Whit

A strange species, humanity, I found myself thinking, quite as though I was some visiting alien.

I do not belong here, I thought.  My place is with my people, and their future rests in my hands now.  I suddenly wanted to be away from the noise and the heat and the smoke of this place, and so borrowed a key from Topee, donated the remains of my pint to him and stood and made my apologies and left, stepping out into the clear black night and breathing in its cool air as though released from a fetid prison after many years' incarceration.

The stars were mostly hidden by the city's glare, but the moon, less than a day away from being full, shone down almost undiminished, and as coolly serene as ever.

I did not go straight back to the flat, but wandered the streets for a while, still troubled by my conflicting thoughts, my conscience and will buffeted this way and that by the opposing arguments that racked my soul.

Eventually, I stood on the bridge that carries Great Western Road over the river Kelvin, leaning on the stone balustrade and looking down into the dark waters far beneath while the traffic grumbled and roared at my back and groups of people went chattering past.

A feeling of calmness gradually stole over me as I stood there, thinking and thinking and trying not to think.  It was as though the warring forces in my soul were both so evenly matched and so precisely targeted upon their opposite that they eventually cancelled each other out, fighting each other to a standstill, to exhaustion and a stop, if not a conclusion.

Let what would be, be, I thought.  The shape of tomorrow was already half decided, and how exactly it would all end I would simply have to wait and see, playing events as they fell rather than trying to decide precisely what I would do now.  At the least, I could sleep on my decision.

Sleep seemed a very good idea, I thought.

I returned to the flat, extended my hammock between the wardrobe and the bed's headboard in Topee's room - both articles of furniture were massive enough to support the weight, and both were also of such an anciently elaborate design that there was an almost embarrassing choice of stoutly carved curlicues and knobbly extrusions on which to loop the hammock cords.  I took off my jacket, shirt and trousers, climbed into my hammock and fell asleep almost instantly.

I was only dimly aware of a party going on much later.  Topee crept in and whispered to me he'd got lucky and swapped rooms with Stephen so that he could be alone with his new conquest, but Stephen, true to Topee's guarantee, did not disturb me during the night and I awoke - to Stephen's unconscious snuffles and snorts - bright and early the next morning.  I arose, washed and dressed before anybody else awoke.

The living room was carpeted with sleeping bodies.  I stood at the hall table to write a note to Topee and a letter to Grandmother Yolanda, then left to find a post box.

Sophi - who had been the next person I'd telephoned after talking to Mr Womersledge last night - arrived in her little Morris half an hour later, to discover me sitting on the flat's doorstep, eating a filled roll from a wee shop down the road.

Sophi looked blithe and summery in jeans and a striped T-shirt; her hair was gathered up in a pony-tail.  She kissed me when I got into the car.

'You look tired,' she told me.

'Thank you.  That's how I feel,' I told her.  I held out the white paper bag I'd got from the wee shop. 'Would you like a filled roll?'

'I had breakfast,' she told me. 'So.' She clapped her hands. 'Where first?'

'Mauchtie, Lanarkshire,' I told her.

'Righty-ho,' she said, and put the car into gear.

The day, and the last, decisive part of my campaign, had begun.

* * *

It had crossed my mind that if I did decide that discretion concerning Grandfather's misdemeanours was the prudent course, then bringing Zhobelia back into the bosom of our family and Community might prove unwise, even catastrophic.  What were the chances that she would be able to hold her tongue regarding the pay-book and the money now that she had broken the dam of that secrecy?  Having her staying with us might well mean that the truth would be bound to leak out eventually, and perhaps in the most damaging way: over time, through rumour and gossip.

But I could not leave her in that place; it had been clean enough at the Gloamings Nursing Home, Zhobelia had a generously sized room, she obviously shared and enjoyed some sort of social contact with the other residents, and she had not complained of much there, but it had all seemed so loveless, so cold after the warmth of the Community.  I had to take her away.  If doing so forced my hand concerning the telling of the truth, then so be it; I would not sacrifice my great-aunt's happiness to such expediency.  Telling the truth was what I had sworn to myself I would do, after all, even if now my instinct was to conceal rather than to reveal.

Well, we would see.

We drove through the lightly trafficked city.  I gave Sophi an edited version of my short but eventful travels with Uncle Mo, my meeting with Morag, my audience with Great-aunt Zhobelia and time spent with Brother Topee.  I did not, for the time being, mention the things Zhobelia had told me, or the pay-book and the ten-pound note.

'So what were you looking for at the library?' Sophi asked.

I shook my head, and could not look at her. 'Oh, old stuff,' I said. 'Things I half wish I hadn't found out.' I glanced at her.  Things I'm not sure about telling anybody else yet.'

Sophi looked briefly at me, and smiled. 'Well, that's okay.'

And seemed happy with that, bless her.

* * *

'She is my great-aunt and she's corning with us!'

'Look, hen, she's here in my charge, and I'm not supposed to just let any of these old dears start wandering off.'

'She is not "wandering off", she is coming of her own free will, back into the bosom of her family.'

'Aye, well, that's what you say.  Ah don't even know you are her…'

'Great niece,' I supplied. 'Well, look, why don't we just ask her?  I think you'll find she'll confirm everything I say.'

'Och, come on; she's not exactly the full shilling, is she?'

'I beg your pardon?  My great-aunt may appear a little confused on occasion but I suspect that much of what seems to be encroaching senility is simply the effect of having to subsist within the insufficiently stimulating environment which is all that you are able to provide, despite what I am sure are your best efforts.  After some time spent with the many, many people who love her and who are able to provide her with a more intense set of emotional and spiritual surroundings I should be most surprised indeed if she did not a show a marked improvement in that regard.'

'Yeah!' Sophi breathed at my side. 'Well said, Is.'

'Thank you,' I said to her, then turned back to the plump middle-aged lady who had let us into the hall of the Gloamings Nursing Home.  The lady had introduced herself as Mrs Johnson.  She wore a tight blue uniform like the one the young lass had worn the last time I'd been here, two nights ago, and unconvincing blonde hair. 'Now,' I said, 'I would like to see my great-aunt.'

'Well, you can see her, Ah canny stop ye seein; her, but Ah havny had any notification she's supposed to be movin' out,' Mrs Johnson said, turning to walk towards the rear of the house.  She shook her head as we followed her. 'Ah don't know, ye get told nuthin' here.  Nuthin'.'

Great-aunt Zhobelia was in a room full of old ladies, all perched on high-seated chairs watching the television.  A large tray with tea things sat on a sideboard, and many of the old dears - Zhobelia actually looked the youngest - were sitting sipping cups of tea, their bony, fragile hands shakily clutching robust green china cups which rattled in their saucers. Zhobelia wore a voluminous bright red sari and a matching red hat in the style of a turban. She looked bright and alert.