Free The Search by Iain Crichton Smith Page B

hotel till near the time the bus leaves.”
    He drank the sweet tea which the young girl had brought in. The panic and the fear were beginning slowly to dissipate.
    â€œFor a moment there,” he told Mrs Tennant, “I felt what it must be like to be alone in the world. Do you understand?” She nodded wordlessly, but it was as if she didn’t really understand, and he had a compulsion to speak.
    â€œIt was as if there was no one in the world but me, and I saw everything clearly and it was all hostile.” It occurred to him that if she really understood what he was trying to say she wouldn’t be able to do the job that she was doing.
    â€œI could have stopped a stranger in the street and asked him for money,” he said, hardly believing his own words but knowing that they were true.
    â€œI understand,” said Mrs Tennant, out of her massive calm, “now drink your tea.”
    â€œI felt surrounded by enemies,” Trevor insisted, “a blankness came over me. I can’t tell you what it was like.” He stared down at his unpolished shoes.
    â€œWhat should I do with the dollars?” he asked helplessly. “I might be attacked again.”
    â€œI don’t think that will happen,” she said briskly. “But if you like I could send someone to collect your ticket.”
    â€œNo, no, that won’t be necessary. It’s daylight now. I shouldn’t think they’ll attack me in daylight on a busy street.”
    â€œI still think you should phone the police.”
    â€œAnd be kept in Sydney for days? No. In any case, I don’t have any witnesses to what happened. It was a man called Morton from that Home who sent me to the house where I was attacked: he said that my brother lived there. I don’t know whether he lived there or not. I don’t know where he is. I’m sure now that he’s dead. I feel it.”
    â€œI don’t think he is,” said Mrs Tennant quickly. “Someone tried to take advantage of you, that’s all. They realized you were a stranger in the city. It has nothing at all to do with your brother.”
    â€œWell, I had better not keep you any longer,” said Trevor. “You have a great deal to do.” And indeed she was beginning to look rather impatient and he sensed that her hand was itching to use the phone, to continue her practical pursuits. And even as he had finished speaking the phone rang. She picked it up and while she was speaking into it hegot to his feet and left the room, waving to her as he went out the door. He descended the stairs keeping his hand in the pocket where the dollars were. Should he keep them in his back pocket or in one of his side pockets? The question troubled him as he made his way along to the hotel.
    He stood for a while facing its blank, scarred door. He didn’t want to go in. He thought of the rickety lift, the negro he had glimpsed momentarily in the corridor. And then he suddenly remembered that his bill had already been paid. Why hadn’t he remembered before? All he had to do was go to his room, remove his case and make his way towards the bus station. He would stay there all day if necessary till a bus left: he wouldn’t stay in the hotel after all. The idea of finally leaving the hotel was so joyful that he decided that he would not take the lift but descend by the stairs instead. And then as he reached his room he suddenly realized that the key, which he had had in his pocket, was also gone. He stood outside, almost weeping with rage and frustration and feeling pity for himself. He would have to go to see the owner or manager whose office was on the sixth floor, and he would have to take that lift again — that creaking, superannuated coffin — and explain that he had lost his key.
    As he walked along the corridor towards the lift he saw a boy and girl come out of a room hand in hand. In the light of the day they appeared harmless enough,