Slow River

“It wasn’t Meisener?” I asked Oster. But of course it wasn’t. And then all my adrenaline had boiled away and I felt old and sad and tired. They were all staring at me. I sighed. “Let’s start again.” I nodded to Rawlins. “Superintendent,” I said, then held out my hand to the woman. “I’m Lore van de Oest.”

She responded automatically, as people do. “Claire Singh. Director of City Sewage.”

I smiled the polite smile I had not had to use for a long time. “My father and I haven’t seen each other in a while. We would like some privacy.” It took her a moment to understand; then she flushed. Perhaps it was the smile, perhaps she remembered that Oster could buy her and her city from his daily operating budget. “Rawlin,” she snapped. “We’ll leave father and daughter to themselves for a few minutes.”

I watched them leave, refusing to meet my father’s eyes until the door was closing behind them. I tried to imagine what Magyar would make of their exit. I felt better knowing she was there.

Then there was no way to put it off any longer. I turned to my father.

He held out his arms again, but more cautiously this time, and that caution, almost timorousness, undid me. He was my father.

“Oh, Papa…”

I threw myself into his arms. But I wasn’t six anymore, and he couldn’t keep out the world. And he seemed smaller than he had been. We moved apart a little to look at each other, hands still wrapped around biceps and triceps.

“Lore…” Long and drawn out, as though it was new in his mouth. “Lore, I thought you were dead.”

“I was, in a way.”

He reached up, seemed about to ruffle my hair, then touched the ends gently. “Brown suits you.”

We held each other at arm’s length in silence, measuring. Still daughter and father, but changed. “Come for a walk with me. By the canal.”

“In the city?”

His surprise and distaste amused me. “I’ve lived here three years. I’m one of the people I used to be scared of. We’ll walk by the canal and no one will bother us. Assuming the media doesn’t have this already.”

“It’s tight as a drum. That won’t last past tomorrow morning, of course.”

“Unless your informer takes it to the net for extra money.”

“No. That was one of the conditions of receiving the reward.”

It made sense. “Will you come for that walk? You can have a bodyguard follow us, if you like.”

I opened the door. Magyar was there, trying to look bored, succeeding only in looking fierce and alien in her green skinny with its red and black strapping. I stood aside, gestured from one to the other. “Magyar, this is my father, Oster. Dad, this is Cherry Magyar.” I put my arm around her waist briefly, so he would understand, and said to her, “My father and I are going for a walk. I’ll be back. After the shift, outside.”

I hadn’t meant it to be a question, but of course it was. My father was here in the flesh. Everything was real. This was her chance to back away from Lore van de Oest. All she said was, “Don’t be late,” and gave my father a piercing look.

It was wet and cold and windy. The towpath was surprisingly light: the water reflected the city’s glow. We walked in silence for a while.

“Did you fly straight from Ratnapida?”

“Yes. Private plane from Auckland to Bangkok, then on to Rotterdam. Then here.”

“I imagine you feel cold.” It was summer in Ratnapida. Mid-eighties on a cool day.

“The carp are bigger,” he said. “Even in just three years.”

More silence.

“Lore, will you come home?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“She’s gone,” he said softly. “Your mother.”

“What happened?”

“It was terrible.”

I took his arm as we walked, and he told me: Tok arriving in the middle of the night, shouting, “-making all these accusations. He was wild. Shouting, almost screaming.” He wouldn’t wait until morning. He had waited too long already, he said. Stella was dead, Greta was a twisted shadow of what she should be, because ever since they were very small Katerine had been going into their rooms and… using them

“Did you believe him?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” Accusatory. “Because you already knew.”

The arm in mine tensed. I thought he would pull away, but then he sagged. “I didn’t know. I mean, I was never sure. But I think I’ve suspected… That night when you screamed and wouldn’t be left alone without a lock… But she was my wife! Your mother. Mothers don’t… they don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Stella is dead. I nearly died. Tok ran away.” I had a sudden vision of myself as a mechanical bird, parroting: Stella is dead, I nearly died, Tok ran away. Stella is dead, I nearly died, Tok…

“It’s so easy, Lore, to ignore things. To pretend that what’s there is your imagination.”

“Do you know, do you have any idea, what your… your pretense cost me? Do you?”

“Tok said…” His voice was low and brown with grief.

Maybe I should have felt sorry for him, and I did, in a way, but I was too angry. “Stella died. I didn’t even get to go to her funeral. I don’t even know where you had the funeral. Katerine was there, and not me. Katerine and Greta. And why? Because you didn’t pay my ransom! Because-”