Free The Accidental Cyclist by Dennis Rink Page B

plan was formulated. Now
there was just the final part of his plan – to tell, nay, to
convince his mother that he was doing the right thing. That part of
the plan would be the hardest. He would leave that until the
last.
     
     
    Icarus watched the summer
strollers come and go in the evening light, his mind wrestling with
the arguments, the threats, the pleadings that he would need to
disarm his mother. She had, he knew, a startlingly diverse
emotional arsenal. He knew which weapons she would brandish in a
war of wills. He knew how easily a mere frown could make him wish
he had never thought of opposing her. Or how a falling tear could
explode like a grenade, shattering his resolve in an instant. He
was wrapped in these thoughts when he became aware that he was not
alone on the park bench.
    “Sorry,” said the Gray Man, for
indeed it was Icarus’s new-found friend that sat beside him on the
bench, his bicycle propped up alongside him. “I didn’t mean to
startle you, because I could see you were in deep thought.”
    “I was just wondering,” said
Icarus, “how to tell Mother what my job is really about.” Behind
them the lace curtain twitched.
    “Is that your biggest problem?”
asked the Grey Man. “Don’t you have any more immediate
concerns?”
    “Well, yes, I need a bike. But I
think I know how to sort that out.”
    “You do? Pray, tell.”
    Icarus noted that the Grey Man,
in spite of his long grey ponytail and slick cycling gear, was
extremely well-spoken in an old-fashioned way.
    “Well,” said Icarus, “I met this
chap here in the park, and he knows how to, er,” – he realised that
in front of the Grey Man he did not want to use the word steal – “he knows how to get hold of bicycles. He seems very
good at it, in fact, and he said that he owed me one.”
    “Owes you a bicycle? That’s a
rather strange currency to deal in.”
    “No, he owes me one – you know,
he owes me a favour.”
    “Oh, so you did him a good turn,
and now you expect one in return?”
    “Well, yes,” said Icarus,
pleased that the Grey Man understood him, “that’s just how it
is.”
    “And how is your friend going to
acquire this bike?” The Grey Man allowed his emphasis to fall on
the word acquire .
    Icarus found himself wishing
that he had never broached the subject of acquiring a bicycle. “Er,
I don’t know. He … he just has a knack of getting hold of
them.”
    “And once he has repaid your
favour, do you think that the two of you will be even?”
    “Oh, yes, I’m sure we will.”
    “You don’t think that the
balance of power will swing just a little in his favour? That you
might again be in his debt, especially if he knows where the bike
comes from, and you don’t?”
    Icarus thought about this for
some time. Before he could reply, the Grey Man said: “Listen,
Icarus, when you do someone a favour, don’t ever accept one in
return – at least, don’t expect one. That way, you can always feel
the satisfaction of having done something good just for the sake of
it. Of course, an added bonus is that the other party remains
forever in your debt. And if someone offers to help you out of the
goodness of their heart, accept that for what it is, but never let
them do so as repayment for something that you might have done for
them.”
    Icarus did not look so sure that
he understood or agreed with the Grey Man. “I suppose so,” he
said.
    “Yes, of course you suppose so.
But think about it. If your friend did something that was, um,
shall we say, not totally legal in repaying your debt, you would
become party to his illicit action, wouldn’t you?”
    Icarus pondered this, nodding
slowly.
    “Besides,” the Grey Man
continued, “wouldn’t you feel more in control if this friend
remained indebted to you?”
    Icarus nodded. “Are you some
kind of lawyer?” he asked.
    “Kind of,” said the Grey
Man.
    The two sat in silence for a few
minutes, watching the sun slowly slipping behind the trees at the
far