What I Tell You In the Dark by John Samuel Read Free Book Online Page B

still staring at me. Partly as a way of turning my back on him and partly because, hey, this is my chance to live a little, I go to the bar and order another a drink. A brandy this time. But when I hand over the money, the barmaid doesn’t see it. She’s looking over my shoulder.
    â€˜Simon,’ she says, ‘you’re not going to start getting all arsey, are you? You know we don’t put up with that nonsense in here.’
    I follow the direction of her gaze. I see what she means. The starey one – Simon, apparently – is standing at my table and is now eyeballing us with what can only be described as a murderous expression. His whole body is trembling with rage. Eyes as lamps of fire, is how we might have phrased it way back when. Countenance like thunder.
    He barks something at me, which at first I don’t understand, and which is so sudden and guttural it actually elicits a small grunt of surprise from one of the morning drinkers (both of whom, by the way, have now bothered to look at me, and at Simon – they’re not fans). The barmaid hops back a half step. He does it again, a little louder, and this time she squeaks in alarm.
    â€˜What the shit is that?’ asks one of the alcoholics.
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ I tell them. ‘It’s okay.’ I knock back my brandy in one swill. ‘It’s okay,’ I say again.
    I see what’s happened here. It took me a couple of seconds but I’m there now. Those noises he’s making are in fact words, just not ones you’d expect to hear in this day and age.
    I reply to him in kind as I walk towards him. The Aramaic feels alien, unwrought, like pebbles grinding together in my mouth. Calm down , is what I’m saying to him. Sit down and calm down .
    He needs a little more persuading. His entire body has gone rigid. His eyes look like they are being forced out of his head.
    â€˜She,’ I nod my head in the direction of the cowering barmaid, ‘is going to call the police if you carry on like this.’ But there isn’t a word for police, as such, so I have to say dayan – judge. This threatens to make him even angrier (he thinks I’m referring to Him) so I just say it in English: ‘Police.’
    â€˜Do you want her to call the police?’ I tack on, partly for emphasis, partly for the others’ sake – it’s important they see I’m getting things in hand.
    He fixes them with another of his radioactive stares, then slowly, stiffly, he sits down. His hands are unnaturally planted on his knees, his head completely still. When he looks back at me I have to force myself to hold his gaze, the sheer tonnage of his disdain is so immense.
    â€˜Wherefore art thou here?’ He demands to know, albeit not as quietly as I’d like. But at least he’s speaking English now, kind of. ‘Dost thou forget He forbad it?’
    Listen to him: wherefore; forbad. Fusty old fool. I can’t stand this lot, with their superior ways. It’s perfectly obvious he hasn’t the slightest interest in your world – he hasn’t been watching you, sucking it all up like I have. He’s just pushed in now because I’m here, and everyone knows I shouldn’t be. That’s all it is. He doesn’t care why I’m here, or what troubles could be in store for you. He just cares that I’ve broken The Rules. And he’s exactly the type I’d expect to come and speak to me about it – from the upper reaches, one of His inner circle – a starchy bureaucrat with all the trimmings. As far as he’s concerned, our Lord and Master could not have been clearer: no more jumping in for me, ever. And I’ve chosen to flout that direct order – it’s little wonder he’s in such a state. He’s virtually oscillating in his seat.
    â€˜Yeah well, sorry, but it had to be done.’
    He cocks his ear towards me. Not sarcastically –