Linger Awhile by Russell Hoban Page A

went up to Golders Green out of curiosity; I wanted to see how Chauncey and Justine were getting on. I didn’t phone ahead, I thought I’d just drop in and catch them unawares. Not knowing where I’d find an off-licence in Golders Green I bought a bottle of Glenfiddich at Nicolas in Berwick Street. I like the red Nicolas sign with its yellow lettering, it has spiritual uplift.
    I was standing on the Northern Line platform at Tottenham Court Road when I noticed a rat down among the cables by the tracks. I remembered reading somewhere that in London you’re never more than ten feet away from a rat. That’s about how far I was from this one when it turned and looked at me. ‘You looking at me?’ I said. It didn’t say anything but its nose was twitching. Then it went back to its cable run. I did a few bars of rat music in my head. I hate their naked tails and their superior attitude, their behind-the-scenes cynicism. Cockroaches too – you can scrunch as manyas you like but they’re laughing because they know they’ll win in the end.
    Justine. What made Irv Goodman and Chauncey Lim and me suddenly fall in love with her? Love, shit. Irv is eighty-three and he’s got no business falling in love. I’m sixty-five and Chauncey’s only in his forties but all of us are old enough to know better. Irv started it. Almost at the end of his life and wanting something impossible he comes to me and flings down the gauntlet: ‘You can do it, Istvan.’
    When I first saw the interference pattern on the white card I thought,Well, yes, I
am
interfering. Maybe she wants to stop in the video, maybe she wants to stay dead. But I was hot for her and I wanted her alive and I was in charge. Now she was with Chauncey Lim and for the most part I was glad to have her off my hands. Maybe I was a little jealous. Dead people! I wonder what Lazarus did when he came out of the tomb. Must have had a hell of a thirst. Did he head for the nearest pub? If he did, they probably gave him plenty of room at the bar.
    The train came and I found a seat by the doors. A woman sat down next to me but at Goodge Street she moved to another seat. Did I still smell of primordial soup? Or maybe I just looked crazy. Whatever. So many different faces in the Underground. Chinese, Japanese, Pakistani, Afro-Caribbean, Afro-African, and a few white American and English ones. All of them had necks, some exposed by open coats or jackets, others hidden. Faces staring into space, faces reading, faces looking inward at the stories inside them.
    It’s a long ride to Golders Green and I had to change at Camden Town to the Edgware train. Up the steps and across through a crush of faces and footsteps and down again to the other platform. There was an Edgware train with its doors open and in I went. Not very many people this time. Chalk Farm, Belsize Park, Hampstead. Hampstead Heath was where I once walked with Luise von Himmelbett. We sat on a bench high up on the Heath with a view of London down below us. There are ghosts of me all over this town.
    When next I looked out of the window we were above ground, in a long grey stretch of railroad-yard looking things and wintry afternoon daylight. Then here came Golders Green station. The last time I’d been there was years ago when I needed some Jewish records from Jerusalem the Golden.
    I went down the stairs and out into the winter sky (very high and open, with gold-tinted clouds) and the last part of the day. Brightly lit newsagents and snack shops led me out of the station into lights and traffic and crossings and railings and the Finchley Road. After the cramped closeness of Soho it all seemed very wide and spread out and strange to me. Elijah’s Lucky Dragon was only a short walk from the station, between Leverton and Sons Ltd, Independent Funeral Directors since 1789, and The Gate Lodge pub. I wouldn’t have minded dropping in for a quick one but The Gate Lodge sounded like designer beers and careful drinkers and the pub