‘Go on,’ said Archie slowly. The fact was he could do with some help.
‘The problem,’ continued Dr Sick, trying to control his hyperventilation, sweating so much there were two little pools in the hollows at the base of his neck, ‘is that of a young French student who ought to care for his sick mother in Paris but at the same time ought to go to England to help the Free French fight the National Socialists. Now, remembering that there are many kinds of ought – one ought to give to charity, for example, but one doesn’t always do so; it is ideal, but it is not required – remembering this, what should he do?’
Archie scoffed, ‘That’s a bloody stupid question. Think about it.’ He gesticulated with the gun, moving it from the Doctor’s face and tapping his own temple with it. ‘At the end of the day, he’ll do the one he cares about more. Either he loves his country or his old mum.’
‘But what if he cares about both options, equally? I mean, country and “old mum”. What if he is obligated to do both?’
Archie was unimpressed. ‘Well, he better just do one and get on with it.’
‘The Frenchman agrees with you,’ said the Doctor, attempting a smile. ‘If neither imperative can be overridden, then choose one, and as you say, get on with it. Man makes himself, after all. And he is responsible for what he makes.’
‘There you are, then. End of conversation.’
Archie placed his legs apart, spread his weight, ready to take the kick-back – and cocked the gun once more.
‘But – but – think – please, my friend – try to think – ’ The Doctor fell to his knees, sending up a cloud of dust that rose and fell like a sigh.
‘Get up,’ gulped Archie, horrified by the streams of eye-blood, the hand on his leg and then the mouth on his shoe. ‘Please – there’s no need for-’
But the Doctor grabbed the back of Archie’s knees. ‘Think – please – anything may happen… I may yet redeem myself in your eyes… or you may be mistaken – your decision may come back to you as Oedipus’s returned to him, horrible and mutilated! You cannot say for sure!’
Archie grabbed the Doctor by his skinny arm, hauled him upright and began yelling, ‘Look, mate. You’ve upset me now. I’m not a bloody fortune-teller. The world might end tomorrow for all I know. But I’ve got to do this now. Sam’s waiting for me. Please,’ said Archie, because his hand was shaking and his resolve was doing a runner, ‘please stop talking. I’m not a fortune-teller.’
But the Doctor collapsed once more, like a jack-in-the-box. ‘No… no… we are not fortune-tellers. I could never have predicted my life would end up in the hands of a child… Corinthians I, chapter thirteen, verse eight: Whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. But when will it come? For myself, I became tired of waiting. It is such a terrible thing, to know only in part. A terrible thing not to have perfection, human perfection, when it is so readily available.’ The Doctor lifted himself up, and tried to reach out to Archie just as Archie backed away. ‘If only we were brave enough to make the decisions that must be made… between those worth saving and the rest… Is it a crime to want-’
‘Please, please,’ said Archie, ashamed to find himself crying, not red tears like the Doctor’s, but thick and translucent and salty. ‘Stay there. Please stop talking. Please.’
‘And then I think of the perverse German, Friedrich. Imagine the world with no beginning or end, boy.’ He spat this last word, boy, and it was a thief that changed the balance of power between them, stealing whatever strength was left in Archie and dispersing it on the wind. ‘Imagine, if you can, events in the world happening repeatedly, endlessly, in the way they always have…’
‘Stay where you fucking are!’
‘Imagine this war over and over a million times…’
‘No thanks,’ said Archie, choking on snot. ‘ ’Sbad enough the first time.’
‘It is not a serious proposition. It is a test. Only those who are sufficiently strong and well disposed to life to affirm it – even if it will just keep on repeating – have what it takes to endure the worst blackness. I could see the things I have done repeated infinitely. I am one of the confident ones. But you are not one of them…’
‘Please, just stop talking, please, so I can-’
‘The decision you make, Archie,’ said Dr Sick, betraying a knowledge that he had possessed from the start, the boy’s name, which he had been waiting to employ when it would have the most power, ‘could you see it repeated again and again, through eternity? Could you?’
‘I’ve got a coin!’ yelled Archie, screamed it with joy, because he had just remembered it. ‘I’ve got a coin!’
Dr Sick looked confused, and stopped his stumbling steps forward.
‘Ha! I have a coin, you bastard. Ha! So balls to you!’
Then another step. His hands reaching out, palms up, innocent.
‘Stay back. Stay where you are. Right. This is what we’re going to do. Enough talking. I’m going to put my gun down here… slowly… here.’
Archie crouched and placed it on the floor, roughly between the two of them. ‘That’s so you can trust me. I’ll stand by my word. And now I’m going to throw this coin. And if it’s heads, I’m going to kill you.’
‘But – ’ said Dr Sick. And for the first time Archie saw something like real fear in his eyes, the same fear that Archie felt so thoroughly he could hardly speak.
‘And if it’s tails, I won’t. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not much of a thinker, when you get down to it. That’s the best I can offer. All right, here goes.’
The coin rose and flipped as a coin would rise and flip every time in a perfect world, flashing its light and then revealing its dark enough times to mesmerize a man. Then, at some point in its triumphant ascension, it began to arc, and the arc went wrong, and Archibald realized that it was not coming back to him at all but going behind him, a fair way behind him, and he turned round to watch it fall in the dirt. He was bending to pick it up when a shot rang out, and he felt a blistering pain in his right thigh. He looked down. Blood. The bullet had passed straight through, just missing the bone, but leaving a shard of the cap embedded deep in the flesh. The pain was excruciating and strangely distant at the same time. Archie turned back round to see Dr Sick, half bent over, the gun hanging weakly in his right hand.
‘For fuckssake, why did you do that?’ said Archie furious, grabbing the gun off the Doctor, easily and forcefully. ‘It’s tails. See? It’s tails. Look. Tails. It was tails.’