Friday 20th – Ivan and Marta Spring/Summer 1941

“Hello boys,” says the bargee, brightly. “Thank you for your assistance.” (This last in a gentrified, stiffened tone, like a posh actor in a film. Ivan wonders if Michael has ever seen a film: he senses that Michael’s family are so impoverished – just look at Michael’s clothes, and at his almost comically worn out shoes – that they don’t have money to spend on such frivolous luxuries. Ivan stows away this little barb of potential superiority: it could be offset against his pathetic inferiority in the gambling arena.)
The two boys beam up at the bargee, who looks at them, twists his mouth into a smile, and reaches down below the tiller and comes up with two oranges – rare, exotic fruit. The boys’ eyes widen, and the bargee says “Catch!”, motioning as if to throw the fruit into the far distance. The boys back away up the slope, and the two oranges do fly through the air, describing successive slow, high arcs, backed by the white sky. Michael catches his cleanly, but Ivan fumbles his, and has to chase it down towards the water’s edge as it bounce-rolls over the grass. He just manages to catch up with it on the tow-path, where he stills it and pushes it down against the dirt and dust.
The bargee says “Well done, son – that’s come a long way, that orange: wouldn’t want to see it drown in this mucky old canal, would we?”
Ivan shakes his head obediently. He stares at the man’s soot-begrimed face and at the stubble that’s poking through the surface layer of dirt, and he notices that this combination gives the bargee’s face a metallic look – all sheen and reflection. Despite Ivan’s fear and wariness, a smile is bubbling up through face, reciprocating the grin that the bargee is wearing. The skin around the man’s eyes is crinkled with good humour, and his teeth look very white against his skin as he smiles.
The lock is nearly filled.
From further up the slope, Michael shouts, “Hey, mister, have you got anything else?”
Up close, Ivan sees the bargee’s smile harden and the skin around his eyes grow rigid.
“Oh yes,” he says, quietly, “I’ve got lots of stuff – but not for the likes of you; not for the asking.”
Ivan, confused, feels his own smile fade. The bargee is looking at Michael strangely, as if he’s calculating something.