Soon, Ben is waiting for me almost every day after work. After careful instruction he’s learned to wait outside Starbucks, even if he no longer looks quite as homeless after shaving off his beard and washing his hair thoroughly a couple of times over at my place. Happy as a little kid, he usually has some plan for what we should do.
‘Come on, let’s go to the Donauinsel,’ he says one day when I finish a bit earlier than usual.
‘But then we have to take the metro,’ I say. Ben’s financial situation is something we never discuss, so I tend to avoid situations where the issue of money might come up.
‘And buy a ticket …’ I add gently.
‘I earned a bit of money today,’ he says. ‘I was passing a shop and saw a guy who was about to wash the windows. So I asked him if he needed any help and he was so glad to get out of doing it himself he paid me twenty euros. And it only took quarter of an hour.’
On our way to the long, slender island on the River Danube, Ben starts talking to a guitar-playing Rastafarian and in no time at all they’re having a discussion about what it’s like to perform on the street in different countries (London = impossible, Barcelona = best money, Amsterdam = best audience). When they part, Ben promises to come to some party the Rastafarian is having in a couple of weeks.
‘Stay cool, man,’ the Rastafarian says.
‘You too,’ Ben says.
‘You seem to be able to talk to anyone,’ I comment when we step off the metro. ‘So far I’ve seen you start chatting to at least four different strangers.’
‘It’s just what I do,’ he says. ‘I don’t even think about it. How would you meet anyone new otherwise?’
We take the steps down. Since it’s a warm autumn day, there are lots of other people on the way to and from the island. There’s music coming from some nearby bar.
‘If a woman did it, people would think she was either mad or asking to be raped,’ I say. ‘Or both.’
‘No,’ Ben says.
‘Yes, unfortunately that’s how it is,’ I say, nodding.
‘No,’ he repeats. ‘Why would that be the case?’
‘Because … because …’ I begin. ‘Because of the reasons I just said. Women can’t start talking to complete strangers in the way you do. You can do it because you’re a guy and you’re tall and you look strong.’
‘That’s not true at all,’ he says. ‘I know lots of girls who do it. So how do you meet new people? Do you even ever meet anyone new?’
‘I meet new people all the time,’ I reply.
‘Where?’
‘At work,’ I say. ‘It’s really annoying. New people are the worst.’
‘But that’s crazy!’ Ben exclaims. ‘If you think like that you’ll just meet the same old people all the time.’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But after a certain age you stop looking for new friends anyway. And if you don’t, there’s probably something wrong with you.’
We find a spot near the water not far from the metro station and sit down. Several of the guys around us have bare chests and two rollerbladers fly by. A bit further away, a girl throws a pink plastic bone into the water, and her golden retriever hurls itself in and fetches it. A young family have spread out a picnic blanket, even if the two children seem more interested in poking something in the grass with sticks.
‘I’m going to jump off the bridge,’ Ben says suddenly.
He leaps up and pulls off his T-shirt. Then he walks quickly to the bridge that stretches across the river, where a walkway runs on a second level under the metro track. I look towards the bridge and realise it must be at least fifteen metres down to the water. Now he’s climbing over the railing. A little bunch of Turkish guys who are all wearing white jeans gather round him when they realise he’s going to jump. Ben waves at me.
‘Hey!’ I hear him yell.
I wave back and feel my cheeks redden. Then he jumps, and as he does so he pulls his legs towards his chest and puts his arms round them. With a dull thud he lands in the water and the guys on the bridge clap and wolf whistle. Grinning from ear to ear, with rosy cheeks, Ben swims to the water’s edge where I’m sitting. When he gets out of the water he shakes himself like a dog.
‘Weren’t you scared of doing a belly-flop?’ I ask.
He looks at me as though the thought had never occurred to him. ‘No,’ he replies. ‘I did everything right. The only time I got it wrong was when I was drunk and sprained my ankle.’
‘Maybe I should jump too,’ I say thoughtfully and look towards the bridge.
‘Now that I would never allow,’ Ben says.
‘You’d “never allow” it? Are you my Victorian governess? Why not?’
‘Because you’re not ready,’ he replies. ‘Or prepared.’
‘I don’t want to jump off the bridge anyway,’ I say, a little sulkily.
Suddenly I sit up straight and turn to him. ‘Ben,’ I say, ‘I like being organised. I like a life with no surprises. I like paying bills. I love doing jigsaws. One day I’m sure I’ll start doing crosswords. After that it’s almost inevitable that I’ll start going to crossword conventions in the hope of meeting other people who like to solve crosswords and do jigsaws and pay their bills. Because there must be more of us. And I’m looking forward to it. It’s not something I’m ashamed of. I know I’m cool. But I don’t understand why you think I’m cool.’
He looks at me. ‘Because you’re beautiful and you have a beautiful heart,’ he says.
‘But you don’t know that,’ I say. ‘Once I didn’t correct a student when she said that she was a vegetable instead of a vegetarian just because I thought it was so funny. So she’s probably still going round telling people she’s an inanimate piece of plant matter. A kind person wouldn’t have done that.’
‘I do know,’ Ben says. ‘I know you have a good heart. You can see that sort of thing. Why do you want to be with me then?’
‘Did I have any choice?’ I say.
He gives me a strange look.
‘I’ve never met anyone like you before,’ I continue, and shrug. ‘And you’re always in a good mood.’
‘Hell yeah! You have to be,’ Ben exclaims cheerfully. ‘There’s so much shit in life that you have to focus on the positives. There’s always something to be happy about. Even when I was starving hungry and sleeping in a ditch, there was still something to laugh about.’
He lies down beside me and closes his eyes while I carry on looking at him and feel something in my chest – a warm, fluttery something – that I haven’t felt for many years. In spite of that, I am completely aware that we have no future. He’s a 24-year-old tramp with no education. Or shoes. I don’t want to have a long-term relationship with, much less marry, someone who works as a removal man or an earthworm picker, and who doesn’t have any prospects.
‘Why didn’t you go to university?’ I ask.
‘Does it matter?’ Ben says a little peevishly, opening his eyes and looking at me.
‘No,’ I lie.
‘It really wasn’t something my parents cared about,’ Ben says. ‘My dad thinks “real men” work, they don’t go to university. My parents never helped me with my homework and when I asked for help my dad just grunted: “Don’t they teach you that in school?” The best way of learning something, according to him, was the belt that hung rolled up on a nail in the wall.’
‘But perhaps it’s something you should consider,’ I say. ‘Going back into education? It’s free here and everything.’
‘Never going to happen,’ he replies.
I’m surprised by how irritated I feel at Ben’s reply but I tell myself it doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll soon carry on drifting through Europe and I’ll return to my old life.
We lie there in silence side by side, enjoying the autumn sun and listening to the gentle murmur of the river, the voices around us, and the music from the bar, which is now playing Haddaway’s What is Love. Ben’s hand finds its way to mine and we intertwine our fingers.
‘What do you think your people who love paying bills are doing right now?’ Ben asks after a while.
‘They’re still wandering in the desert,’ I reply.
When it gets dark we take the metro back to my place.