garden wall had been removed to make room for a garage. This garage was constructed in a style and of materials different from those of the house. Large slabs of asbestos strengthened at intervals formed three of its sides, the front being entirely formed by two doors of a light metal. Small sealed windows were set above the doors at the front and in a similar position at the rear (the rear one being concealed from G’s point of observation), the whole being capped by a corrugated metal roof.
Thus from G’s post at the table in the café he could observe seven windows belonging to Mr Mary’s property; equally, he could be observed where he sat from seven windows belonging to Mr Mary’s property. He saw no movement at any of the windows.
G. F. Watt now returned through the door bearing the advertisement for a circus. He had disposed of the cleaning machine in the back regions of his premises; he bore a tray which he carried round the counter and placed on top of the red and white squared tablecloth, pronouncing as he did so a tentative opening to a conversation.
‘Another strike in the car factory.’
‘They say the conditions are bad.’
‘Conditions have been worse.’
‘I’m sure you are quite right, that is the price we have to pay for progress – conditions have always been worse. It’s like in the fish shortages.’
‘How do you mean? This is a fine piece of poached haddock.’
‘In a fish shortage, the price of fish goes up.’
‘Taste your poached haddock.’
‘The coffee is good.’
‘The haddock?’
‘Excellent. Poached to a turn. Are you busy?’
‘I haven’t seen Mr Mary’s wife this morning.’
‘Perhaps it’s the strike?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘There’s another strike in the car factory. They say conditions are bad.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Men hanging about the streets. She might not like to go out.’
‘I see what you mean.’
‘Men hang about in the streets, you know.’
The two men both cast their gaze into the deserted road. G. F. Watt did not remove his until G had finished the meal; even then, he continued standing exactly where he was, close behind the chair that folded efficiently, so that when G rose to go he pushed the table forward to enable himself to rise. G moved to the door, opened it and went through onto the pavement. He looked up and down the road, found it empty of cars, and crossed it, heading for the brown side gate. The brown side gate was open, as he had left it.
G went through the gate and made for the wooden bungalow. When he reached it, he put his shoulder to the door of the wooden bungalow and pushed it open. The key lay inside on the floor, on the bare boards between the threshold of the door and the first of the fibre mats with green and orange stripes. G entered the bungalow without picking up the key.
Domoladossa thought, ‘We’ll have to decide. It may be possible to communicate with Probability A. We’ll have to decide – I’ll have to decide – whether these people have human responses.’
He glanced ahead at the report. He wanted to know about the rest of the occupants of the house. What did they do? What was their life about?
As G closed his door behind him, S walked round the west corner of the house, treading on the blocks of concrete that formed the path to the brown side gate and avoiding the cracks between the blocks. He reached the brown side gate, opened it, went through it, and shut it behind him.
For a while he stood on the edge of the pavement, breathing deeply and looking to his left and to his right. A car passed him, moving slowly with a flat tyre, and disappeared down the road towards the white marble cross. S crossed the road.
He entered the café opposite the house. Nobody was there. Inside the door to the left was a small table covered with a red-and-white squared cloth which S recognised; there was a wooden chair beside the table, on which S sat; the seat of the wooden chair was not cold. S observed the house opposite. He noticed that the red curtain in one of the upper windows had not been drawn back tidily, so that it hung crookedly. He did not see anything move in any of the windows.
Behind the counter of the shop was a door covered by a poster advertising a circus that had once appeared locally; the circus had a Dozen Huge Untameable Lions performing in it. The door now opened. Through it came a man bearing a tray containing breakfast.
The man brought this tray round the counter and set the contents of the tray down upon the top of the table where S sat.
S looked down at a slice of haddock and adjusted it so that it lay in the middle of the white bone china plate. He spoke to the man who had brought the food.
‘No doubt it is a lovely morning in Tahiti this morning.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I said, No doubt it is a lovely morning in Tahiti today.’
‘I see. Another strike at the car factory.’
‘Fish looks nice.’
‘Conditions are bad there, they tell me.’
‘I compliment you on the taste also.’
‘A fine piece of poached haddock.’
‘Why are they striking?’
‘They tell me conditions are bad there.’
‘Higher wages, I suppose? Does she speak of it?’
‘I haven’t seen her this morning; she’s afraid of men hanging about in the streets, so I hear.’
‘What men? I don’t see any.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The street is empty.’
‘It’s early yet. Maybe about lunch time.’
‘Mm, I see what you mean. Still, it is nice fresh fish.’
The man made no immediate reply to this, standing behind the folding chair on which S sat, resting his hands on the back of it, and gazing out at the road through his shop window.
S
