Red Bicycle 8-10

8.

 

 

Alexander stood, lifting his son onto his feet as he did so. The man said nothing, his piercing blue eyes offering a look of disgust at the carnage exacted on his garden.

 

‘I’m sorry’ said Alexander. ‘I don’t know how or why this happened.’

 

The man walked forward a pace, then stepped down onto a paved area above the garden. He was slim with a neatly trimmed moustache. His brown-grey hair, held in place by lacquer, was brushed to one side. He wore a lemon-coloured shirt and a burgundy silk cravat, along with a pair of beige trousers and brown suede moccasin shoes. The man carried a distinguished air, the air of a well-to-do retiree, which only made Alexander determined to right the terrible wrong that he and Lukas had brought upon the garden.

 

‘I’m willing to pay’ said Alexander ‘compensation…money for the damage.’

 

The man now stepped onto the lawn, bringing him level with Alexander and Lukas. He was shorter than Alexander had first realised. As he walked over towards the rockery, to look more closely at the devastation, his slow, calculated movements seemed almost serene, as if he were about to make a scientific examination of an unknown part the world.

 

‘Or perhaps’ Alexander continued ‘I can try and stamp down the grass, where the bike has cut the turf. I can do that now if you wish ?’

 

The man said: ‘That won’t be necessary.’

 

The voice that spoke was deep, clear, and certain. Alexander watched as the man leaned towards a rose bush – a glorious red – and took in the scent before brushing with his fingertips one of the few petals that remained.

 

‘This rose tree is a favourite’ he said, almost to himself. ‘And now look at it – the stems severed, the bulbs crushed, the joy of its natural majesty gone.’

 

Alexander noticed the man’s pale skin as well as the thin dark veins on the back of his wrinkled hands. He seemed much older than Alexander had originally thought. He clearly took great pride in his garden.

 

‘The child is to blame’ said the man, turning to look directly at Alexander and Lukas. ‘I saw it all. It is not, therefore, unreasonable to suggest that the child is punished for what he has done.’

 

Alexander was uncertain of what to say. Lukas was still close by his side, but even his son’s whimpering had stopped as they took in the sudden change of tone. ‘I’ve offered to repair the damage’ said Alexander.

 

The man continued in a harsh, measured tone: ‘I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. The child is the one who should be punished, as a warning regarding his future conduct if nothing else. I suggest that he digs out the damaged specimens and replaces them with new plants and shrubs. You, of course, will bear the cost. I have no objection to you supervising his work. In fact, I think it would be beneficial for both parties. The alternative is that I sue you for the damage he has caused.’

 

Alexander, bewildered by this turn of events, found himself humbly nodding in agreement. ‘If that’s what you wish’ he said.

 

The old man then did something that took Alexander by surprise. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which he handed to Alexander. ‘I have made a list of everything that needs to be replaced’ he said. ‘I will allow you until the end of the week to complete your task.’

 

The man suggested that the work should begin as soon as possible. And, as a precaution against the terms of the punishment being broken, said that he would be following their progress from his window.

 

The man turned and walked across the lawn, back into the bungalow. As he did so Alexander wondered how he had been able to draw up a list so quickly. Had he really completed the list in the few seconds between Lukas crashing onto the garden and appearing on the porch ?

 

‘Please, can we go home now’ said Lukas. ‘I feel scared here. I don’t want to stay any longer.’

 

Alexander told his son to wait in the car. He picked up the bike from the lawn, was surprised by the heat radiating from the handlebars. Holding it by its saddle he placed it in the boot and slammed down the lid. He could see the elderly man standing at one of the bungalow’s windows, waiting, perhaps, for confirmation that Alexander and Lukas were about to leave. Alexander didn’t like this suave individual or the conditions he had set for the repair of the garden. But he felt that he had no choice in the matter – he had become indebted to this aged stranger who seemed to value his roses above the feelings of a nine-year old boy. Alexander got in his car and revved the engine. ‘Let’s get out of here’ he said to Lukas. They drove away.

 

 

 

9.

 

 

After Lukas had been put to bed Alexander sat in the kitchen with Natalya. He explained to her what had happened - how Lukas had suddenly sped off with the bike moving by itself. He told her about the damage done to the garden and the well-to-do area where the bungalow was situated. Finally, he told her about the elderly man and the conditions he’d set for the garden’s repair.

 

Natalya remained silent for a while, as she digested what Alexander had told her. Then she said: ‘Bicycles don’t move by themselves, Alexander.’

 

Alexander shook his head. ‘Natalya, I saw it with my own eyes. Lukas’ feet were not on the pedals. The bike was travelling by itself.’

 

Natalya sighed. ‘Perhaps the cycle has some sort of mechanism…’

 

‘No!’

 

‘…or perhaps Lukas lifted his feet at the very moment you drove alongside.’

 

‘No! Natalya, please – you’ve got to believe me. The bike was propelling itself, as if it had a mind of its own. I know what I saw!’

 

It was clear that she didn’t believe him. He wanted to take her to the car, open the boot, and take out the bike to show her once and for all that it was the same as any other child’s bike, except that…except that…what ? Did he really believe that it possessed a secret power ? That it was able to move itself forward ? Alexander clenched his fists. It had been a difficult day. He didn’t know what he believed anymore.

 

Natalya took hold of his hand. ‘Alexander, you’re tired. You need to rest. Tomorrow you must begin the task of repairing the elderly man’s garden. Do you know what plants you need to buy ?’

 

Alexander nodded. He took the note that the old man had given him from his pocket and showed it to Natalya. She read the list. ‘It will cost a lot of money’ she said, to which Alexander said sharply: ‘Yes. I know.’

 

She handed the note to Alexander. ‘Please, don’t worry’ she said. ‘Perhaps you and the man will become friends when all this is over.’

 

Alexander said: ‘Why ? What makes you think that ?’

 

Natalya shrugged. ‘Everybody has some good inside them. Perhaps the man has had time to calm himself. Once the garden is repaired, who knows ? And anyway, look at his handwriting – how beautiful it is. He has very high standards. That’s a good quality to have, isn’t it ?’ She kissed him on his cheek and said she was going to bed. Alexander looked at the note. He had to agree: the elderly man’s handwriting was very beautiful indeed.

 

 

 

10.

 

 

The next morning Alexander prepared to collect the items on the list and repair damaged garden. Surprisingly, there were no florists in the city, only a single gardening centre, situated on the city’s outskirts. Natalya phoned the garden centre to confirm that it offered the rooted plants Alexander required, which it did. Before he left Natalya made him promise to complete another important job: after visiting the garden centre he was to drive to the municipal tip and dispose of the red bicycle once and for all.

 

It was a forty-minute drive to the garden centre. Once out of the city he found himself travelling along twisting country roads and passing through unfamiliar villages, made up of farmsteads and traditionally built houses. On a couple of occasions, he took a wrong turn, had to stop the car, turn, and re-trace his journey. Eventually he found a narrow road, flanked by woodland and wheat fields. A signpost informed him that he was close to his destination.

 

As he drove to within a mile of the garden centre, Alexander thought he could smell something burning – a faint toxic, carcinogenic smell. He brought the car to a halt on the narrow road and looked beneath the steering wheel, concerned that a loose wire had short circuited. But he found nothing amiss. Then he heard a loud thump from the rear, as if a hammer had been taken to the bodywork. A horn sounded; Alexander looked in his rear-view mirror and saw that a tractor had come up behind him. Alexander indicated and pulled over to the side. The tractor roared past, the driver angry, shouting insults.

 

Alexander got out, began to check for signs of damage. He’d pulled in beside a field, the old wooden gate secured with a chain and padlock. He checked the bodywork and tyres, caught another faint whiff of burning. It was coming from the rear of the car.

 

He opened the boot and a sickly smell of melting rubber escaped. The bicycle was lying on its side. Alexander touched the frame, pulled away his hand as he felt heated metal. It was now that he saw the reason for the smell: the rubber hand grips that had been fitted to the handlebars had melted, leaving a nauseous, soft sticky mess that was already beginning to harden in the cool rush of air.

 

Alexander examined the rest of the boot. He found a number of small hollows in the metalwork. It was as if something had beaten it with considerable force. Had he driven over a bump in the road ? He couldn’t recall doing so. And if he had, surely the impact wouldn’t have caused such damage.

 

He touched the bike again. It was cooler now, so he lifted it out and laid it on the ground. He walked to the front of the car, to collect a screwdriver from the glove compartment. He wanted to scrape away the melted rubber that was clinging to the metal, examine this strange phenomenon more closely. As he did so he heard another thud – metal against wood - then the rattle of a chain. Alexander turned; the bike was no longer where he had placed it. It was lying against the old wooden gate, as if it had somehow charged towards it of its own volition. Was he seeing things ? Was he going mad ? The bicycle lay motionless, defeated, as if a last sudden attempt at freedom had failed. Suddenly Alexander was overcome with emotion at the sight of it. What was he thinking of ? Did he really intend to discard the bike forever ? It was Katya’s bike, not Lukas’s bike. How could he have forgotten ? For a few moments he felt tearful - sad and guilt-ridden that the memory of his sister seemed to have slipped so far from his mind. He could not rid himself of it - felt shame that he had agreed to leave it in the city’s rubbish yard. There must be a logical answer for the things that had happened. Surely, the day’s natural heat melted the rubber grips; surely the bike had been dragged to the gate by an animal he hadn’t seen. It was a bicycle – an inanimate object. And yet, whenever he looked at it, the buried memory of Katya played on his mind.

 

He replaced the cycle in the boot, vowing to himself that, regardless of what Natalya said, he would keep Katya’s bike forever. Then he started the car engine and continued to the garden centre that lay only a few hundred yards ahead.

 

 

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