Hurry on Down by John Wain

Author:John Wain [Wain, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2014-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

VII

There were nine cars to go down that morning, and they were driving through light summer rain in a loose convoy, about a hundred yards apart. Charles was last. He sat relaxed behind the wheel; there was not much traffic, and only the surface of his mind was occupied in guiding the car; the rest of his being directed itself, in a glow of tranquil devotion, towards the thought of Veronica. This glorious sense of having won, come what may, was entirely new to him. Searching his mind for something that would pin down, by comparison, his state of mind, he thought of an outclassed player at some strenuous game such as tennis, who has managed to stay level with his opponent, and finally, by a superhuman effort, to gain a few points’ lead; and is then suddenly told that, although the game is to continue for some time, no more points will be awarded. Whatever happens now, however many mistakes he commits, he is, irreversibly, the winner. His game would probably rise to heights of unforeseen brilliance through sheer carefree confidence; and such, Charles reflected, would be his own life from now on. It had succeeded. He had attained the one object that he had ever pursued without finding it to be an illusion. There was indisputable evidence, in the light­ness of his heart, in the tonic joyfulness of every breath he drew, that he was happy.

Something reached inwards from the fringe of his conscious­ness. For about fifteen minutes his driving mirror had picked up, now and again, a shape that swayed into its orbit and then swayed out again. Now that shape drew more determinedly into focus, and, although he was travelling fairly fast, Charles drew over, to allow a motor-cyclist to pass. The mirror picked up the front wheel and windscreen of the machine as it came up; it was one of those large and ornate American motor-cycles, painted cream and draped all over with lamps, fenders and horns. The rider was a mere wad of sacking humped over the tank.

Until a second glance disclosed that the wad of sacking had a distinct head. And that the front of the head, as is usual, was occupied by a face. And that the face was turned to look straight into Charles’s own, with a ludicrous expression of smugness and triumph.

Viciously, Charles pushed the brake pedal down into the floorboards. The car skidded, dragging itself to a stop in a series of half-turns on the wet road. Rain drummed on the roof as he sat in silence, the engine ticking over. The motor-cyclist, taken by surprise, was already fifty yards ahead. He slowed down more cautiously, turned his machine in a tight circle, and clattered back in low gear. Charles wound his window down and they faced each other.

‘Rather handy, this,’ said Dogson in a bright, embarrassed way. ‘Got it on the never-never, of course.’

‘Going anywhere particular?’ asked Charles, coming straight to the point.

‘Well, yes, actually,’ said Dogson. He paused, unwilling to specify.

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