Free The Accidental Cyclist by Dennis Rink Page A

messenger,” (he gave Icarus a sly
wink) “and I’ve gone a long way since then. A long, long way,
believe me.”
    “And just who are you?” Mrs
Smith asked. Then, to Icarus: “Do you know this gentleman?”
    “We met, er, we met at the
police station,” said Icarus.
    “Oh,” said Mrs Smith, to the
Grey Man, “oh. That was all just one horrible misunderstanding, a
mistake, a … a …” she was not able to find another apt synonym. “It
was all a mistake. That is what we told the judge.”
    “Magistrate,” Icarus
corrected.
    “…just a terrible mistake, and
such an awful ordeal for my poor Icky. An awful, dreadful, horrible
ordeal.”
    “I’m sure it was,” said the Grey
Man to Mrs Smith, then to Icarus: “I must be getting along now. If
you’d like me to put you in the picture about work some time, I’d
be happy to oblige.”
    Icarus felt obliged to be happy
and, with his mother’s approval, he arranged to meet the Grey Man
in the park opposite their flat later that evening.
    “Lovely to meet you, Mrs Smith,”
said the Grey Man as he scooted off into the midday traffic, “and
nice to see you again, Icky.”
    “Strange man,” said Mrs Smith
once he had gone. “Nice, but strange. Don’t you think maybe he’s a
bit old to be riding around on a bicycle. Probably was never taught
better. Something to do with the way he was brought up, raised,
bred ...”
     

8. SAGE ADVICE AND ONION
STUFFING
     
    It was a pleasant summer’s
evening as Icarus Smith sat in the park waiting for the Grey Man to
arrive. He knew that across the road, behind the twitching lace
curtain, Mrs Smith was watching, ready to swoop like a mother bird
should her fledgling appear to be in harm’s way. But this fledgling
was no longer in need of her protective wing, he was ready to fly.
Well, not fly, but ready to walk on his own, to run, to … to ride a
bicycle.
    Icarus realised that he had to
make a plan. Thus far his life had been all mapped out for him.
Everything had simply unfolded before him as it should, and he had
unquestioningly accepted the path that opened up ahead of him.
Always he had been guided along the straight and narrow road, by
his mother, by his teachers, and discouraged from taking detours or
exploring new paths. Now, as he looked ahead, he had no guide, and
he could discern no clear path. Instead, there were several paths,
and for the first time he had to make a choice: he could relent on
the job, go back to school, and take the safe choice that would
lead to the life that he knew: dull, sure, unchanging. Or he could
choose to go down that unknown path, follow a vague dream, even
take a risk.
    Take a risk. It struck Icarus
then that never in his life had he taken a risk. He thought about
The Leader, the other boys that he had seen in the park, their
lives appeared to be encapsulated by risk, by chance, by accident.
They must lead such varied and interesting lives. And it occurred
to Icarus that he had taken one risk, the single action that had
brought him to this juncture – sitting on that Condor Paris
Galibier. It had not seemed like a risk at the time, but it was, if
not a risk, at least it was chance that he had done so, because he
had taken the action without considering the consequences. And in
taking that action – swinging his leg over the crossbar of the
Condor Paris Galibier – he had for the very first time grasped at
the coat-tails of liberty. He was decided.
    And so then, to the great plan.
Icarus half-hoped to see The Leader among the visitors in the park.
As he sat on the park bench he considered the possibilities and
probabilities of acquiring a bicycle. The only prospect of getting
a bicycle before he began work as a courier, he thought, was to ask
The Leader to steal one for him. After all, The Leader did owe him
one. Yes, that’s what he owed him, a bicycle. Once Icarus had the
bike, the Grey Man could teach him all he needed to know about
being a bicycle courier. Step two of his