A Ladder to the Sky

by John Boyne

moon.

in

friendship, then it was important that I should be honest with him from the start. ‘Of course, you realize that I’m homosexual,’ I said, looking him in the eye, and to his credit he didn’t look away. ‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t certain. It’s not a theme that you explore in any of your books. And you’ve never addressed it publicly.’ ‘I don’t care to talk about my private life to the press or in a room full of strangers,’ I said. ‘And as you know, I don’t write about love. It’s a subject that I’ve avoided scrupulously throughout my career.’ ‘No, you’ve always written about loneliness.’ ‘Exactly. But you mustn’t think that my writing is in any way autobiographical. Just because one is homosexual does not mean that one is lonely.’ He said nothing and I sensed an awkwardness in the air that discomfited me. ‘I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable to hear me speak of this.’ ‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘It’s 1988, after all. I don’t care about things like that. My best friend in Harrogate, Henry Rowe, was gay. I wrote one of my earliest stories about him, in fact. These labels mean nothing to me.’ ‘I see,’ I said, uncertain what he meant by this. Was he suggesting that he did not discriminate between his friends on the basis of their sexuality or that he himself was prepared to have intimate relations with people of either gender? ‘And was your friend in love with you, do you think? It’s possible, of course. You are very beautiful.’ He blushed a little but ignored t...

never want one? A child, I mean.’

comradeship

everyone.’ I looked around. Suddenly it seemed to me that the entire tavern was listening in on us,

And you were just a boy at the time. None of us is in control of our emotions at that age.’ I glanced at my watch and sighed. ‘Anyway, we should get back to the hotel,’ I said. ‘I

if—’ ‘Why aren’t you supporting me in this?’ he asked, putting his glass down and giving

no.’ I pressed forward, trying to get through the door, but he held out a hand and placed

there, she would tell her friends. I was there when they confronted the old Nazi and told him they knew all the things he’d done. I wasn’t

unwilling to read my chosen excerpt from Dread all that time ago;

keep Dash awake with my snoring.’

his friend’s dejected gait and unhappy expression persuaded him to walk in his direction.

book?’ ‘I think he could have fought his way through them if he’d wanted

know.’ He sighed and watched as a bird landed on one of the flowers, investigating

towards the breakfast table.

earlier, just before we met. You know you’ve gone off the deep end when you start obsessing about

Bettino Craxi. Nelson Rockefeller. Princess Margaret. Here in Ravello, it’s played host to Paul Simon,

Rondinaia.’ ‘Well, there you are. You met me for the first time twenty-four hours ago, Gore. Don’t

given a

Maurice. ‘I turned over,’ said Gore. ‘Not to invite the figure into my bed,

out at the view. The sea was calm but, from somewhere beneath the cliffs, the playful sounds

novel.’ ‘Which is one more than all of them combined.’ ‘I know, but still. It’s important to me that they don’t feel they’ve wasted their time

for you

know.’ ‘You hate what writing has done to you, that’s all. How

from falling. ‘What do you mean used to be?’

published in 1991,’ I said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Garrett. ‘I must have

flicking through it for the schedule of the day’s events. ‘Fuck,’ you said, as your finger stopped on a listing.

ladder.

whatever it is you did for him in those days. Do you remember?’ ‘No,’ you said. ‘Well, I do. I read your second book, by the way,’ continued Dash. ‘What was it called again? The Garden Shed?’ ‘The Treehouse.’ ‘Not quite as good as Two Germans, was it? I wonder what poor old Erich made of it.’ ‘Well, he was dead by the time it came out, so I doubt he made anything of it.’ ‘Of course he was,’ said the American. ‘He died alone in Berlin, didn’t he? I read somewhere that he’d been dead a week before anyone discovered the body. One of his neighbours

London.’ ‘Probably for the best,’ he replied, before waving a hand in the air as he turned his back on us. ‘Goodbye, my boy. I daresay we won’t meet again.’ I watched him as he walked away and felt torn between laughter and confusion. ‘Cantankerous old swine,’ you muttered. ‘He was in love with me once.’ ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘It does happen.’ ‘Well I, of all people, know that,’ I said, smiling at you. ‘You let him down easily, I hope?’ ‘It’s all so long ago, I can barely remember. Anyway, what time is it? Let’s take a walk around the site. I wouldn’t mind having a look in the bookshop.’ I nodded, following you as you stepped outside. Dash Hardy died shortly afterwards, didn’t he? I remember reading about it in the newspaper over breakfast one morning and feeling shocked that someone who had sat with me so recently could have hanged himself in his Manhattan apartment. You read the article too but said nothing about it, although

have to?’ I asked.

boys.’ ‘Well, that’s not fair,’ I admitted. ‘But shouldn’t you just speak to a solicitor? Wouldn’t

piping up now. ‘I’ve often wondered that myself,’ you said with a smile. ‘I don’t really know, if I’m honest with you. I only know that I enjoy reading them. And writing them.’ ‘So you are working on something new, then?’ asked Garrett, persistent little Garrett. ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ ‘No, you said that you never talk about work in progress.’ ‘Exactly.’ ‘But there is a work in progress, then? It’s just that it’s been such a long time since The Treehouse.’ Sitting next to me, I could feel you growing uncomfortable in your chair, and you took a long time to answer. ‘You’re the one writing the children’s book about the talking animals, aren’t you?’ you asked eventually. ‘It’s not a children’s book,’ replied Garrett. ‘The whole thing’s an allegory. It’s not the fact that the animals speak that matters, it’s what they have to say. Like in Animal Farm.’ ‘You’re comparing your work to Orwell’s?’ you asked, laughing now. ‘No, of course not,’ said Garrett, growing a little more flustered. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ ‘It’s what you implied,’ interrupted Maja. Garrett rolled his eyes and delivered a loud sigh. The two students had clashed several times in workshop and Maja seemed to take pleasure in bringing him down to earth. ‘Look, some novels take a long time to write,’ you said, getting back to the original question. ‘When it’s ready, it will be ready. Until

do?’ ‘He’s an actor. Or trying to be. He’s younger than Rebecca, though, which should come

up?’ ‘It’s vital that we get children reading,’ you continued. ‘Then

myself

is—’ ‘You’ve already made it clear that you didn’t come to visit.

ever

about here. I’m not new to this industry and I know how easily one

between Daniel and Jupiter and had brought it to my attention.’

had to do in order to become a father.’

his child and there had been no trouble whatsoever during the pregnancy or the birth. Although

one of the students with whom they tried to ingratiate themselves

him better, to get closer to him, but he was essentially a loner and

months,

balaclavas

willing to take pity on their youth, promising not to tell their parents if they agreed to end their friendship immediately

somewhere, watching them. Maurice tried several more

biography. ‘Mr Colby is one of the most exciting young writers