‘The metronome? Yes.’ Bleak shook his head. ‘He might be alive today if he hadn’t scared himself to death. He thought he could stand still or even run backward. He thought he could trick life. Tricked himself right into a fine oration and a quick burial.’

They turned a corner.

‘Oh, it’s hard to let go,’ said Quartermain. ‘All my life I’ve held on to everything I ever touched. Preach to me, Bleak!’

Bleak, obediently, preached: ‘Learning to let go should be learned before learning to get. Life should be touched, not strangled. You’ve got to relax, let it happen at times, and at others move forward with it. It’s like boats. You keep your motor on so you can steer with the current. And when you hear the sound of the waterfall coming nearer and nearer, tidy up the boat, put on your best tie and hat, and smoke a cigar right up till the moment you go over. That’s a triumph. Don’t argue with the cataract.’

‘Take me around the block again.’

‘Here we go.’

The leaf–light flickered on the paper–thin skin of the old men’s wrists, the shadows alternating with fading sunlight. They moved in a soft whisper.

‘All of a sudden. In that boy’s face … He gave me a piece of cake, Bleak.’

‘I saw him.’

‘Why, why did he do it? He kept looking at me as if I were someone new. Was that it? Or what? Why did he do it? And there I was, me, staring out of his face. And I knew I’d lost.’

‘Let’s say you didn’t win, maybe. But you didn’t lose.’

‘What broke me down all of a sudden? I hated that monster, and then, suddenly, I hated myself. Why?’

‘Because he wasn’t your son.’

‘Ridiculous!’

‘Nevertheless. You never got married that I knew …’

‘Never!’

‘Never had children?’

‘Never!’

‘And the children never had children.’

‘Of course not. Impossible!’

‘You cut yourself off from life. The boy has reconnected you. He is the grandson you should have had, to keep the juices flowing, life staying alert.’

‘Hard to believe.’

‘You’re coming around. You can’t cut all the phone lines and still be on speaking terms with the world. Instead of living inside your son and your son’s son, you were really heading for the junkyard. The boy reminded you of your utter and complete finish.’

‘No more, no more!’ Quartermain grabbed the hard rubber wheels of his chair, causing them to stop short.

‘Face up to it,’ Bleak said. ‘We’re both dumb old fools. A little late for wisdom, but better an ironic recognition than none at all.’