The Wingless Bird

by Catherine Cookson

  This was greeted with nods and smiles. Then Charles, getting suddenly to his feet and looking at the solicitor, said, ‘Would you mind if I talk to my brother alone for a moment?’ then looked enquiringly at Doctor Willett, who said, ‘There’s the secretary’s office next door; she’s away at the moment. You’re quite welcome to use it.’

  As Charles made towards the door, Reg, who hadn’t moved, said, ‘I don’t see that there’s anything more to say, Charlie.’

  ‘I do.’

  Reg made a shrugging movement with one shoulder, then followed Charles into the next room, which happened to be a long narrow one, and after closing the door he limped slowly after Charles to the far end. And there he said, ‘What’s on your mind, Charlie?’

  ‘That’s a damn silly question to ask. What I am going to ask is why are you doing this all of a sudden?’

  ‘I am doing nothing all of a sudden. I’ve been thinking and working on this for the last year.’ Then, his words seeming to come from his throat, he said, ‘I’m stuck here for life and…’

  ‘You needn’t be. You could come home, and you would be welcomed as nobody has been welcomed before. And if you didn’t want to travel about…well there would be plenty of scope for you to use your energies inside the grounds.’ Then in a quieter voice he said, ‘Why don’t you, Reg? Why don’t you?’

  ‘Charlie…have you ever looked at me, really looked at me? Do you know something, I frighten myself when I look in the mirror; I do, I frighten myself.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. Your face has improved a thousandfold. And I’ll tell you something: I’ve seen worse than you in Newcastle. Yes, I have. There’s a fellow working on the quay…’

  ‘I don’t want to know about those worse than me—doubtless there are many—my mind is made up. I am not coming home, ever, Charlie. Anyway, I’m in for another set of ops; they tell me I’ll have a real upper lip and, with it, I’ll lose my lisp.’

  ‘You haven’t got a lisp.’

  ‘You haven’t been listening to me.’

  ‘Reg, I’m going to tell you something. I’ll go long before you, so it’s a damn silly thing to pass the place over to me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to bet on who goes first, because you’re almost cured.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘No, it isn’t nonsense. Willett has been on to your man—you see, I’ve gone into this pretty thoroughly—and he says with care you can have a long, normal life. There are hundreds in their fifties walking the country much worse than you. Anyway, you’ve not had a bad bout for years. It was about the time I got my packet, at least that’s what I’m told.’

  They stared at each other for a full minute before Charles said, ‘I don’t know how Agnes is going to take this: she’s always maintained that you would come home and that her life would be whole again. What I mean is, not split between two, even three houses, because she pushes me up to the cottage on every possible occasion; and of course, there’s her mother and the shops.’

  ‘Well, you can tell Aggie from me that she is now mistress of the Hall and that it is half hers until you go. Then when you decide to pop off, she’ll become sole owner.’

  ‘She won’t like it.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I do. Who should know her better? And have you thought of Elaine’s reaction to your arrangements? She might have thought if you were giving the house to anyone, it should go to her. From what I hear, she is going to have a separation from him, and not before time, I should say.’

  ‘Well, financially she’ll be all right, even without what he has to pay her. And if I know anything about Elaine’s character, she won’t want to take on the responsibility of her one-time home. Free from her horse-mad master and procreator of her children, she will put her surviving offspring into school and start living herself, because she really missed all her youth, didn’t she? Anyway, Charlie’—his hand went out and gripped his brother’s—‘you’ll be doing me a favour if you take this off my shoulders. I shall then feel free to start a sort of career here, rehabilitation stuff. I seem to have everybody’s blessing. And you know, I don’t mind being here at all. Believe me, I don’t. You see we’re all in the same boat here: we’re crippled and deformed both mentally and physically. Yet strangely, once you get over that big hump you cease to be permanently unhappy; you stop fighting, except at odd times; and this occurs mostly in dreams, when you feel you’re back in the real thing. But the truth is, Charlie, in so many cases, at least when you first come in here, the real thing would be preferable a thousand times. But oh lord!’ he flapped his one hand now; then clenching it, he punched Charles on the shoulder, saying, ‘Get it into your head I don’t need anyone sorrowing for me any more, or pitying me. Oh, that’s one thing that is utterly forbidden in here: pity from without or within. It’s destructive, you know, pity, self-pity.’

  ‘Reg.’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  Charles let out a long slow-drawn breath before saying, ‘For God’s sake, stop talking! Who are you trying to convince? It’s Charlie you’re talking to. We grew up together, remember? I know all about you. I know more about you than you do about yourself. All right, you’ve made up your mind to stay here, but don’t try to thrust down my neck the wrong reasons for doing so. And…and I’ll look after the place for you, but I’m not going to let you sign it away to me or anybody else.’

  ‘All right then, if you don’t let me sign it over to you and Agnes, and I stress, and Agnes, then it goes to some charity, who’ll turn it into a home for this, that, or the other unworthy cause.’

  Again they were staring at each other. Now Charles said, ‘You wouldn’t do that?’

  ‘Oh yes, I would. And I mean to. It all depends on you.’

  How long they surveyed each other seemed lost in time and in it they went back to their childhood, their boyhood, their youth, and they both knew it had been their home, and that they loved it and must never let it go.

  It should happen that, within a few minutes after Charlie had left Agnes in the waiting room, she walked to the open window which overlooked the drive, and from there she saw a car draw up just outside. A man and a woman stepped out and spoke to a nurse who happened to be going down the steps, and there was a laughing exchange. And then she heard the nurse say, ‘Well, you know your way by now. The last I saw of him, he was in the sitting room cheating Billygoat at cards.’

  Stepping back from the window, she bit on her lip. She’d heard all about Billygoat: he had no legs and just the stump of an arm, but he could use his head and could paint with a brush in his mouth, or push cards around the table with the stump, hence the name of Billygoat. Then there was one called Bloody Bob. Apparently he was a typical Geordie character who punctuated every other word with a curse. Another was called Sexy Max. They all had nicknames; and that nurse had just said that their relative, or whoever he was, was playing cards with the Billygoat. Well, she bit tightly on her lips, if that woman could visit, why couldn’t she? And if she came upon him out of the blue, so to speak, what could he do? Nothing. He would have to look at her and she would have to look at him. And that, she told herself, would be that. And so, drawing herself up to her full height, she walked from the room as if ready for battle.

  In the corridor, she glimpsed the backs of the two visitors disappearing around the far end, and she broke into a run. But when she reached the end of the corridor they had disappeared from view. However, there came to her the sound of voices and laughter and she made her way towards this. It was coming from an open door halfway down a short corridor, and the next minute she had reached it and was standing in the entrance to it. She could see immediately that it was a very large room, with small tables set at intervals here and there, and with various chairs, mostly on wheels, in between. It had two very large windows, and between these was a long leather couch. The first impression was one of austere bareness: the floor was parquet and quite bare. Naturally so, she told herself. But there seemed
to be no colour in the room, no flowers. She glanced to the side of her and there, on the far wall, was what looked from this distance to be a mural, although she couldn’t make out what the subject was.

  No-one seemed to take any notice of her for a moment, until a hunched-up figure in a wheelchair turned his head to the side and called across the room, ‘Come in, love! They’re all tied down.’

  Now all eyes were on her and the room seemed crowded with men, all odd-shaped men, odd-looking men, except for the man who had shouted to her. And when he lifted one arm and beckoned her, she slowly went towards him, and as she did so she noticed there were three sets of visitors in the room, and the couple she had followed smiled at her as she passed them.

  When she reached the man who had spoken, she took in that he seemed to be reclining in his chair, for apparently he had no legs. He had arms, but one lay straight by his side, and when he moved his head it was with the motions of a puppet, as if he was attached to wires.

  He was smiling at her now. ‘Who’re you looking for, love?’

  She found she couldn’t speak for a moment and her jaws champed in an effort to bring saliva into her mouth.

  ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Farrier.’

  ‘Ah-ha! What d’you think of that, lads?’ He was now addressing three men in wheelchairs, who were sitting near a table; two were playing dominoes, the third seemed to be staring fixedly at her. ‘She’s after our Reggie. He gets ’em all.’

  ‘Shut up, Maxie!’ The voice came from behind her, and she turned, to see a man on crutches. He had one leg and he had arms but he was wearing a white ruff round his neck and one side of his face was completely screwed up as if it had shrunk. There was no eye in it. She forced herself to look at him as his face seemed to smile at her, and he said, ‘He’s about, miss. He should be back any minute. He was expecting his brother, I think. Will you take a seat? Here.’ He put out the end of one crutch and pulled a straight-backed cane chair towards her, adding, ‘You a relation, miss?’

  ‘I’m…I’m his sister-in-law.’

  ‘No kiddin’?’

  She smiled at him now, saying, ‘No. No kidding.’

  ‘Well, would you believe that, Maxie! And never lettin’ on.’

  ‘He’s a deep ’un, that one. Wait till I see him.’ The man they called Maxie said, ‘You must be Charlie’s wife then.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m Charlie’s wife.’

  ‘Lucky bloke, Charlie.’

  She answered this with a smile that touched her lips only, for her mind was jumping from one thing to another: their plight, day after day, year after year, nothing to look forward to. Yet they seemed cheery. Don’t be ridiculous. Cheery? What would you expect them to do, cry? This one, Maxie, this is the one they named Sexy Max. I must get out. I mustn’t see him. If he’s anything like these men, my heart will break. What was she talking about? What was she thinking about? Her heart would break. You’ve got to stay now you’re here. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, to see him, to reassure him that no matter what he looked like, he would still be the same to you? What was the matter with her? She felt she might pass out; she wanted a drink of water. Don’t be so damned soft; don’t pass out here. Don’t be a bloody fool, woman! That would help their confidence, wouldn’t it, if you fell on your face because of the sight of them?

  She made herself turn to the man on the crutches and say, ‘Are you Bob?’

  ‘No. No, thank God, I’m not Bob.’ Again his face went into what could have been a smile as he said, ‘I’m Andy, Andy Rippon.’ His distorted features now came down towards her, saying, ‘Have you heard of our Bob, Bloody Bob?’ The bloody was said softly, without emphasis.

  She actually did smile now as she said, ‘Yes. And Billygoat.’ And now she looked at the man opposite her and again the word was without emphasis as she said, ‘Sexy Max.’

  There was laughter all around her now, hearty loud laughter, and Andy Rippon said, ‘Over there. Look! With that stick in his mouth, that’s Billygoat.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. He’s…he’s very clever too.’

  ‘Aye, he is; cleverer than most of us. You see that painting on that wall along there? He did that.’

  She now turned and looked towards the far wall. She still couldn’t make out the subject, but she was wondering about the practical accomplishment, seeing that it reached almost to the ceiling, when Andy, seeming to read her mind, said, ‘We hoisted him up on a platform. He’s doing another one in the games room.’

  Max was speaking again: ‘Tell us about the lousy Colonel,’ he said.

  Before she could reply, Andy Rippon interrupted, explaining, ‘You see miss, the “el” in lousy, it’s short for Lieutenant. You see, miss?’

  She nodded, indicating that she did see, but she couldn’t see that it represented a type of Colonel. But Max continued to press for information: ‘What kind of a house has he? And what was he like beforehand, and things like that?’

  Oh dear God, how could she explain about the house and his way of life. And, too, how could she tell them he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen; and that he was known to be a ladykiller; that he was so charming and kind. Oh, yes, he was kind. She heard her voice saying, ‘Ah well, his house is biggish.’

  ‘How many rooms?’

  ‘Oh’—she looked to the side—‘I think…er…yes, I think there are thirty, all told.’

  Max’s head now moved in the puppet fashion as he looked from one to the other, saying, ‘What d’you think about that? A house with over thirty rooms! My, my! And a garden?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ This was Andy Rippon again. ‘If it’s got thirty rooms, it’ll have grounds. What d’you say, miss?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it has grounds.’

  ‘Has it got a farm?’

  She turned to Max again. ‘No, not a farm,’ she said. ‘There are two cows now and ducks and hens, goats, and…’

  ‘Any pigs? I like pigs. One of the wrongest sayin’s in this world is dirty pigs, ’cos pigs aren’t dirty. We kept pigs, me dad did. They’re like rabbits, they have their own…well, you know, miss, places for doin’ their business.’

  ‘Shut up, Maxie, about your pigs and your rabbits, ’cos you’ll get such a punch on that chin of yours you’ll find yourself back in the middle of that sty!’

  There was laughter again in which Max joined.

  And so it went on, she felt, endlessly. She was introduced to Bloody Bob. She was introduced to Billygoat and his parents, and she was amazed how they could be so cheerful; and more so when she looked into the bright blue eyes, the intelligent eyes of their son.

  It was as she came to the point of being overwhelmed by waves of sorrow that two men entered the room. One was Charles, but the sight of the other made her want to cry out, ‘Oh no! No!’ The man had stopped suddenly, one step behind Charles. Then she saw Charles turn slightly and put his hand on his brother’s arm and almost lead him forward; and she heard his voice saying rather stiffly, ‘I left you in the waiting room.’ Then her own voice answering, ‘I…I got very bored; I took a walk. And…and I’m glad I did, for these gentlemen’—she motioned her hand around the silent group—‘have been very kind.’

  ‘Couldn’t help but be, ma’am.’ It was Andy Rippon’s voice breaking the tension that was evident between the bonny young woman and the Colonel and his brother. ‘Max here has been doin’ his stuff, as usual. Can’t keep a good man down, you know, Colonel.’

  There was silence again; and now she was looking full into the face of this stranger, this strange-looking being. The only thing recognisable about him was his eyes. The skin down to the corner of his mouth on the right side of his face was untouched, as was his ear. But for the rest it was a replica of the man on crutches, only worse, for there was some shape left to that man’s mouth, whereas the face she was looking at seemed to have a mere slit. The upper lip was shapeless, and although there was a fullness to the bottom lip the skin was scarred, as it was all up the other side of his face; yet no
t only scarred, it was as if the face had been remade in small patches and badly sewn together. These ran right to the corners of his eyes. The side of his brow seemed to be normally skinned, yet it was of a pale colour, almost a sickly grey. Then there was his hair, a luxuriant mass of brown remained in a broad strip on the right side of his head; for the rest it was dark, almost black and inclined to curl close to his scalp.

  She could understand now his refusal to let her see him. But oh! Oh, Reg! Poor, poor Reg. Oh, my dear, my dear, what must I say? How can I speak?

  ‘Hello, Reg.’

  Was that her voice? And now his came to her through that slit, saying, ‘Will you come this way?’ And she watched him turn abruptly and march down the room; and as Charles went to take her arm, Max said, ‘Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s often like that. Isn’t it, Andy?’

  And Andy confirmed this by saying, ‘Yes, ma’am, it’s often like this. But he’ll get over it. And it’s likely the best thing that’s happened to him.’ And looking at Charles, he said, ‘What d’you say; sir?’ And Charles replied, ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Then he led Agnes from the room.

  They were standing in the bedroom now and Reg, looking at her, said one word, ‘Satisfied?’

  She forced herself to answer ‘Yes. Yes, Reg, I’m satisfied. I’m satisfied in the knowledge that I was right in the beginning. I…I should have been with you from the first and it was unfair of you to keep me away, for no matter what has happened to you, you are still the same inside.’

  ‘I am not! I am bloody well not!’

  ‘Reg. Reg.’

  Reg now turned on Charles, crying, ‘And you can shut up. You know nothing about it. No-one knows anything about it except this lot in here; they’ve all been through it. I must show you round.’ His voice had taken on an artificially pleasant note now. ‘You’ll be surprised; or perhaps you won’t after seeing me; but nevertheless, we’ll do a tour.’