Slow Man

'But what if I had never found out? What if I went to the grave in total ignorance of this so-called joke? What if the joke were to go unnoticed at the State Library too? What if it were to go unnoticed to the end of time? Take a look at these pictures, kids. The Ballarat diggers. Look at that bloke with the fierce moustaches! What then?'

'Then it will become part of our folklore that brigand moustaches were in fashion in 1850s Victoria. That's all. This is really not a matter worth going on about, Paul. What counts is that you have left your flat and visited Munno Para, where you have had words in private with your beloved Marijana and got to see her husband's beekeeping outfit and the bicycle her son is building for you. That is the only outcome of the so-called forgery that matters. Otherwise the episode is of the utmost insignificance.'

'You forget the missing print. Whatever opinion you may hold on photographs and their relation to the real, the fact is that one of my Faucherys, a genuine national treasure, worth more than mere money, has disappeared.'

'Your precious photograph has not disappeared. Look in your cabinet again. Ten to one it is there, misfiled. Or else Drago will find it in his stuff and return it to you next Sunday, with apologies.'

'And then?'

'Then the matter will be closed.'

'And then?'

'After that? After Sunday? I am not sure there will be any more, after Sunday. Sunday may well mark the last of your dealings with the Jokics, Mrs Jokic included. Of Mrs Jokic nothing alas but memories will remain to you. Of her supple calves. Of the splendid line of her bust. Of her charming malapropisms. Fond memories, shaded with regret, which will fade with the passage of time, as memories tend to do. Time, the great healer. However, there will still be the quarterly bills from Wellington College. Which I have no doubt you will pay, as a man of honour. And Christmas cards: Wishing you a happy Christmas and a prosperous new year – Marijana, Mel, Drago, Blanka, Ljuba.'

'I see. And what more do you care to reveal of my future, Mrs Costello, while you are in prophetic vein?'

'You mean, will there be someone to replace Marijana or is Marijana the end of the line for you? That depends. If you stay on in Adelaide, I foresee only nurses, a gallery of nurses, some pretty, some not so pretty, none of whom will come near to touching your heart as Marijana Jokic has done. If you come to Melbourne, on the other hand, there will be me, faithful old Dobbin. Though my calves are not, I suspect, up to your exacting standard.'

'And what of the state of your heart?'

'My heart? It has its ups and downs. It hammers and gasps like an old car when I climb the stairs. I dare say it will not last much longer. Why do you ask? Are you anxious you might turn out to be the one doing the nursing? Never fear – I would never demand that of you.'

'Then is it not time you called upon your children? Is it not time your children did something for you?'

'My children are far away, Paul, across the broad waves. Why do you mention my children? Do you want to adopt them too, become their stepfather? That will surprise them no end. They haven't even heard of you.

'But no, to answer your question, I would not dream of imposing myself on my children. If all else fails, I will check myself into a nursing home. Though the kind of care I seek is, alas, not provided in any nursing home I am aware of.'

'And what kind of care might that be?'

'Loving care.'

'Yes, that is indeed hard to come by nowadays, loving care. You might have to settle for mere good nursing. There is such a thing as good nursing, you know. One can be a good nurse without loving one's patients. Think of Marijana.'

'So that would be your advice: settle for nursing. I disagree. If I had to elect between good nursing and a pair of loving hands, I would elect the loving hands any day.'

'Well, I do not have loving hands, Elizabeth.'

'No, you do not. Neither loving hands nor a loving heart. A heart in hiding, that is what I call it. How are we going to bring your heart out of hiding? – that is the question.' She clutches his arm. 'Look!'

Three figures on motorcycles flash past in quick succession, going the other way, towards Munno Para.

'The one in the red helmet – wasn't it Drago?' She sighs. 'Ah for youth! Ah for immortality!'

It was probably not Drago. Too much of a coincidence, too neat. Probably a trio of unrelated young men, though with the blood running equally hot in their veins. But let them pretend nevertheless that the one in the red helmet was Drago. 'Ah Drago,' he repeats dutifully, 'ah for youth!'

The taximan drops them on Coniston Terrace in front of his flat.

'So,' says Elizabeth Costello. 'The end of a long day.'

'Yes.'

This is the moment when he ought to invite her indoors, offer her a meal and a place to sleep. But he speaks no word.

'Just the right gift, isn't it,' she says – 'your new bicycle. So thoughtful of Drago. A thoughtful boy. Now you are free to ride wherever you wish. If you are still nervous of Wayne Blight, you can confine yourself to the river path. It will give you exercise. It will improve your moods. You will develop strong arms in no time. Is there space for a passenger, do you think?'

'Space for a child behind the rider, yes. But not for another grown-up.'

'Just joking, Paul. No, I wouldn't want to be a burden on you. If I were to go riding I would want a contraption of my own, preferably one with a motor. Do they still sell those little motors that you fasten to bicycles that go putt-putt and help you up the hills? They had them in France, I remember. Deux chevaux, two horses.'

'I know what you mean. But they are not called deux chevaux. Deux chevaux is something else.'

'Or a bath chair. Perhaps that is what I really ought to get for myself. Do you remember bath chairs, the kind with a tasselled sunshade and a steering-bar? We can scout around the antique shops, I'm sure we will find one, Adelaide is just the place for a bath chair. We can ask Miroslav to fix a couple of chevaux to it. Then we will be ready to set out on our adventures, you and I. You already have your nice orange flag and I will get another for myself, with a design.'

'How about a mailed fist? A mailed fist in black on a white field, and beneath it the motto Malleus maleficorum.'

'Malleus maleficorum. Excellent! You really are turning into quite a wit, Paul. Who would have suspected you had it in you. Malleus maleficorum for me and Onward and upward for you. We could tour the whole land, the two of us, the whole of this wide brown land, north and south, east and west. You could teach me doggedness and I could teach you to live on nothing, or nearly nothing. They would write articles about us in the newspapers. We would become a well-loved Australian institution. What an idea! What a capital idea! Is this love, Paul? Have we found love at last?'

Half an hour ago he was with Marijana. But Marijana is behind them now, and he is left with Elizabeth Costello. He puts on his glasses again, turns, takes a good look at her. In the clear late-afternoon light he can see every detail, every hair, every vein. He examines her, then he examines his heart. 'No,' he says at last, 'this is not love. This is something else. Something less.'

'And is that your last word, do you think? No hope of budging you?'

'I am afraid not.'

'But what am I going to do without you?'

She seems to be smiling, but her lips are trembling too.

'That is up to you, Elizabeth. There are plenty of fish in the ocean, so I hear. But as for me, as for now: goodbye.' And he leans forward and kisses her thrice in the formal manner he was taught as a child, left right left.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

For their generous advice and assistance, my thanks to Arijana Bozo vic, Catherine Lauga du Plessis, Peter Goldsworthy, Peter Rose, John Williams, and Sharon Zwi.