‘Doctor Fremde?’ he said, from behind his mask and goggles. His voice made him sound nervous. ‘We are from the Historical Society.’ I realized then that another small person was standing close behind him.

‘I’m ready to leave,’ I said. ‘Let me put on my warm clothes first.’

The one who had spoken to me took hold of my computer tote for me, while I struggled to pull on the thick garments. With two people watching I felt clumsy and self-conscious. One of the heavy sleeves made the arm of my jacket ride up inside, meaning I had to take the thing off and start again. Finally I had the top half in place. I reached down and wrapped the protective lower flaps around my legs and pulled the drawstrings. I put on my hooded cap and eye protectors, settled them around my head. Throughout all this neither of the students offered to help, but stood gawkily by. They were probably in awe of me, but I really wished they were not.

‘I hope you’ve brought a car,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to walk a long way.’

They glanced at each other.

‘It’s not far, Doctor,’ said the one still holding my computer tote.

‘The conference hall is in the next block,’ said the other. ‘Five minutes.’

‘Ten,’ said the other and handed me back my computer bag. ‘There’s a hill.’

Outside, deep night had fallen and a sharp wind had risen across the streets. The uncomfortable but warmly protective insulated clothing did what it was designed to do. I could soon see the conference centre ahead of us, floodlit in the night. It was true that there was a steep hill up to the entrance, for the last five hundred metres or so. We took it at a steady pace. The entrance to the hall was unostentatious. Its steps and pathways had been entirely cleared of snow and ice. As we pushed through the triple door system I glimpsed a poster announcing my speech. My name was prominently displayed. I was described as Dr Fremde. I decided not to spend the rest of the evening explaining I was just a writer.

The Lost Two Hours

3

The Lost Two Hours