Three to See the King

many people are looking forward to meeting you.’
    While all this talk was going on, Mary Petrie had remained silent. Even so, I knew from the occasional looks she cast in my direction that she was listening to every word. Now, as Simon, Steve and Philip sat and waited like supplicants for an answer, she spoke directly to me.
    ‘Won’t it be a bit of a palaver moving everything?’ she asked.
    That was all she said, but I sensed instantly that the verdict had already been reached.
    As I looked at her pictures on the walls, her china in the kitchen, and her carefully arranged vases of dried grass, I realized I would never get her to move an inch, let alone to some vague destination in an incomplete canyon.
    She then offered refreshments to our guests, while I explained that we had to decline their invitation for reasons they would surely understand. Steve answered that he spoke for all in saying how disappointed he was that we wouldn’t be coming. Nonetheless, he said, it was our decision, and if we ever changed our minds we only had to head west and we would easily find the way.
    They left some time later, each of them calling their goodbyes to Mary Petrie, who had by now retired upstairs for the evening.
    I watched as they set off into the darkness, and pondered whether I should have offered beds for the night instead of just allowing them to leave. In truth, however, I knew it was quite unnecessary. All they wanted to do was hurry back into the presence of Michael Hawkins, even though they were returning empty-handed. They clearly believed he was central to their existence.
    Well, they were welcome to him as far as I was concerned! I had no intention of living in thrall to someone else, even if he was building a canyon! And, indeed, the more I thought about that, the more absurd it sounded. Who did he think he was, exactly, setting himself such a task?
    Clearly, it couldn’t be done.
    ‘He would need hundreds, maybe thousands, of people,’ I explained to Mary Petrie a few days later. ‘All properly directed, and sharing the same sense of purpose. How’s he going to do that? It’s impossible.’
    ‘Really?’ she said.
    ‘Oh yes,’ I replied. ‘There’s a limit to what any one man can achieve, and I’m afraid our friend Michael Hawkins has overreached himself.’
    ‘You sure about that?’
    ‘Certain.’
    To my surprise, Mary Petrie rose to her feet and walked to the door.
    ‘Well,’ she announced. ‘I’ve decided I was wrong.’
    ‘Wrong?’ I asked. ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘I was wrong to discourage you,’ she answered. ‘You’ll have to go to this canyon after all.’
    ‘But I thought you didn’t want to move,’ I said. ‘That was why I sent Steve and the others away.’
    ‘No, I don’t want to move, I’m quite settled here. That doesn’t mean you can’t go and have a look, though.’
    ‘Oh, it’s alright. I’m not really interested.’
    ‘So how come you keep going on about it day and night?’
    ‘I didn’t know I did.’
    ‘Well you do!’ she snapped. ‘As a matter of fact, you’ve spoken of nothing else since those three left! You even talk about it in your sleep, and if you don’t know the reason I’ll tell you! It’s because you once had great aspirations! Remember? You were going to search the world for an immense red canyon, remote and empty, where you’d live in a house built entirely from tin. You told me this in all its detail. No other life would do, you said, yet somehow you wound up stuck on a flat and featureless plain! Now you’ve heard about a man creating the very place you were talking about, and as long as you know it’s there you’ll never be satisfied!’
    Suddenly Mary Petrie threw open the door. ‘Go on!’ she ordered. ‘Go and see it for yourself!’
    As I departed she seized the hammer and began using it to beat a saucepan flat. I could still hear the metallic blows when I was half a mile away. At this distance they reminded me of the chimes from Simon Painter’s bell, but they had none of the forlorn tones that had been so familiar a year ago. Instead they clanged out a simple, strident message: ‘I am going to fix the chimney whether you like it or not!’
    I thought about Mary Petrie while I headed west, and remembered how helpless she’d seemed when she first arrived. She’d brought with her a world that revolved around a trunk, a mirror and a vanity case, and knew nothing about living in a tin house. The sound of that