Tallest leaned back a little. The interest that had thrust forward his shoulders had begun to wane. He looked away from Jolyon and Chad as he readied himself to speak.
Jack quickly cleared his throat. ‘We had some more thoughts as well,’ he said, although this was in fact the first Jack had heard of any such game. ‘Ideas such as having to propose something highly illiberal in front of the lefty student union, having to forward a motion that could be interpreted as racist or sexist . . . Those are the hot-button issues that fire them up most of all. You can’t beat a good bit of lefty rage for entertainment.
‘Or you could give a lecture on Margaret Thatcher,’ Jack continued, ‘and claim that rather than her being a villain, she’s your personal heroine. You have to tell a crowd of smug liberals how vital it was to kill Argentines in the Falklands and she saved the economy by giving the nation’s miners a really good kicking.’ Jack grinned as he became more and more amused by the thought. ‘And then you lean on the lectern and watch the crowd just fucking explode like you’ve kicked over their cosy little anthill,’ he said. ‘Just imagine the liberal pandemonium. There’s not a single person in college would ever speak to you again.’
Now Tallest appeared interested once again. ‘Any more?’ he said, his tongue emerging speculatively from his mouth.
‘Oh, fuckloads,’ said Jack. ‘And it gets darker, much darker. But that’s enough to give you a taste.’
Tallest turned to his left. ‘Take down his name,’ he said.
‘No P in Thomson,’ said Jack while Middle scribbled a third line on his pad.
‘So why, may I ask, are you coming to us?’ said Tallest.
‘Funding,’ said Chad.
Game Soc’s representatives exchanged looks, then quickly and silently reached their decision. It was the first time any of them had smiled and now all three of them were smiling unanimously.
‘How does ten thousand pounds sound?’ said Tallest.
‘This is not an unconditional offer, you realise,’ said Middle.
And then Shortest added, his voice careful but nonetheless keen, ‘We would have to see a more formal proposal. A side of A4 should suffice.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Chad, ‘ten thousand pounds? You said ten thousand, right?’
‘Yes, that’s something like twenty thousand of your American dollars, Mr Mason,’ said Tallest. ‘So long as you provide us with a more detailed proposal. And so long as we approve that proposal.’
Chad tried hard not to laugh.
‘And we would have to insist upon one further important condition,’ Tallest continued. ‘At all times, and for the entire duration of the Game, at least one of the three of us would have to be present. This would remain applicable both during every round and for all consequences, where practicable. This condition couldn’t be dispensed with. We would never interfere. We would always act as nothing more than silent observers unless some fundamental breach of the rules should occur. And one last thing, we feel your proposal should concentrate to a large degree on those consequences.’
‘We like –’ Middle consulted his pad – ‘we like Mr Thomson’s initial ideas,’ he said.
‘You might want to flesh out your plans in Mr Thomson’s direction,’ said Shortest.
Tallest then fastened the buttons on his jacket. ‘We don’t hand out money to any Tom, Dick and Harry, Mr Mason. It requires something rather special. But we feel your game has potential.’
Middle took down the small Game Soc sign while Shortest removed a blank business card from the back pocket of his jeans and wrote something down. ‘This is the only number at which we can be reached. It’s a mobile phone number, so I wouldn’t waste any time trying to trace it to a college or any other establishment.’
‘Mobile phone,’ Jack snorted. ‘Fancy rich fuckers then, are you?’ The only student at Pitt who owned a mobile phone was a viscount and potential heir to one of Europe’s largest fortunes.
Tallest took the card from Shortest, reached conspicuously past Jack and handed it to Chad. ‘You have until Monday,’ he said, ‘and let’s say no later than noon. You choose the venue, just call and let us know.’ He rapped his knuckles twice on the ledge of the stall.
Chad thought he could see in Middle and Shortest’s demeanours a sense of relief, or perhaps even gratitude. Tallest nodded to his shorter colleagues and they left together, Tallest first, mother duck leading the line. Very soon only one of their heads was visible above the throng of the crowd.
XI
XI(i) I am woken by the sun today. I must not have closed the curtains last night, distracted by the thrill of my walk, my first day of training. (Must take more walks.)
For three years, since the onset of my hermitage, I have awoken only to sounds, the same dim hydraulic hum of the garbage trucks at work every morning, the Sisyphean task of removing the trash from the city.
But today I awake to the pleasure of an exciting new discovery.
Allow me first a brief explanation, some background. My apartment is a railroad flat, to use the local parlance. The name refers simply to the fact that such apartments are long and thin. Mine consists of three slender rooms, one after the other like the coupled carriages of a train. The kitchen is located at the back, the living room at the front and the bedroom in the middle. There are doorways but no doors and windows only at each end. And while the light from outside bleeds into the kitchen and living room just a little, my bedroom forms the heart of darkness in this railroad flat.
So this morning when I awake and find, for the first time in three years, my bedroom half lit by the sun, I discover the presence of a large closet at the foot of my bed. And I feel almost as if this closet has suddenly blinked into being. Yes, of course I suppose I remembered the presence of a large closet at the foot of my bed. I may no longer have a wife but I am not divorced entirely from my mind. However, my curtains and blinds have remained shut for such a long time.
Furthermore I am not an enthusiastic switcher-on of lamps or overhead lights. In the bedroom there are absolutely no working light bulbs. Because what else do I do in the bedroom but sleep? In the dark! In fact, for use in the gloomiest hours, I carry around a flashlight fastened to a loop of string that allows me to hang said flashlight from my neck. And when I need it, I use it. When I don’t, I preserve its batteries. I use lamps or overhead lights only when a task requires two hands.
But I have become distracted from matters more pressing.
Yes, this morning in the lengthening sunlight, I notice a closet and the following thought occurs to me – I have not opened the closet for so long I have forgotten its contents.
I am leaving you here on the table a moment. Discovery calls out to me. I will report back immediately, I promise you.
XI(ii) A kind of hell. Nine, ten, eleven hours ago I descended into some circle of hell. That large closet is nothing but a vault in Satan’s armoury of evil.
When I slide open one of the doors and swing my flashlight’s eager eye across the closet’s contents, I find the following: Monopoly, Chutes & Ladders, Buckaroo, Chess, Guess Who?, Clue, Operation, Risk, Backgammon, Connect Four, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Electronic Battleship, Uno, Checkers, Mah-jong . . .
At first I feel so happy to have stumbled upon such a treasure trove. I feel like Ali Baba in a cave of riches. So many games. So much training equipment. A mental gym, no less.
First I pull out that old family favourite, Monopoly, and choose my foes, Hat and Car.