–Jerzy?Jerzy sees the man who is talking to him from the other side of the bandstand. He knows who it is.
–Karol, he says.
–You remember me.
–Of course.
They come from the same part of town; they went to the same school. They sat beside each other, in mathematics.
–I heard you were in Dublin, says Karol, as he sits down beside Jerzy.
–Yes, says Jerzy. –I am here.
–I heard you were doing fine, says Karol.
–Yes, I am, says Jerzy.
He remembers – he didn’t like Karol when they were kids.
–So, why are you here? Karol asks.
Jerzy still doesn’t like him.
–Some fresh air, he says. –Before bed.
–You live near here?
–Very near, says Jerzy.
What is he going to do? He can’t just stand up and walk away, no matter how much he dislikes this man. He is stuck – he cannot think.
–So, he says. –How are things with you?
–Fine, says Karol. –But maybe not so fine. You have a job, Jerzy?
–Yes.
–And an apartment?
Jerzy shrugs.
–I can stay with you?
Jerzy shrugs again. Karol clearly mistook the first shrug for Yes. Jerzy tries to make his second shrug less enthusiastic, not quite Yes, not quite No, not too rude, not too anything. But he is panicking. He remembers, Karol’s socks had always smelled in school, like expensive cheese packed into plastic bags – for years. But it isn’t the prospect of sharing the tent with Karol’s socks that makes him sweat so violently. It is the prospect of his life suddenly vanishing. The story he has made up and sent twice weekly to his wife. This story, in his e-mails, has become his life, much more important than the way he has actually lived day to day, since he arrived here. He has slept at night, in the cold and damp, because his family thinks that he is fine. That he is more than fine – he is a success.
Karol is waiting for his answer.
–Yes, says Jerzy.
–I can stay at your place?
–Sure, says Jerzy. –Why not?
What has he done? What choice does he have? He has ten minutes, at most, to come up with a brand new story.
He is a success. He is, after all, a millionaire. A homeless millionaire, but still a millionaire.
But it was luck that brought him his fortune, not the hard work that he has described to Kasia. She is not aware of the Lotto money. He prefers to be the hardworking man he has created, the man he intended to be when he left home. Now, home is sitting beside him in the bandstand, and Jerzy has just invited him to spend the night in his tent.
Oh God.
He could lead Karol in the wrong direction, then escape. But Karol would e-mail home, or text – Guess who I met? Kasia would know in minutes. Or he could murder Karol. He smiles at the idea – it is absurd.
There’s nothing he can do.
He stands.
–So let’s go, he says.
Karol gets his bag and follows Jerzy up the slope, away from the road, towards the trees.
–This is a shortcut? he asks.
–No, says Jerzy.
He walks among the trees, and hears Karol behind him. He finds the right bush and pulls out the rolled-up tent from behind it. He shakes the leaves and dirt off it, and pulls it from its nylon cover.
–Home, sweet home, he says.
–This is it? Karol asks.
Jerzy nods.
–This is your apartment?
There is no malice or anger in Karol’s voice – just tired disappointment.
–For tonight, says Jerzy.
He realises that this is the best thing he could have said, the best decision he could have made.
–I am between apartments, he says.
–I don’t understand, says Karol.
–I am renting a new apartment, says Jerzy.
This will be true.
–But I had to leave the old one, he says.
Not so true.
–So, he says. –This is home, just for tonight.
True.
–You are welcome to stay.
Also true.
It seems right to share his last night in the tent with a friend – even if he never actually liked the friend. He has told enough of the truth to hide the facts of his life in Dublin. Life starts again, tomorrow. Karol’s messages home will be cheerful. I have moved in with my school friend, Jerzy. He had been dreading this final night. Now, he looks forward to it. They’ll laugh, and talk about the old days.
Only one problem remains.
They are inside the tent. Jerzy watches as Karol takes off his boots. His socked feet are in the air as he turns, to face Jerzy. The socks are right in front of Jerzy’s face.
–New socks, Karol?
Karol laughs.
© Roddy Doyle 2008
Roddy’s story continues next month in Metro Éireann
