Even though he was younger, Michael had been a staunch ally during those dreadful childhood years of Garry's bed-wetting and stuttering and Sean's casually savage bullying. Then again Michael had not truly realized how lonely he had been in this strange city until this moment, and now there were so many nostalgic memories and so much unrequited need for affection to assuage, so many subjects of earth-shattering importance to discuss. They sat up into the small hours dealing with money and work and sex and the rest of it.
Garry was stunned to learn that Michael earned thirty-seven pounds ten shillings a month.
'How much does this kennel cost you a month?" he demanded.
'Twenty pounds,' Michael told him.
'That leaves you seventeen pounds ten a month to eat and exist.
They should be arrested for slave labour." 'It's not as bad as that - Pater gives me an allowance to make do.
How much do you earn, Garry?" Michael demanded, and Garry looked guilty.
'I get my board and lodging and all my meals at the mine, single quarters, and I am paid a hundred a month as an executive trainee." 'Son of a gun!" Michael was deeply impressed. 'What do you do with all that?" It was Garry's turn to look amazed. 'Save it, of course. I've got over two thousand in the bank already." 'But what are you going to do with all that?" Michael insisted.
'What are you going to spend it on?" 'Money isn't for spending,' Garry explained. 'Money is for saving - that is, if you want to be rich." 'And you want to be rich?" Michael asked.
'What else is there?" Garry was genuinely puzzled by the question.
'What about doing an important job the best way you can? Isn't that something to strive for, even better than getting rich." 'Oh sure!" said Garry with vast relief. 'But then, of course, you won't get rich unless you do just that." It was almost two in the morning when Michael at last switched off the bedside lamp and they settled down nose to toes, until Garry asked in the darkness the question he had not been able to ask until then.
'Mickey, have you heard from Mater at all?" Michael was silent for so long that he went on impetuously. 'I have tried to speak to Dad about her, but he just clams up and won't say a word. Same with Nana, except she went a little further.
She said "Don't mention that woman's name in Weltevreden again.
She was responsible for Blaine's murder." I thought you might know where she is." 'She's in London,' Michael said softly. 'She writes to me every week." 'When is she coming back, Mickey?" 'Never,' Michael said. 'She and Pater are getting a divorce." 'Why, Mickey, what happened that she had to leave like that, without even saying goodbye?" 'I don't know. She won't say. I wrote and asked her, but she wouldn't tell me." Garry thought he had gone to sleep, but after a long silence Michael said so softly that he barely caught the words, 'I miss her, Garry. Oh God, how much I miss her." The too,' said Garry dutifully, but each week that passed was so filled with excitement and new experience that for Garry her memory had already faded and blurred.
The next morning Leon Herbstein called Mickey into his office.
'Okay, Mickey,' he said. 'We are going to run the "Rage" article as you wrote it." Only then did Michael realize how important that decision had been to him. For the rest of that day his jubilation was tempered by that reflection. Why was his feeling of relief so powerful?
Was it the personal achievement, the thought of seeing his name in print again? It was part of that, he was honest with himself, but there was something else even deeper and more substantial. The truth. He had written the truth and the truth had prevailed. He had been exonerated.
Michael went down early the next morning and brought a copy of the Mail up to the bed-sitter. He woke Garry up and read the 'Rage' feature to him. Garry had only come in a few hours before dawn. He had spent most of the night in the computer room at the new Courtney Mining building in Diagonal Street. David Abrahams, on Shasa's discreet suggestion, had arranged for him to have a free hand with the equipment when it wasn9t being used on company business.
This morning Garry was red-eyed with exhaustion and his jowls were covered with a dense dark pelt of new beard. However, he sat up in his pyjamas and listened with attention while Michael read to him, and when he had finished Garry put on his spectacles and sat solemnly reading it through for himself while Michael brewed coffee on the gas-ring in the corner.
It's funny, isn't it,' Garry said at last. 'How we just take them for granted. They are there, working the shifts at the Silver River or harvesting the grapes at Weltevreden, or waiting on table. But you never think of them as actually having feelings and desires and thoughts the same as we do - not until you read something like this." 'Thank you, Garry,' Michael said softly.
'What for?" 'That's the greatest compliment anybody has ever paid me,' Michael said.
He saw very little more of Garry that weekend. Garry spent the Saturday morning at the deeds registry until that office closed at noon and then went on up to the Courtney building to take over the computer as soon as the company programmers went off for their weekend.
He let himself back into the flat at three the next morning and' climbed into the bottom end of Michael's bed. When they both awoke late on the Sunday morning, Michael suggested, 'Let's go out to Zoo Lake. It's a hot day and the girls will be out in their sundresses." He offered the bait deliberately for he was desperate for Garry's company, lonely and suffering from a sense of anti-climax after all the worry and uncertainty previous to the printing of the 'Rage' article and the subsequent apparent lack of any reaction to it.
'Hey, Mickey, I'd love to come with you -but I want to do something on the computer. It's Sunday, I'll have it to myself all day." Garry looked mysterious and self-satisfied. 'You see, I'm on to something, Mickey. Something incredible, and I can't stop now." Alone Michael caught the bus out to Zoo Lake. He spent the day sitting on the lawns reading and watching the girls. It only made him feel even more lonely and insignificant. When he got back to his dreary little flatlet, Garry's bag was gone and there was a message written with soap on his shaving mirror: 'Going back to Silver River.
Might see you next weekend. G." When Michael walked into the Mail's offices on the Monday morning he found that those members of the newspaper's staff who had arrived ahead of him were gathered in a silent nervous cluster in the middle of the newsroom while half a dozen strangers were going through the filing cabinets and rifling the papers and books on the desks. They had already assembled a dozen large cardboard cartons of various papers, and these were stacked in the aisle between the desks.
'What is happening?" Michael asked innocently, and his sub gave him a warning glance as he explained.
'These are police officers of the security branch." 'Who are you?" The plain-clothes officer who was in charge of the detail came across to Michael, and when he gave his name the officer checked his list.
'Ah, yes - you are the one we want. Come with me." He led Michael down to Leon Herbstein's office and went in without knocking.
There was another stranger with Herbstein. 'Yes, what is it?" he snapped, and the security policeman answered diffidently.
i!~
'This is the one, Captain." The stranger frowned at Michael, but before he could speak Leon Herbstein interrupted quickly.
'It's all right, Michael. The police have come to serve a banning order on the Saturday edition with the "Rage" article in it, and they have a warrant to search the offices. They also want to talk to you, but it's nothing to worry about." 'Don't be too sure of that,' said the police captain heavily. 'Are you the one who wrote that piece of commie propaganda?" 'I wrote the "Rage" article,' Michael said clearly, but Leon Herbstein cut in.
'However, as the editor of the Golden City Mail it was my decision to print it, and I accept full responsibility for the article." The captain ignored him and studied Michael for a moment before going on. 'Man, you are just a kid. What do you know, anyway?" 'I object to that, Captain,' Herbstein told him angrily. 'Mr Courtney is an accredited journalist --' 'Ja,' the captain nodded, 'I expect that he is." But he went on addressing Michael, 'What about you? Do you object to coming down to Marshall Square police headquarters to help us with our investigations?" Michael glanced at Herbstein and he said immediately, 'You don't have to go, Michael. They don't have a warrant for your arrest." 'What do you want from me, Captain?" Michael hedged.