the boy who knew

The Boy Who Knew
by David Ahern

[06:02]
The streets of West End London are deserted as a white transit van turns the corner, slows almost to a stop then turns right at the junction. Its driver, an elderly man with long grey hair and beard takes a moment to adjust his glasses then begins scanning the houses on his left. After passing the third house the van pulls into the kerb and its driver steps awkwardly down onto the pavement.
He uses the side of the van as support as he makes his way to the rear and, after a taking a short breather takes a small key from his left pocket and inserts it into the padlock that held the doors firmly shut. The lock turns, the padlock opens and the doors swing outwards. In the distance a dog barks. The old man begins to lift boxes out of the back of the van. The boxes bear the names of famous brands such as Kellogg’s, Nescafe, Fairy Liquid but the labels stuck neatly at the top right hand corner of each box show their contents are now very much different – cups, crockery, ornaments, cleaning stuff, records and the like. Staggering slightly under the weight he stacks them one by one neatly on the pavement. Finally he finds one that he was looking for and, with a sharp intake of breath made his way slowly up the path to his apartment door, unlocks it and disappears inside.

[08:15]
A young mother pulls her son through the busy streets of London. Her morning is filled with noise, strange smells and tired feet. To him the morning is the adventure of a lifetime.
They pass the windows of Harrods and survey things she cannot afford. The boy points at a model train set with excitement. Her heart sinks. If his dad were still alive they may be able to afford it. He isn’t and so she walks on. The boy stands where he is, stubborn and defiant. She calls him but he pretends not to hear. He moves his arms in unison as if he was a train and whistles. After calling him a second time his mother walks the short distance towards him and beckons him once more. He stamps his feet and calls her names but his tantrum is wasted on deaf ears. She threatens him and tells him if he isn’t quiet they will not be riding the tour bus. That has the desired effect. Reluctantly he follows her as they head to the bus stop.

[08:55]
Up on the second floor the old man looks out of the bay window and surveys the scene before him. He has been lucky to get such a good view. Below him the square opens up in a mass of crazing paving. Either side of this there are gardens with tall trees flanking them. On his side though there is nothing to obstruct his view. There are a few steps, several benches and a small fountain. That is all. The old man spends another few moments looking and counting his blessings. The flat had become suddenly vacant earlier in the week; he had been notified immediately and had spent the weekend moving a variety of boxes in and out of the apartment, some of which still remained piled in the corner of the room, some of which remained in the rented van parked three or four doors down the street.
He removes one of the items from his boxes, a television remote, and places it to the side on the window ledge stroking it as he does so. Looking into the box he sees the heavy television and decides to postpone lifting it till later. His back stills hurts from carting the boxes up the two flights of stairs. Smiling to himself he decides he has earned a break. Below him in the square people run to and fro erecting barriers. The old man ignores them. Basking in the sun as it shines through the window he takes out a flask of pre-prepared coffee and begins to drink it.

[09:15]
They board the bus twenty minutes late. The guide apologizes over the microphone for the delay blaming a traffic accident earlier that morning. While her son rushes upstairs for a seat she pays the ticket for them both and complains to the driver. He shrugs his shoulders but offers her no discount. Turning away in disgust she climbs the steep stairs holding on desperately to the handrail. She sees her son sitting right at the front as she expected. He waves at her excitedly and she waves back. Her feet really hurt now and she is glad to sit down. The bus does not leave the stop for another thirty minutes.

[09:15]
Back in the flat the old man has finished his break. The coffee was good and it has refreshed him. It is going to be a busy morning. He gets back to work.


[09:45]
The engine starts and the bus begins to pull away. The boy cheers and leans out over the open topped buses railings. His mother looks up and once again voices her disapproval. With a frown he sits down next to her but not for long. Minutes later he is up again running up and down the aisle. It takes all her patience to ignore him.

[10:55]
In the square, all the barriers that were being placed on either side are now fully erect. A stage has been assembled at the rear and a further set of barriers placed in front of it. From the stage there is a walkway to the road. Along this walkway several security guards are stationed talking intermittently into walkie-talkies. On the stage itself a microphone has been placed around which several men in suits congregate. Passers by stop and gaze over the barriers at the action beyond. The heat of the summer afternoon has reached its highest. Once their curiosity has been satisfied they move on.



[11:12]
They have visited the Museum of History and the boy was enthralled. He is now a mummy stalking down the corridors of a long forgotten pyramid. Lurching back and forward up and down the top of the bus he roars into other passenger’s ears as he passes them. She has told him to stop but he has ignored her several times. Her patience is now wearing thin.

[11:59]
The celebrity is on the stage now, testing his microphone. Numbers echo round the square. Eventually, when he is satisfied, he leaves the microphone and descends the stairs that lead from the stage to the pavement and disappears into the crowd. Upstairs in the first floor flat the old man looks on with interest.

[14:41]
The tour bus has now been stationary for over twenty minutes and the young mother is wishing they had never set foot on it. Her son parades up and down the bus marching in time and pretending to hold a rifle. So far that morning the tour bus has taken them past the changing of the guard and the boy is suitably impressed. The bus starts up again. There is an exchange of horns then an exchange of insults below them. The mother turns her head away from her son and gazes absently down towards the street. She sees the taxi stuck in the middle of the road, the driver with his hand reaching out of an open window gesturing obscenely. Apparently the bus driver is having as bad a day as she is.

[14:49]
Behind the stage the celebrity is getting ready. He has his speech and is rehearsing it. It is almost time for him to go and speak to his people.

[14:51]
The old man has another well-deserved coffee. Although he is tired he is content that his move is going as planned. With a struggle he lifts the television out of the box but doesn’t turn it on preferring to look out of the window at the chaos below.

[14:55]
The bus is once again at a standstill and the young mother isn’t happy. The cold wind hits her bringing her to her senses. Behind her there is shouting. They have now visited the Tower of London and the Military Museum. She looks back to witness her son parading in front of a group of Germans raising his arm in salute then patiently wait for a response. She rushed down the bus, nearly falling in her hurry, apologizing. The Germans stared at her as she grabbed him, their faces angry. The embarrassment is too much. Without returning to her seat she drags her son down the stairs and asks the driver to stop. The boy is crying but now his mother no longer cares. As they reach the end of the street she sees the reason for the delay on the bus. A police roadblock crosses the road and behind it a surging crowd pushes against it. Curious as to what was going on she walks past the road block and moves with the crowd into the square desperately trying to see above the heads of the people in front of her. After asking people near her what is happening they inform her that a celebrity is soon to appear. Leaning back to tell her son she is horrified to find that he is no longer behind her.

[14:59]
It is nearly time for the celebrity to make his appearance. The old man sits forward towards the window and stops rocking. He watches the build up in the crowd below with interest. A tramp he notices has sprawled himself out on a bench below at the front of the square. The security guards gesture for him to leave but are unable to force him. They are too busy. The crowd has turned into a demonstration. Various banners and signs depicting the man they have come to see are raised above their heads. The noise has become unbearable now. Shouting, taunts, obscenities. The old man struggles to open the window and leans out. He waves at the tramp but the tramp doesn’t appear to notice. And then he sees a small boy no older than seven standing still as the crowd swirls around him. Scanning the square he takes in the woman pushing against the crowd as they are pressed back by the lines of policemen. There is something odd about the boy. He is standing there looking straight at him, pointing.

[15:12]
She scrabbles past the protesters knocking one to the floor in her panic. The protestor glares at her as he regains his feet but she is not concerned. She has only one thing on her mind. Her son. She scans the area around her but still is unable to see him. The crowd is being pressed back by police in full riot gear. They seem to have come from nowhere. She attempts to speak to one to tell him that her son is missing but he ignores her. Stones are being thrown. One misses her by inches then another hits her squarely in the back. She falls to the ground.
It is amongst the blurred image of shifting legs that she sees him. He is standing in the middle of the square, alone. Pointing upwards. Saying something that is lost amongst the clatter of the stones, the clatter of the police as they push forward. From somewhere inside she regains a surge of energy. Pushing herself back on her feet she wades against the tide of people her vision focused purely on reaching her son.

[15:25]
The boy shouldn’t be there. It is obvious. The mother is looking for him. The old man picks up the phone beside him but replaces it immediately. Down in the street he sees that the mother has found her child and they are embracing. The old man smiles to himself, sits back in his chair once again and reaches for the comfort of his remote.

[15:26]
‘That mans gonna die mammy. That one there.’ The boy points to the celebrity who now stands on the stage at the microphone. She looks down annoyed yet relieved. It seems like the police have control of the situation now and her boy is safe but she embraces him all the same protecting him.
‘Don’t be silly Tommy!’ she says. They are the only words she can think of.
Tommy repeats himself.
‘That mans gonna die mammy. I know.’ It is one of his games again she thinks. Tell him to be quiet and he will be. He wasn’t.
‘That mans gonna die mammy. Gonna be split in two and that women with the pram. A big monster is in that van, waiting to get them.”
She is used to his childish fantasies, used to his imaginary games but is sick of them now. The lack of toys meant he had a lack of friends a lack, which surprisingly had never seemed to bother him. His more than vivid imagination had made up for it. He points at the tramp lying on the bench.
‘That is a bad man mammy. Tell the guard.’
She hits him again, not hard but hard enough for him to quit playacting. He doesn’t. She hears him again and this time he is pointing to the other side of the square, pointing at the van he mentioned earlier. She tries to humour him.
‘What monster?’ she asks.
‘Tell the guard mammy. Tell the guard. The monster will kill him.”
The celebrity has left the podium now for his own safety and is moving down the corridor of barriers towards the road surrounded by his entourage of security guards. Tommy continues to point at him as he goes. She pulls Tommy away from where he was standing and tells him they are going home. Walking towards the square exit she has a visual image of the squalor that is the bed and breakfast that awaits them. Tommy struggles, pulling at her grasp. He begins shouting at the top of his voice attracting attention from the penned in protestors. She quickens her pace embarrassed while Tommy continues shouting.
‘He’s going to die mammy. He’s going to die.’
It was enough. She slaps him hard this time instantly regretting it. He screams in response to the force of the blow. And then she can’t hear him anymore and she is grateful.
The explosion knocks them both off their feet. Where the white van had been a mass of twisted metal remains. A single scream locks in her head, a scream that she will never forget. It is her own. She sees through the fire as the explosion takes place bodies being flung in several directions, bits of bodies.
Parts of the van rains down where they are standing. Instinctively she huddles into the doorway and shields her boy as the bits of the white van continue to land about her. What seems to be a man dressed in a thick overcoat on fire comes towards her out of the flames. She recognises him from the party that had passed earlier, the party of security men that flanked the celebrity as he had moved away from the stage. The guard falls several feet away from her and she is thankful. The protestors are running now, their signs and their placards abandoned. The police are unnsuccesfully trying to restore some order. Several are trying to approach the blazing area where the famous author had once stood but the heat is too intense, the flames are curling upwards and they have to fall back. All around her there is chaos, people screaming and running, staggering, crawling and dying. She is lost in her own world as the real one spins around her.
When it is over she looks down at Tommy expecting him to be crying, scared even. What she saw surprised her. Tommy wasn’t crying. He looks up at her, smiles and says nine words.
‘I told you so mammy. I told you so.’


[15:59]
In the building on the other side of the street the old man views the commotion below him. He sees the tramp, back on his bench reach for something from his pocket and put it to his ear. The phone in his apartment began to ring. Slowly he picks it up and speaks into the mouthpiece.
‘I think that went rather well. Don’t you?’
Not waiting for an answer he replaces the handset and moves over to the boxes in the corner. He opens the only box in his flat that contains anything, opens up the back of the television and takes a set of clothes out then replaces them with his old ones. Then, finally, he removes the grey wig that had been a constant annoyance to him all day, routinely dusts the apartment and leaves via the back door.

[16:02]
Outside on the street Mrs. Cunningham has no emotion but relief. Relief that she is still alive and so is her son. She is confused at the day’s events. Confused especially about the events of the last few moments. Ambulances have arrived within the square. Police cars. Sirens flash all around them as the security forces and the emergency services combine in an attempt to bring back order and treat the many injured that lay about them. Bodies are being taken away in black body bags. Tommy looks up at his mother once more with an expression of concern, questioning. It is a while before he speaks and when he does he is pointing.
‘I told you that man was bad didn’t I.’
His mother follows the direction of his finger and sees that he is pointing at the park bench. She had seen the tramp minutes before the explosion lying on his back seemingly asleep, drunk or both. The last thing Mrs. Cunningham notices as she is shepherded away is that the park bench is now empty.