The Search by Geoff Dyer Read Free Book Online

So if Malory had taken the train he would have arrived at the same time of day as Walker and may have been referred to
the same hotel. He went down to reception but they had no record of past guests and too many people passed by for them to recognize Malory’s picture. Walker returned to his room and thought
about what Malory would have done if he had been here. Probably he would have lain around like Walker was doing now, turning the TV on and off, getting hungry. Gone out to get a bite to eat, found
a bar.
    Walker looked out of the window. Dark, beginning to rain. He pulled on his jacket, folded the photo of Malory into his pocket and went out in search of a bar. Outside the hotel it was deserted.
Across the way was another street which, from the quantity of neon shimmering through the rain, looked more hopeful. The neon, it turned out, was in the window of a shoe repairer’s, a
pharmacy and a travel agency. Walker continued to the end and turned into a street crowded with people and cars. Two blocks along was a subway station and a man selling umbrellas. Feeling rain drip
down his neck, Walker splashed across the road and bought one, asked if there was a bar nearby – a place where he could get a drink, something to eat. The umbrella-seller directed him to
Finelli’s, a couple of blocks away.
    Walker took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer, catching glimpses of himself in the mirror behind tiers of spirits. After another beer he ordered a burger and by the time that arrived he was
ready for more beer. A sport he had never seen before was on TV. Mainly it involved fouling members of the opposite team and trudging off to the dugouts at the edge of the arena. As far as he could
make out the game was divided not into halves or even quarters but into sixteenths and the score – unless he had misunderstood – was 540 to 665.
    Walker turned to the guy next to him and asked about the game. He was thick-set, missing a couple of teeth and wearing a check work shirt, happy to converse in the peculiar idiom of booze
– telling and never asking. This was fine by Walker, especially when it turned out that he came to this bar every night after work, regular as clockwork. Hour of overtime and in here by eight
o’clock five nights a week.
    ‘What about the other nights?’
    ‘Those nights I get here a little earlier,’ he laughed, coughing. They shook hands; the guy told him his name was Branch.
    ‘Ever been tempted to trace your roots?’ asked Walker. His new drinking companion didn’t bother laughing. Walker bought Branch a beer, still sniggering quietly at his joke.
Branch showed no sign of buying him one back so Walker ordered a couple more and asked if he happened to remember speaking to a friend of his who’d come here a couple of months back when he
was in town. The friend, as a matter of fact, who’d recommended this bar to him, he said, and went on to describe Malory.
    Branch stopped chewing and siphoned off half his beer. Bar conversations were like this: sometimes it was difficult to tell if the person you were talking to was deep in thought or sinking into
a stupor.
    ‘Yeah. Maybe I do recall him.’
    ‘Actually, I might even have a picture of him. Yeah, here you go. I’ve been carrying this picture around for months and never quite threw it away.’
    Branch held the paper like he was gripping a fellow by the lapels.
    ‘About two months ago, was it?’
    ‘Exactly. To the day practically.’
    ‘Yeah, I remember him.’ He handed back the photo. ‘We spoke a while.’
    ‘What about – I mean, do you happen to remember what you spoke of?’
    ‘Pretty much what everybody talks about.’
    ‘Did he – I don’t suppose he mentioned where he was heading to, did he?’
    ‘Matter of fact he did – if it’s the fellow I’m thinking of. Or leastways he asked if I knew when the bus to Usfret left.’
    ‘And you told him?’
    ‘I told him there was only one every three days and he’d missed