Small Holdings

I said, ‘I’ve never even seen him before.’

Doug moved on to the next bush.

‘Phil, someone could squat down and shit on your foot and you’d hardly notice them.’

I let this pass. Pain had made me bold. My hand hurt so much that I could hardly contemplate any other kind of feeling. I said, ‘I don’t think you want to have too much to do with that man in the future, Doug.’

‘Wu!’ Doug said, delightedly. ‘Did you see the way he moves around this place? Flowing, flowing. Like water. Like he owns the whole damn park. And the sky. That special kind of movement. Inside out. Round. That strange oriental kind of moving. Tip-toeing but very sure.’

‘I think he broke my hand.’

Doug turned off the hose. ‘I’ve been following him about since I moved into the house. Early in the morning he comes to the park, climbs over the fence before we even open, and he does all that strange, slow dancing. Tai Chi. I’ve been watching him, I even approached him for a talk but he didn’t want disturbing. I think I broke his concentration,’ Doug said, ‘and so it’s possible I’ve started getting on his nerves.’

‘He said that. He told me to tell you that you were getting on his nerves. I don’t think you should pester him any more.’

Doug gave this some thought and then for the first time he turned his eyes on me. ‘That sudden violence,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I like it. I like the idea of it. It’s clean.’

‘He’s destroyed the flower bed. I spent half the afternoon planting it.’

‘He’s cleaned it out,’ Doug said, unperturbed. ‘Good luck to him. I have plans for that section anyway,’ he added, ‘a couple of big ideas. Icing on the cake.’

‘But for the time being . . .’

‘And if I’ve learned one thing from that tough little man,’ Doug said, ‘it’s that you’ve got to have your own vision and stick to it. Ignore the rest of life’s radish.’

‘Life’s radish?’ I echoed, bemused.

Doug nodded. ‘No more rubbish. Only truth.’

He then moved a few feet across, fingered the bright shoot of a large onion and said, almost to himself, ‘This one’s going to be a giant. I can feel it. I can smell it.’ He scratched his nose. ‘Do you smell it, Phil?’ He glanced over at me. ‘Smell it, do you?’

‘Smell what?’

Doug sucked his tongue, irritated. ‘You don’t see it, Phil, do you? You just don’t see how there’s a real logic to an onion. One layer inside another layer inside another layer. All circular. Like a maze. A puzzle. Nothing missing. No gaps. Just simple.’

My hand was swollen now. It had swelled up like a puffer fish. ‘If he tries to assault me again,’ I muttered, ‘I’ll call the police.’

Doug carried on talking to his onion, ‘One layer inside another layer.’

‘Doug. About Nancy . . .’

‘Whosoever diggeth a pit, Phil, shall fall in it. Nancy dug her pit. She’s fallen into it.’

‘Even so . . .’

Doug began to scowl. ‘I want big, Phil, and I want neat. Big, neat, clean, true. Not just the park itself, but everything. The whole lot. The business, the talking, the ideas. Big, clean, neat, true. None of that muddy stuff, none of that green fruit, nothing unripe, none of that murky water.’

I looked down at my hand.

‘I’ll fix the bed in the morning,’ I said, ‘before we open. I don’t think I can replant right now with my fist all swollen.’

Doug waved me away with his hand, ‘Go away, Phil. Go. I’m busy with this onion. There’s work to do here.’

I hesitated.

‘Phil,’ Doug barked. ‘Go away. Let’s get tidy. And I don’t just mean weeding and replanting. OK?’

I nodded. I retreated.

‘Where’s Ray?’

Saleem was in the kitchen alone. She had Cog on her lap and she was stroking him. Cog’s purr almost lifted the tablecloth.

‘He’s gone,’ she said, ‘to the pub. You didn’t find Nancy, I gather?’

‘No.’

‘Fuck. Your hand’s all swollen. What did you do?’

‘I crushed it in the mower.’

‘You’ve been out mowing?’

‘I was putting it away.’

‘Is it broken?’

‘No , the mower’s fine.’

She knocked Cog off her lap. ‘Let’s see it.’

I backed off a fraction. ‘It’s in the barn. I locked it up for the night.’

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