Red Bicycle 1-2

1.

Alexander arrived home from school to find two police cars parked outside the tower block where his family lived. He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and discovered the apartment door ajar. In the living room his mother was crying - wailing would be a more appropriate description - and his father was leaning against the wall with his hands covering his eyes. A policewoman asked Alexander to sit down. She took hold of his hand and told him that his sister was dead. She said that she was sorry to deliver such grave news and that the family had to stay strong. Alexander sat for a while listening to his mother’s distress. Then he asked if he could go into the kitchen to get some milk.

What had happened to his sister ? Alexander wanted to know. The policewoman told him that Katya had been riding her bicycle when she was struck by a car.

The policewoman paused, hoping perhaps that what she’d told the boy would be enough. But Alexander wanted to know more. What did she mean, ‘struck’ ? Why would a car do such a thing ?

The policewoman continued with her explanation. The impact had knocked Katya off her bike and into the air. When she landed it was her head that had taken most of the impact. Whoever was driving the car had fled the scene. The policewoman said her colleagues were searching for the driver.

Alexander said that Katya had fallen off her bike many times. She always got up as if nothing had happened. The policewoman placed her hand on the back of Alexander’s head. ‘This is the most vulnerable part’ she said. ‘It is here, in this area, that most damage is done.’

Alexander's father came up to him and hugged him. He too was crying. ‘Katya is gone’ he kept saying. ‘Your sister has been taken by angels.’

As the afternoon crept into early evening it became apparent that there were things to do, procedures to be followed. Alexander's father was required to visit the mortuary to formally identify Katya. Alexander's mother was given strong pills and put to bed. A doctor said: ‘She is in deep shock. Let her rest. I have left further doses in the kitchen cabinet.’

That night Alexander stayed with his uncle and aunt. He could not sleep, thinking about death and how easily and unexpectedly it was able to claim someone. He lay in bed in his aunt and uncle's spare room trying to piece together what had happened - tried to picture the moment his sister was propelled into the air and fell, in slow motion, to the ground. She had such beautiful fair hair, so fine, and he thought of her hair in the aftermath of the accident, clotted with her blood, twisted and red.

Alexander sat up and began to hit the back of his head against the wall. He did this very gently at first, in order to gauge the amount of pain he could feel. But then he began hitting the wall harder and harder, the impact sending shock waves through his skull, the pain sending a vile sickness to the pit of his stomach.

His uncle and aunt burst into the room and switched on the light. ‘Oh, dear god, oh dear god’ they said and pleaded with him to stop. What was the matter he wondered ? Why were they telling him to stop ? All he was doing was trying to be as close to his sister as he could possibly be.

2.

One day Alexander's parents came to him and said they'd like him to have his sister's bike. His mother was tearful, as was usually the case. Following Katya's death she would often break down without warning. ‘Please, little Alexander, take it and look after it in the same way that she did.’

Alexander was puzzled. His parents, after discussing things with a counsellor, had been advised to clear out all traces of their daughter. Her clothes should be bagged and given to a children's home, her room stripped and re-painted, they were told. The mementos and photos that they wished to retain should be boxed and put away in the basement. Only then, said the counsellor, will your family be able to move on from the pain of your loss.

The bicycle, though, proved too difficult to dispose of. It had been a gift to reward Katya for outstanding exam results. It was white, with three gears and ribboned handlebars. It had a rear rack and a basket, specially attached for her to transport her books. She had loved the bike from the moment she set eyes on it. She used it each day to cycle from the apartment to school. And in the summer she accompanied her friends to the lakes that straddled the minor city in which they lived. Her devotion to its upkeep was partly in recognition that her parents had invested a considerable amount of time and effort to buy it for her. Alexander's parents were not well-off - his father worked in a food processing factory while his mother worked as a cleaner. Both had taken on extra work to save up enough money to purchase the bike. Katya recognized the lengths they had gone to and made sure she cleaned the frame and oiled the gears at least once every week.

And now the bicycle was being passed on to Alexander - 'little' Alexander who took no interest in cycling. He knew that he could not refuse - his mother's emotional stability depended on him accepting the offer of his sister's bike. She had responded well after the apartment was purged of Katya's possessions. Not seeing her daughter's things had helped in the slow process of re-adjustment. The bike, though, was different. It was almost a physical extension of Katya. ‘I just want to keep her bike’ Alexander's mother had said. And what better way for his mother to keep hold of her daughter - what better way to continue the sibling bond. Alexander would be permanently shackled to a metal personification of his sister. To refuse would be to consign his mother to living purgatory.

Alexander, if the truth were told, preferred to walk. Riding a bike made him feel vulnerable. He didn't particularly like having his feet off the ground. And there was the constant fear of puncturing a tyre or snapping the chain. What would he do if that happened ? He would be left stranded, dragging the bike alongside him. He would have to call his father for help. Alexander was not mechanically minded, not in the slightest. He found the concept of riding a bike too much trouble to deal with.

The bike was kept in the basement, in one of the storage sheds that each apartment in their tower block was allocated. And so, Alexander collected the bike each morning before school and walked out with it onto the car park. Then he'd look up to the fifth floor where his mother would be standing at the window of their kitchen. Alexander would mount the bike – its front wheel replaced after the accident, its front mud guard straightened - and negotiate his way onto the road. His mother, no doubt tearful, would wave goodbye and Alexander would be obliged to offer her an uncertain wave in return.

One afternoon Alexander left the bike tied to a fence. He was visiting a friend and stayed for dinner. They were studying and Alexander stayed longer than he had planned. When he came out of the house the bike had gone.

He felt a sharp sense of anxiety as he realized what had happened. The combination lock that he used to secure the bike had been snapped with a bolt cutter. His friend's parents said there had been a spate of bike thefts in the area. Thieves drove around in unmarked vans stealing bicycles. It was no use calling the police, they said - they did not have the resources to go after the thieves. What's more, they weren't interested in such minor misdemeanors.

Alexander walked home. His parents scolded him for being so late. Where had he been ? Why hadn't he called ? Frightened at what his mother's reaction might be but conscious that he couldn't keep the theft a secret he told them what had happened. His parents sat and listened. And when Alexander had finished his story a silence hung over them. Then his father began to sob, covering his face with his hands as he did on the day he learned of Katya’s death. His mother, though, acted differently. She got up, walked over to Alexander and slapped him across the face. Then she went into the kitchen and continued with her chores. The bicycle was never spoken of again.

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