The Children in Time

The day, which was shrouded in a bitterly cold high, was to become a memory that would haunt him forever. The bright, sunny weather was like a mocking eye, watching all the details. In the sun, a flattened Coca-Cola can lay next to the steps, the straw still full and stuck in its place. Kate wanted to pick the straw up, and Stephen pulled her back. In the distance, there was a dog standing next to a tree, as if it was shining through, shaking at the waist and legs, pooping, with a trance-like and excited expression on its face. The tree was an old and decaying oak, the bark looked freshly cut, the raised patches on the tree were delicate and shiny, the dents were hidden in the deepest shadows.

It was only a two-minute walk from the house to the supermarket. Take the crosswalk across a four-lane highway and you're there. Next to where they wait to cross the street is a motorcycle sales office where riders from all over the world converge to meet. Men in tattered leather, with watermelon bellies, leaned or rode on the parked cars. Kate took out the finger she had been sucking in her mouth and pointed it forward, the low sun illuminating her steaming pinky. Yet she still couldn't find the words to describe the sight she saw. They finally crossed the street, a large group of cars waiting anxiously behind them, and as soon as they reached the safety island in the center of the street, they whizzed away. Kate searched for the child crossing counselor, and each time she recognized Kate. Stephen had to explain to her that it was Saturday and the students weren't in school, so she didn't show up. There were a lot of people, and Stephen held Kate's hand tightly as she walked toward the entrance of the supermarket. Amidst a cacophony of talking, calling and the clicking of the cash register at the counter, they found a cart. After Kate sat down comfortably on the seat, she smiled very happily to herself.

Supermarket shoppers are divided into two categories, as clearly delineated as tribes or nations. The first group has its own house, that is some local modern Victorian flat roof homes. The second group lives in some of the local high-rise buildings and city-built housing. The first group of customers mostly buy fresh vegetables and fruits, black bread, coffee beans, live fish from the counter, wines and spirits. The second group of customers buys canned or frozen vegetables, baked beans, prepared soups, sugar, cupcakes, beer, spirits, and cigarettes. Inside the second group are pensioners who buy meat to feed their cats and cookies for themselves. Then there are the young mothers, thin and emaciated from their exertions, with cigarettes clutched in their mouths. Sometimes they have a fit at the cash register and slap their children on the buttocks. Most of the first group were young couples without children, well-dressed and, at the very least, in a bit of a hurry because they were in a hurry. Among them were mothers, leading the family's users to the stores, and fathers like Stephen, buying live salmon and doing his bit.

What else did he buy? Toothpaste, paper towels, detergent, good bacon, a leg of lamb, steak, green and red peppers, turnips, potatoes, tin foil, a liter of Scotch. Who was standing there as he reached for these items? Someone had followed them as he pushed Kate down the aisle lined with merchandise. Who stood a few paces away from him when he stopped, pretending to be looking at a logo, and continued to follow as soon as he moved? He thought back a thousand times, seeing again his hands, the shelves, the piles of merchandise, hearing Kate chattering away. He struggled to roll his eyes so they could open free of the weight of time and find the hidden figure at the edge of his vision. The man was always following him or a little behind, full of an odd desire, calculating the moment or simply waiting for the opportunity. But time kept his eyes forever on the trivial things he was doing at the time, and the indeterminate shapes around him drifted away, disintegrated, unrecognizable.

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing at the cashier's office. There were eight parallel checkout counters. He got in the short line closest to the door, because he knew the cashier moved neatly. He stopped the cart, and by now there were three people in line in front of him. He turned around and carried Kate off the seat, with no one in line behind him. Kate was having fun and reluctant to move places. She whined and hooked her feet on the seat. He had to lift her up high so he could get her feet off the seat. He could see that she was a little annoyed, which gave him a touch of trance satisfaction - a clear and unmistakable indication that she was getting tired. Kate's little struggle ended when there were only two people left in front of them, one of whom was preparing to leave. He went around to the front of the cart so that he could place the items on the conveyor belt. Kate was on the other side of the trolley, gripping its wide crossbar and making a pushing motion. There is no one behind her. The man in front of Stephen is a hunchback who is paying for a couple of cans of dog food. Stephen picks up the first item and places it on the conveyor belt. He stood up straight, and perhaps at that moment he had also become aware of a man in a black coat standing behind Kate. But this could hardly be considered an awareness, but only the faintest suspicion arising from a hopeless memory. The coat could have been a woman's dress, or a shopping bag, or perhaps even purely his imagination. He was busy with the matters at hand, intent on getting rid of them as soon as possible. He was not at all an alert man.

The man in front of him was ready to leave with his dog food. The cashier was already at work, the fingers of one hand skipping over the keyboard while the other fetched Stephen's belongings. He pulled the salmon from the cart, glanced down at Kate and winked at her. She mimicked him awkwardly, wrinkling her nose and closing her eyes. He put the fish down and asked the cashier for a shopping bag. The cashier reached under the shelf and pulled one out, and he took the bag and turned around. Kate was gone. No one was behind him in the line. He pushed the cart aside calmly, thinking she might have bent over and gone behind the counter. Then he took a few steps and looked around toward the only aisle she had time to get to. Then he returned to the same spot and looked around. On one side was a line of customers, and on the other side was an open space, chrome-plated revolving doors, and automatic doors leading to the sidewalk. A man in an overcoat might be hurrying away from him at this point, but at the moment Stephen was looking for a three-year-old child and was immediately worried about the harm the cars on the street might do to her.

This concern is assumed and just in case. As he pushed his way through the crowd and onto the wide sidewalk, he knew Kate wouldn't be there. Kate was not adventurous in that regard. She's not one to wander around. She's too social. She prefers to stay with the people around her. Besides, she was afraid of traffic. He turned back around, relieved. She was still in the store, which made it impossible for there to be any real danger. He expected to see her bursting out from behind the line of customers at the register. In the initial moment of worry, it was not uncommon to miss a look because of the eagerness and haste of the search. However, when he walked back, he felt a pang of nausea, his throat tightened, and the soles of his feet drifted nastily. He ignored the cashier's impatient frequent gestures and walked past all the counters as a cold puff of air rose to the top of his stomach. He gathered his steps and ran - still wary of the folly of his performance - through all the aisles, past the piles of oranges, toilet rolls and soup mixes. It wasn't until he returned to the start that he then set aside all decorum, took a deep breath and shouted Kate's name.

Now he took big steps, shouted his daughter's name, walked with heavy feet to the end of the aisle, and headed once more for the door. All around him turned their faces to look at him. No one mistook him for a drunken man who had stumbled in to buy cider. His fear was too obvious, too intense, and the heat of emotion overflowed the entire cold, shiny physical space to be ignored. For a moment, all shopping activity ceased around him. Carry baskets and carts were put aside, and people gathered to talk about Kate's name. Somehow it soon became clear that she was only three years old and had been last seen at the checkout counter, wearing a pair of green ragged pants and holding a toy donkey. The mothers' faces tightened and they became alert. Several people had seen the little girl sitting in a wheelbarrow. Some remembered the color of the sweater she was wearing. The nameless store became a fragile, thin shell, under which people kept talking, inferring, remembering. The group of customers surrounding Stephen walked toward the door. Beside him stood the cashier, her face concerned and grim. There were also supermarket managers in brown, white or blue coats, who were suddenly no longer warehouse managers, assistant managers or company representatives, but fathers, potential or real. They were all walking down the sidewalk now. Some gathered around Stephen to either question or reassure him, while others - who were more practical - scattered in different directions and went to look in front of nearby stores.

The missing child belonged to everyone. But Stephen was alone. His eyes passed through the faces of the kind people who kept coming closer and closer, and fell in the distance. They had nothing to do with him. Their voices did not reach his ears, they obstructed his view, blocking him from seeing Kate. He had to push them aside and swim away from them to find Kate. He felt breathless, unable to think. He heard himself say the word "abduction," and it was immediately transmitted to the outskirts of the crowd, to the passers-by who were attracted by the commotion. The tall, handy cashier, who looked so strong, now burst into tears. Stephen could not help but feel a moment of disappointment for her. As if summoned by the word he said, a white police car splattered with mud spots drove by and stopped by the roadside well fence. The official appearance gave further confirmation of the disaster, which made Stephen feel sick. Something rushed straight up in his throat and he bent over. Maybe he was sick, but he didn't remember any of it. Next came the supermarket again, this time in the spirit of order and propriety, making a selection of those who would accompany him: a manager, a young lady who might be a personal assistant, an assistant manager, and two policemen. Everything was suddenly quiet.

They were walking quickly towards the back of the spacious floor. After a while, Stephan realized that he was not the leader, but the follower. The store had cleared out and there were no more customers. Looking out of the plate glass window to his right, he could see a police officer standing outside giving a statement, surrounded by customers. There was a silence, and the manager was alone, talking quickly, half assuming, half complaining. The kid - he knew her name, Stephen thought, but the position he was in didn't allow him to call it out - the kid had probably slipped into the stockroom. They should have thought of that from the start. No matter how many times he had advised his subordinates, the freezer door sometimes forgot to close.

They quickened their pace. A short, slurred voice came over the intercom of one of the officers. They walked in through a door at the cheese-based food. Here, all the masks were off. The plastic tiled floor gave way to a concrete floor, and mica glowed coldly on it. Some bare electric bulbs hung high above the unseen roof. A forklift was parked next to a mountain of crushed paper boxes. Stepping over a puddle of dirty milk, the manager hurried toward the open door of the freezer.

They followed him into a low, narrow room with two aisles hidden in the half-light and half-darkness, flanked by shelves cluttered with cans and boxes. In the center of the house, huge animal carcasses hung from meat hooks. They split into two groups and walked into the passageway. Stephen followed the police. The cold air gave off the smell of frozen cans, dry and astringent straight into the nostrils. They walked very slowly, inspecting the empty space behind the boxes on the shelves. One of the policemen wondered how long people could stay in here. Looking through the gap in the large block of meat between them, Stephen saw the manager glance at his subordinate. The young man cleared his throat and replied delicately that there was nothing to worry about as long as you kept moving around. The hot breath exhaled from his mouth, however, immediately turned into a cloud of vapor. Stephen knew that if they found Kate here, she must already be dead. The two teams met at the end of the passage without finding anyone, and Stephen was relieved, but felt unusually empty. He made himself transcendent in a positive and prudent way. If she would be found, then they would find her, because he would go all out to find her. If she would not be found, then, sooner or later, he would have to face that fact rationally. But not now.

They walked out and headed for the manager's office, and all of a sudden it was like being in a tropical jungle. The policeman pulled out his notepad and Stephen began to tell his story. Both the narrator's side and the listener's side, who paid attention to the details, had a positive attitude. Stephen had controlled his emotions fairly well, and he even took pleasure in his own polished delivery and clever organization of the relevant facts. He looked at himself and saw a man under heavy pressure, acting still showing admirable self-control. In the midst of a fine and accurate account of his daughter's appearance in clothes, he forgets Kate for a moment. The stubborn, routine questions of the police and the smell of oil and leather from their shiny pistol holsters also endear him. They bonded with him in the face of unspeakable odds. One of the officers relayed his description of Kate into the intercom, and the response from the neighboring patrol car came over the intercom indistinctly. It was all very reassuring. Stephen was almost giddy. The manager's personal assistant spoke to him with a tone of concern, but instead made Stephen feel out of place. She took his forearm and urged him to drink the tea she had brought. The manager was standing outside the door, complaining to one of his subordinates that child abductors always chose supermarkets to commit their crimes. The personal assistant closed the door with a gentle push of her foot. With this sudden move, a fragrance emanated from the folds of her plain dress, and Stephen couldn't help but think of Julie. The head was suddenly dark. He gripped the arm of his chair and waited until his head returned to a blank. Feeling he had control again, he stood up. The interrogation was over. The police officer also began to gather his notepad and stood up. The personal assistant offered to take him home, but Stephen shook his head vigorously.

Then, without any apparent interval, without any connected incident, he went outside the supermarket and stood at the crosswalk with six other people waiting to cross the street. He was carrying a full shopping bag, which reminded him that he hadn't paid for it. The salmon and tin foil were free gifts, a compensation of sorts. The cars passing on the street reluctantly slowed to a stop. He crossed the street with the other customers, trying to make himself accept the harsh reality that the world was still going on as usual. He saw that things were actually extremely simple: he had been shopping with his daughter, who had been lost, and he was now home alone to tell his wife. The motorcyclists were still in the same old place, the same Coca-Cola cans and straws in the distance. Even the dog is still crouched under the same tree. On the way up the stairs, he stopped at a broken step, his mind rumbling loudly and his ears ringing violently. He stood there holding on to the railing and the rumbling faded away, but as soon as he moved, his mind rattled again.

He opened the front door and listened for a moment. The air and light in the room indicated that Julie was still asleep. He took off his jacket and was about to hang it on the clothes rack when a sudden tightening in his stomach and a rush of acid - black acid, he thought - that was from his morning coffee, emerged from his mouth. He hurriedly closed his hands, spat it out in his palms, and ran to the kitchen to wash his hands. This had to be done across the pajamas Kate had thrown on the floor, but that didn't seem to be a problem. He walked into the bedroom, not thinking about what he was going to do or say. He sat down on the edge of the bed and Julie turned over to him without opening her eyes. She touched his hand. Her hand was hot, so hot it was almost overwhelming. She muttered sleepily about how his hand was so cold. She took his hand and tucked it under her chin, still with her eyes closed. She enjoyed the feeling of safety he brought to her side.

Stephen looked down at his wife, a loving, devoted mother, a loving parent - these clichés seemed to gain new meaning and become more fulfilling. They were useful, solemn words, Stephen thought, words that had stood the test of time. A small fistful of curly black hair lay untouched on her cheekbone, just below her eyes. She was a quiet, attentive woman with a lovely smile. She loved him passionately and was willing to tell him so. He had built his life on their intimacy and had grown to rely on it. She was a violinist and taught at the Guildhall in London. She and three other friends formed a string quartet. They began to receive performance contracts and received minor acclaim in the national press. The future used to be bright. His wife rubbed his wrist with her left hand, and he could feel the rough calluses on her fingers. It was like he was looking down at her now from infinity, from hundreds of feet away. He could see the bedroom, the Edwardian apartment, the sloping, crusty gutters and tarred roof of the addition at the back of the apartment, the chaotic view of South London, and the hazy arc of the earth. Julie looks like little more than a dot in a pile of sheets. He was still rising, faster. At least, he thought, in the thin air of high altitude, watching the city below arranged geometrically, his feelings would not show, he could remain calm.

Just then, Julie opened her eyes and saw his face. It took her a few seconds to read his expression. She immediately rolled over and sat up from the bed, drawing a cold breath and letting out a startled cry of disbelief. In a moment, an explanation was neither possible nor necessary.

* Excerpt from "Children in Time" Children who like it can buy the complete book from Amazon.