199

The air smelled of earthworms, a Spring smell but the chill in the air was of cold weather returning, not leaving.  Later, it would rain, the sullen, grey rain of October, but in the morning it was just cold. It seemed to me that my vision was exceptionally sharp, as if the air was very clean. My body felt light but my shoes felt heavy, heavy enough to hold me to the footpath as I walked. I had goosebumps all over as well but that was from the cold; there was no obvious reason for these other distortions. I felt slightly...wrong. Criminal, as if I shouldn't just be walking along the street like this. Nebulous guilt. All because I had done something impossible, unimaginable, no, not unimaginable - I had to imagine it to do it. Not something illegal or immoral but maybe irresponsible in my ridiculous world view. Something in me said, you can't just do as you please. The rest of me said, I can't just be miserable. Something in me said, you'll pay for it. That was why I felt so strange. I was waiting for the sword to drop. I was a fugitive from karma.

267

The only thing I didn't like about Harry's mother was the petty thievery.  There was no question of mentioning it to Harry.  I knew that if I ever did his reaction would be blank incomprehension, as if I was speaking utter nonsense.  Harry's mother was a gas woman generally; friendly, full of chat and a good cook.  She had a warm, heartfelt contralto and the compassionate practicality (or practical compassion?) of some older women.  At first, I wondered if she was a kleptomaniac but once I began cataloguing the missing items I suspected her of taking I decided that the only thing relegating her to the small time was a lack of handy open bank vaults. She only took items that were either money-valuable or valuable to the person who owned it.  The saleable items I suspect she sold and the others were hoarded in a little cupboard under the stairs in her house.  I know because I looked.

It was only when I caught her in the act of lifting a nice gold pen belonging to a friend of Harry's that I realised I had suspected her all along.  I also realised that everyone else knew.  Someone would start to curse the loss of some object, quickly relax and appear to forget all about it.  The subject would abruptly change as if someone had just remembered their manners.  Later, whatever was missing would turn up in plain sight.  Lost objects do just turn up of course but I noticed that they would invariably reappear if Harry's mother was around when they were missed.  Or Harry.

100

Some people are more convincing than others.  You know her dance moves are not good, her body is awkwardly angular or uncomfortably sinuous, but she dances so well you have to watch.  When he speaks he is prosy, uses meaningless neologisms or handed around opinions.  He has a studied air of languor or a false and wearing enthusiasm.  His public face is transparent yet completely compelling.  You wonder how someone can have more style than you despite wearing your borrowed clothes.  Their heart beat makes  yours seem still.  Their secret?  The audience pretends the puppeteer is not also the puppet.