Free A Partisan's Daughter by Louis De Bernières Page B

and it’s just another day, and nothing’s changed. Roza said that the episode gave her horrible feelings about the futility of life’s struggles. I remember another time when she said that if you felt that life was futile, it had a liberating effect, because then you were prepared to do almost anything. I remember talking to a philosopher in a bar once. He was another one who was delaying going home to his wife. He advised me that I should never be frightened of failure, because one day I was going to die anyway.
    I told her, “I found a dead man once. It was under an archway in King’s Cross.” I don’t know why I told Roza that. It wasn’t even true. I don’t often tell lies on impulse. There was a song that all the kids with guitars were singing at the time, and one of the verses was about “one more forgotten hero, and a world that doesn’t care.” It was called “The Streets of London,” or something, and it was all about derelict old people. I must have got the idea from that.
    She exhaled some smoke and said, “I saw another dead man. He was only just dead.”
    I didn’t ask her to explain. Just then I had to get home to Sutton. It was my wife’s birthday, I hadn’t yet finished my rounds, and I was running out of reasonable excuses. I only remembered her remark later. When Roza said goodnight at the door she put her hands on my shoulders and briefly laid her head on my chest. I thought, “I’m making progress,” and I went away feeling pleased with myself. I’d saved about a hundred pounds by then, and was still wondering what to do with it. I was feeling disgusted and irritated with myself that I had ever thought of offering it to Roza.

TEN

    Miss Radic
    Beware of getting a disengaged heart.
    I had an embarrassing encounter in the local library. It was a little dingy place, which is how I like libraries to be. I’d gone in to read up about Yugoslavia, and I found a book called
A Concise History of the Yugoslav Peoples.
I was going to read it in the library, because I wasn’t a member yet, and couldn’t take it away. I had a notebook with me so that I could record the more interesting details and memorise them.
    The newspapers were full of stuff about the Yorkshire Ripper, but I was sitting at a table reading about the Battle of Kosovo.
    Someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked up, I saw it was Chris, and my face started to burn. I was so confused and embarrassed. He kissed me on the cheek. “Hi,” he said. “I called round at your place, but you weren’t there, so I thought I’d come here and while away the time. I thought I’d pop in and see if they’d got anything on Yugoslavia.” He leaned over and looked at my book, and said, “I see that you’ve got just the thing.”
    I was expecting him to ask me awkward questions as to why I was reading about my own country, but he didn’t. It probably didn’t strike him as strange at all. I suppose that lots of people read histories of their own countries. It was just me feeling as though I’d been caught out, looking for stories. It also seemed strange to come across him out of context, like meeting one of your teachers in the street at a weekend.
    “I’d better let you finish it first,” he said. “I can always order it from the library in Sutton.”
    I said, “Well, let’s go back to my place, now that we’ve met up.” We went for a stroll first, and watched old ladies feeding birds. He said, “Have you ever noticed how many city pigeons have only got one foot, or have a foot that’s mangled?”
    I said that I hadn’t, but from that day to this I’ve noticed it a lot.
    I used to enjoy teasing Chris by being very frank. I think he was often appalled. I was testing him, to see how far I could go. I wonder if he was ever puzzled about why I told him personal things in such detail, things that normal people would keep to themselves, or that girls would only tell to their best friend or their sister. More often than