The Loner, page 42
“He won’t fall, Dave – not while I’ve got the lifeline.”
But then Mark began to climb again, and Bob kept the rope tight, as he took it in.
There was a third muffled shriek – more piercing and penetrating than all the previous cries.
“By God! That sounds really painful,” Dave observed.
“How far’s he got to go, Dave?”
Dave peered down into the gloom and reported Mark was just over half-way. He added, “don’t you think we ought to pull him out – like we usually do?”
“Mark asked us not to do that.”
“Yes, but that was before he went underground.”
“He’s done most of the cave, hasn’t he? He’s got past the ledge.”
“Yes, Bob – but that’s no surprise. He was bound to find the lower part of the pitch easier, because it’s against the wall.”
“Well, isn’t the final pitch sixty foot, and a free-hanger? He climbed that quite well you know.”
“Did he?” Dave wasn’t sure whether to believe Bob.
“So, Dave,” Bob continued, with the confidence of an irrefutable logic, “if he can do all that, why should we waste our strength in pulling him out?”
Dave had to concede the point. “You’re a sadist, Bob,” he said as they heard another tortured cry.
“No, I’m not, Dave: I’m his best friend!”
Mark continued to climb unassisted, step by step, slowly, with frequent rests, until at last, he surfaced. He was exhausted, and rolled over on the grass in an overdramatic manner. Bob and Dave mocked him with a loud cheer.
Mark stammered an apology. “I-I’m s-sorry,” he said. “I-I didn’t d-do that very well, did I?”
Bob slapped him on the back. “What do you mean?” he exclaimed warmly. “You did the pot, didn’t you? Climbed it all on your own! I told you, you could climb ladders, and you’ve proved it.”
They detackled the pitch, rolled up the ladders, snaked the ropes, unblocked the dam and set off down the track to Horton. Dave and Bob chatted to each other. Mark was too ashamed to think about talking, and kept ahead of the other two.
“Mark!” The cry came from behind.
It was Bob calling him back. The other two were some way behind. He waited.
“We’ve got a suggestion to make to you.”
Mark waited with bated breath. Was this the moment he had always dreaded – the one for his final expulsion from the club, he wondered.
“How would you like to come down Primrose Pot in two weeks time?”
“What me?!”
“Yes – you.”
“I-I thought it was a hard trip – harder than Simpson’s – with big ladders?”
“We’re not going to do it with ladders, Mark.”
“B-but isn’t there a ninety foot pitch and a squeeze?”
“Have you heard of rope walking?”
“No. Is that a circus act?” Mark asked in alarm.
The other two smiled. “It’s something you might find easier than climbing ladders,” Bob replied.
Mark’s heart missed a beat. “I-I never could climb r-ropes,” he stammered anxiously, thinking of the trapeze artistes at a circus. Surely his friends didn’t want to try that underground?
“It’s nothing like what you’re thinking of, Mark,” Bob continued. “You use a harness and special equipment. You can stop and rest at any time – without your arms getting tired.”
Mark was speechless. He couldn’t believe it. He had no idea what to say.
“Do you mean it – really? It’s a joke isn’t it?” he said at last.
“Joke? Of course not!” Bob replied laughing. “There’s only two of us going. So we could do with someone else – to contribute to the petrol! You don’t think we’d invite you along just to please you, do you?”
Dave assured Mark it was no joke in more serious terms. “You can go, if you can show me you can abseil and prussick safely,” he said, in a tone which clearly shared none of Bob’s enthusiasm. “That’s fair, isn’t it, Bob?”
Bob nodded,
“Abseiling? Prussicking? What’s that?” Mark spat the words out with a nervous rapidity.
Bob promised to show him when they were back at Buchanan Street.
A strange thought suddenly struck Mark. He asked slowly: “Tell me, Bob: what would you have done, if I hadn’t agreed you weren’t to pull me out of High Hull?”
Bob grinned and replied: “It would have made no difference, Mark. We still wouldn’t have pulled you out.”
CHAPTER 29
Night School
The following Thursday was Mark’s next regular appointment with Dr. Fortune. The psychiatrist greeted him and proceeded to ask him the questions he usually began his interviews with. It soon appeared that the patient was still having problems at work.
“Have you been doing your relaxation exercises?” the doctor enquired.
Mark nodded. “Yes, doctor. They’re a great help,” he said.
“And how about your tablets? Have you been taking them regularly?”
“You mean these tablets, doctor?” Mark drew a bottle from his pocket.
“Yes.”
“I have been taking them, doctor.” Mark hesitated. He seemed to be hiding something.
“Good!” the doctor declared. “Do you think the tablets have been helping you?”
“They d-don’t seem to have made much difference, doctor.” There was a hint of defiance in Mark’s voice.
“I see. Well, of course, it all depends on the level which is best to prescribe,” the doctor observed clinically. “Now, how many did I prescribe for you?” He checked his notes. “Let me see – so you should be on one three times a day now, then?”
Mark nodded.
“Then perhaps we should increase the dose. What do you say to two tablets three times a day?”
“No, doctor,” Mark cried plaintively, thinking of Tony. “I don’t want to increase the dose; all I want is a natural cure!”
“Yes! Yes! I quite see that,” continued the doctor without any lessening of insistence. “Believe me, Mark: there is nothing unnatural in these tablets, I assure you. The tablets will do you no harm.”
“I don’t care! I won’t take any more.” Mark was angry and defiant. “I want to take less – not more. I don’t want to depend on drugs!”
The doctor smiled in the benign way which so often becomes the expert who thinks he knows what is best for the reluctant client. “Quite so, Mark. I fully understand,” he said gently, humouring the patient. “Be assured: there’s no question of addiction – if that’s what’s worrying you. It’s simply a matter of the correct level of the prescription; when you’ve reached the right level, you can think about reducing the dose, as you get better.”
“This must be what happened to Tony,” Mark muttered miserably. “If I go on with this, doctor, it’ll be the end of me – I know it will. Why can’t you give me a natural cure?”
“There’s nothing more I can do, Mark – there are risks, I agree.”
“Well, I’m not going to take any more than what you’ve given me before.”
The doctor sensed the note of finality in the other’s voice. “That’s up to you,” he said.
“I’m going to start reducing the dose now.”
“As you please, Mark – but be warned, if you still find it difficult to settle down into your job, you ought to think again. There’s no point in spoiling your career over a matter of principle, you know.”
“Tony lost his job because of his drugs,” Mark observed.
“So you say,” rejoined the psychiatrist with an unbelieving sigh. “I won’t argue with you, Mark. You may be right. I won’t prescribe more tablets for you now, but if you feel you need any more, you’ve only to ask.”
“It was hard work tonight.” Bob raised his glass, and viewed the rest of the company through his half empty jar. They were in Buchanan Street’s local pub, the Sun, about a week after the High Hull meet. It was a drab dark place with oak panelling, white walls, wooden tables, and synthetic leather on Spartan seats. It was hardly a comfortable place to go for a drink, but its location suited the students well. There were Susan, Fiona, Paul, Mark, and himself. They all had beers, except Susan, who sat quietly sipping a Martini.
Paul laughed. “It’s difficult when you’ve got so many children in a house, and they all want to wander off and see each other,” he said.
“And, of course, you can’t really stop them from going to the loo!” Fiona remarked in a resigned tone.
“The trouble is they never seem to get as far as the loo!” Paul added.
“Well, it’s all in a good cause,” Fiona replied wearily. “I just wish I wasn’t so popular. I seemed to end up with twice as many kids as I started with in my class!”
Bob decided to change the subject, and turned to Mark. “Well, how’s the man of affairs? Made your fortune yet, Mark?” he asked with a grin.
“Wish I had, Bob. I’m just glad to get out of my suit and into my jeans and holy sweater.”
“Are you still serving writs?” Fiona asked.
“Not today. I was in court – at St. George’s Hall.”
“How did it go?”
“We won, Fiona, though I don’t know how. Our man was as guilty as sin.”
Bob could not resist commenting: “That’s lawyers all over Fiona. It’s not the truth that counts. Lawyers are mercenary swine: they’ll represent any client, even if they’re bent – so long as they’re well paid!”
“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick,” Mark retorted, swallowing Bob’s bait whole. “You can’t refuse to represent someone, even if you think he’s bent. He might be straight, whatever I think, and then I’d be substituting my judgement for the court’s.”
“What a wonderful excuse! Making money because you can’t trust your own judgement! I think something ought to be done about these here legal capitalists, don’t you, Fiona?”
“Quite right,” said Fiona with a laugh, “put them in the bin, and throw them out with the rubbish!”
“Burn them all on bonfires on Guy Fawkes night!” Paul added.
Bob shook his head. “No.Not that,” he said. “There’d be too much of a stink!”
Fiona sensed Mark was keen to talk about his case. So she pursued the subject. “Go on then, Mark,” she said. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Tell us about your court case.”
“Well,” Mark began. “It was in the Crown Court. So we had to use a barrister. Our man was charged with stealing gramophone records. We advised him to plead guilty, but he wouldn’t.”
“There you are Mark, you knew he was guilty.” Bob pretended to shake his head sadly, but his long hair made the gesture look so ridiculous, that they all laughed,
“He’s one of our established clients,” Mark continued, in mock earnest.
“Ah! You mean he’s an accomplished villain!” Fiona rejoined.
“Not exactly,” Mark replied, “but he does have a lot of form.”
“So what happened?” Bob asked,
“We put our witnesses into the box, and they all contradicted each other.”
“Really ?”
“Yes, our barrister stood up at the end of the case, and made her closing speech to the jury. I don’t know how she managed to keep a straight face. She said: ‘M’lud, the fact that my client’s witnesses cannot agree where the gramophone records were when the police raided the house, does not in the least help the prosecution’s case – it merely shows the confusion which existed when the police arrived.’”
“And the jury believed that?”
“The jury were out of court for about three hours. Then, just before the Court was about to close the day’s business, they came back and delivered a verdict of Not Guilty.”
“Perhaps the jury were right,” Fiona suggested.
“I don’t think so: I’ve never seen so many court officials with smiles on their faces. Even the judge looked amused!”
The others laughed.
“You should have studied Law,” Mark continued. “It’s dreadfully boring to read, but it’s very interesting in practice.”
Bob shook his head again. “It’s not my cup of tea,” he declared. “Besides, you need to know Latin, don’t you? I never was any good at that.”
“You don’t need Latin at all.”
“Ah, but you know Latin, don’t you Mark?” It was Susan who said this. It was her first positive contribution to the conversation that evening. She added wickedly, “I thought you told Fiona you still read Latin – and Greek.”
Mark turned red as a beetroot; he was clearly embarrassed. Fiona gave her friend a dig in the ribs. Susan should know Mark did not want his friends to find out about his secret studies, she thought.
Susan would not be put off. She was in a mischievous mood, and repeated the question.
Bob peered at Mark disbelievingly. “Is it true, Mark?” he asked. “Do you really still read those old texts?”
Mark nodded slowly.
“I suppose they’re quite useful to you in the Law,” he observed thoughtfully.
Mark shook his head. “It makes no difference at all,” he declared.
Bob was puzzled. He knew there were hidden depths in Mark’s character. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You either do something because it’s useful, or because you like it. Don’t tell me you actually enjoy learning dead languages; they’re irrelevant to today’s world.”
Mark banged his fist on the table, and responded loudly. “They’re not irrelevant. Have you heard of the Lystrate?”
“The what?”
“It’s a comedy.”
“Why not read it in translation, then?”
“It’s too crude, Bob. The jokes could never be translated accurately into English. It would contravene the obscene publications laws.”
“Tell me more,” said Bob, now full of interest. “What’s it about?”
“It’s the play with the original ‘Make Love: not War’ theme. There’s a seduction scene. The women in the play go on sex strike. The...”
He paused, as he remembered he was in female company. He blushed and looked at the floor, as if deeply ashamed of what he had said. He raised his eyes, and met theirs, wondering if he had said too much.
Fiona couldn’t help take advantage of Mark’s unnecessary embarrassment. “Really, Mark,” she teased. “I never realised you knew about such things!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, still deeply embarrassed.
Bob scratched his head. He was genuinely surprised. “What are you sorry about?” he asked.
“Er – well – um. I – er d-don’t know.”
Mark’s shyness amused Bob. He wanted to hear more. “You still haven’t convinced me that ancient Greek is relevant,” he said.
Mark accepted the bait with a sudden fanatical relish, “But they are,” he asserted excitedly. “Look at Africa.”
“What’s Africa got to do with it?”
“Think of the African countries, most of them torn apart because of rivalries between tribes. The Greeks had the same problem – until a man called Cleisthenes sorted them out. He abolished the old tribes, and set up a new system. It was the right answer, and gave Athens stable democratic government, which lasted two centuries. It gave Athenian citizens the freedom to produce the first flowering of Western civilisation and science. Now, can you say that Africa has nothing to learn from Cleisthenes?”
“Wasn’t Athens a small county in a divided country?” Fiona mused. “Don’t you think a study of modern law would be more useful to Africans?”
“The Law? You must be joking!” Mark franticly retorted, sipping his beer and now completely carried away by his own convictions. “Whatever use has a study of Law been to Africa? All it does is teach the up and coming native autocrat how to consolidate his power in a constitutional way. It does nothing to give him faith in Western culture; a legal education by itself does not inspire anyone with enthusiasm for democracy.”
The conversation was becoming too elevated for a drinking session. Bob was about to change the subject, when the bell rang for closing time. They finished their drinks quickly.
Bob turned to Susan and Fiona. “I’ll walk you home,” he said boldly.
“No you will not, Bob Smith,” was Susan’s defiant reply. “We’ll walk home ourselves. You remember our agreement?”
“Aye, but are you sure you’ll be all right? There’s a lot of strange folk round here, you know.”
“Thanks, Bob – but I think we can take care of ourselves!”
It was not until they were out of earshot that Fiona became openly angry with her friend. “Why did you tell Mark’s friends about his Classical studies?” she asked furiously. “You knew he didn’t want them to know.”
Susan drew back her long blonde hair in a disdainful way, without the least sign of repentance. “Why shouldn’t they know?” she asked defiantly. “Mark’s a fool anyway; he’s got some interesting hobbies, but won’t talk about them. What’s the use of a hobby you don’t talk about?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Well, if he’s ashamed of what he’s doing, he oughtn’t to be doing it, Fiona. Besides, I could have done worse: I could have told them about the shrink.”
“You’ll be no friend of mine, if you do.”
“Do you really feel so strongly about Mark?” Susan asked.
“He’s interesting.”
“And exciting, Fiona?”
“No! He’s not exciting – but he is a friend.”
“He’s an idiot, Fiona,” Susan sneered. “He has such extraordinary ideas, and he talks such nonsense! That’s when you can understand what he’s talking about – which isn’t often!”
“You’re unfair to him, Sue,” was Fiona’s mild rejoinder, as she suppressed an angry retort, which was surprisingly almost on her lips ready to be made on Mark’s behalf. “He’s changed in the last year. Don’t you remember how he used to listen to our ideas, and take in everything we said? We could have made him believe anything then. Now, he’s becoming more convincing than we are. What’s more, he’s stuck to what he believes, while I find my ideas keep changing.”
