Staring at the Sun by Julian Barnes Read Free Book Online

back. Looking as happy as Larry.”
    Jean giggled. “Riding on the water. Like Jesus.”
    “None of that, if you please,” said Prosser disapprovingly. “I’m not that way inclined, but don’t blaspheme in front of those who are going to get it.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Granted.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m a policeman.”
    “Are you really?”
    “Yes.”
    “Really really? You don’t look like a policeman.”
    “We have to be masters of disguise, miss.”
    “But if you disguise yourself too well no one will know that you’re a policeman.”
    “You can always tell.”
    “How?”
    “Come a bit closer and I’ll show you.”
    He was standing by the creosoted front gate with the sunrise motif cut into its top half; she was in the middle of the concrete path, on her way to feel the washing. He was a tall man, with a fleshy head and a schoolboy’s neck; he stood awkwardly, his brown herringbone overcoat reaching almost to his ankles.
    “The feet,” he said, pointing downwards. She looked. No, they weren’t enormous great flat feet; they were quite small, actually. But there was something a bit funny about them … Were they the wrong way round? Yes, that was it—both his feet were pointing outwards.
    “Did you put your shoes on the wrong way round?” she asked, a bit obviously.
    “Certainly not, miss. That’s the way every policeman’s feet are. It’s in the regulations.” She still almost believed him. “Some of the recruits,” he added, in a voice that spoke of wet dungeons, “have to have operations. ” Now she didn’t believe him. She laughed, and then again as he stagily uncrossed his legs beneath the engulfing overcoat and set them down the right way round.
    “Have you come to arrest me?”
    “I’ve come about the blackout.”
    Looking back, she thought it was an odd way to meet a husband. But no odder than some, she supposed. And compared to others, almost quite promising.
    He called again about the blackout. The third time he just happened to be passing.
    “Would you like to come to the pub a hop the tea shop out for a walk out for a drive out to meet my parents?”
    She laughed. “I expect one of them will be all right with Mother.”
    One of them was, and they took to meeting. She found that his eyes were dark brown, that he was tall and a bit unpredictable; but mostly tall. He found her tentative, trusting and guileless to the point of rebuke.
    “Can’t you put sugar in it?” she asked after tasting her first half of mild and bitter.
    “I’m sorry,” he replied, “I completely forgot. I’ll get you something else instead.” The next time, he ordered her another half of mild and bitter, then passed her a screw of paper. She tipped the sugar in and screamed as the beer fizzed out of the glass; it poured towards her, making her jump off her stool.
    “Never fails to amuse, does it, sir?” said the publican as he swabbed down the bar. Michael laughed. Jean felt embarrassed. He thought she was stupid, didn’t he? The man who ran the pub certainly thought she was stupid.
    “Do you know how many sandwiches Lindbergh took with him when he crossed the Atlantic?”
    Michael was taken aback, as much by the sudden tone of authority as by the question. Perhaps it was a riddle. That must be it; so he dutifully replied, “I don’t know. How many sandwiches did Lindbergh take with him when he flew the Atlantic?”
    “Five,” she said emphatically, “but he only ate one and a half.”
    “Oh,” was all he could think of saying.
    “Why do you think he only ate one and a half?” she asked.
    Maybe it was a riddle after all. “I don’t know. Why did he only eat one and a half?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Oh.”
    “I thought you might know,” she said disappointedly.
    “Perhaps he only ate one and a half because they came fromthe ABC and were stale.” They both laughed, mainly out of gratitude that the conversation hadn’t entirely gurgled away.
    Very quickly Jean