolling on the floor, tickled hard.

      ‘Is black the only thing I need to know about him?’

      ‘He’s a doctor—psychiatrist. Harvard Med School. He’ll be over here sometime. You’ll meet him.’

      Downstairs was deserted. Not all the lights were working in the lobby outside the elevator and there were dark pockets of night and shadow all around as they pushed through the heavy glass doors into the cobbled yard. Trash was blowing around on the breezes from the river; graffiti seemed to have appeared on the walls while they were upstairs. David felt as though bums might like to sleep here, might be urinating nearby, warm in their grime, muttering. But there was no one in the humid night.

      Where was the street, he wondered? And the traffic? Everything seemed still, sequestered. He couldn’t remember how they had entered the yard, through which archway. He reached for his cell phone half-consciously, then remembered he hadn’t brought it. He was picturing a taxi, but not very clearly.

      Leon threw an arm across his shoulders and said, ‘The bike’s over here,’ pulling him toward the gate.

      ‘Yeah,’ said David, remembering their flash arrival, their slipstream ride through the lazy, honking conga line of traffic, red brakelight upon warm red brakelight inviting them to ease past. He had liked the feel of it, tipping and diving through the flow of cars, like ballroom dancers on a crowded floor. But he was reeling now, loopy with drink, and so he automatically tightened his attitude. It was a habit for self-preservation.

      ‘Okay, I’m wasted,’ he said to Leon. ‘Help me find a taxi.’

      Leon laughed. ‘You’ll be okay. I won’t let you fall off.’

      ‘What if you fall off?’

      ‘That’d be a bummer for both of us,’ Leon said, ‘so I won’t.’ He zipped his jacket crisply and heaved the bike off its stand. ‘I’ll get you home, safe and sound, Dave. Trust me. But you’re going to get fucking cold, so you’d better hug tight.’ Then he threw one huge leg over the bike and leaned forward, starting it with a rushing explosion and playing through the gears.

      David stood by, shivering. This is not like the ride we had before, he was thinking. This is completely different.

      ‘Come on!’ Leon commanded. ‘It’s going to rain!’

      So, tentatively, David got on the bike. He sat up very straight and felt around behind him for something to hold on to. Leon started to creep the bike forward with his feet down on the pavement, and David swung stiffly from side to side, a dead weight, his neck rigid, his throat muscles aching. He gripped the seat cushion between his thighs.

      Leon stopped and turned around, his huge black jacket squeaking, his elbows knocking into David’s ribs, and shouted above the engine.

      ‘Put your ass on the seat, man, it’s not going to rape you and neither am I!’

      It struck David to the core; he couldn’t even pretend to laugh, he was so ashamed.

      ‘If you’re drunk,’ Leon said, ‘just give in. I can ride much better if you hold on to me. Shut your eyes; who the hell is going to see you at this time of night?’

      ‘No way I’m shutting my eyes,’ David said, and now he chuckled. ‘I’ll lose it completely. I’m okay.’

      He put his arms around Leon’s waist, tentatively. Then he tightened his grip just a little, and snugged up behind Leon’s bum. It felt fine; it felt comfortable. Jokily, he laid his cheek against Leon’s back, just for an instant, pretending to adopt a lover’s posture, partly out of clownish daring, partly out of humility, and partly out of love. Then he sat up, still holding on. ‘Go for it.’

      Leon was already away, slowly at first through the yellow glow of night-time Lambeth. David loved everything about it. He knew it was the simplest pleasure imaginable, the thrill of movement, wind on the face, no helmet, no burdens. The little turns were almost like skating, he thought, dipping, gliding. He imagined he was skating along, right behind Leon, exactly in time with him. Through the heavy jacket, David could feel the muscles drop and flex under Leon’s arm when he changed gear, he could feel them tighten all the way down Leon’s ribcage when he braked. He still knew Leon’s body as well as ever. It was a beautiful body calmly engaged in a task; it wasn’t sending David any particular message. It was simply carrying him along, as if on its back. They leaned together, this way and that, hips tilting, backs bending, weaving through the streets.

      The buzz was soporific, but the lashing air was bracing. Leon was like a tree trunk with a heartbeat, massive, warm, absolutely steady; David just nestled there, grinning with joy. It didn’t even occur to him to ask Leon to teach him how to ride the bike himself. He just let himself be carried along like a happy child, with Leon in charge.

      As they crossed Westminster Bridge, he felt the night full around them, the wide glowing sky, the oily sheen of the broad river just visible over the parapets, the luminous blond Houses of Parliament bristling at the darkness with their neo-Gothic complexity, their barbs and notches. An airplane winked red and gold as it sighed and settled toward Heathrow. London seemed so familiar now, gently lit. It seemed to lie down like a constant creature at their flying feet. Its coziness surprised David, its tameness.

      Twelve years, he thought to himself. I’m very used to all this. And I’ve never seen it like this before, either. Never loved it consciously. Then he thought, Of course, I’m drunk. And I’m—euphoric. That was the word, he thought. Euphoric with what? The summer night, the wild pleasure of being with Leon, the motorcycle. Caution thrown to the winds, anxiety jettisoned. It’s like being outside of time, he thought. Free of it. Just free. Like when we were young and we didn’t even know yet what time was. When we only thought СКАЧАТЬ