by John Wyndham
Zellaby’s eyes crinkled a little at the corners as he watched his daughter.
Alan put his hand over hers.
‘I think we ought to wait a bit, don’t you?’ he told her.
‘Darling,’ said Ferrelyn, twining her fingers in his. Turning her head after a long look at him, she caught her father’s expression. Treating him to a determinedly unresponsive look, she turned to Angela, and asked for more details of the village’s reactions. Half an hour later they went out, leaving the two men alone together. Alan barely waited for the door to latch before he broke out.
‘I say, sir, this is a bit of a facer, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ Zellaby agreed. ‘The best consolation I can offer is that we find the shock wears off. The most painful part is the opening assault on one’s prejudices – I speak for our sex, of course. For the women that is, unfortunately, only the first hurdle.’
Alan shook his head.
‘This is going to be a terrible blow for Ferrelyn, I’m afraid – as it must have been to Angela,’ he added, a little hurriedly. ‘Of course, one can’t expect her, Ferrelyn, I mean, to take in all the implications at once. A thing like this needs a bit of absorbing.…’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Zellaby, ‘as Ferrelyn’s husband you have the right to think all sorts of things about her, but one of the things you must not do, for your own peace of mind, is to underestimate her. Ferrelyn, I assure you, was away ahead of you. I doubt whether she’s missed a trick. She was certainly far enough ahead to move in with a lightweight remark because she knew that if she seemed worried, you would worry about her.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ said Alan, a little flatly.
‘I do,’ said Zellaby. ‘Furthermore, it was sensible of her. A fruitlessly worrying male is a nuisance. The best thing he can do is to disguise his worry, and stand staunchly by, impersonating a pillar of strength while performing certain practical and organizational services. I offer you the fruit of somewhat intensive experience.
‘Another thing he can do is represent Modern Knowledge and Commonsense – but tactfully. You can have no idea of the number of venerable saws, significant signs, old wives’ sooths, gipsies’ warnings, and general fiddle-faddle that has been thrown up by this in the village, lately. We have become a folklorist’s treasure-chest. Did you know that in our circumstances it is dangerous to pass under a lych-gate on a Friday? Practically suicide to wear green? Very unwise indeed to eat seed-cake? Are you aware that if a dropped knife, or needle, sticks point down in the floor it will be a boy? No? I thought you might not be. But never mind. I am assembling a bouquet of these cauliflowers of human wisdom in the hope that they may keep my publishers quiet.’
Alan inquired with belated politeness after the progress of the Current Work. Zellaby sighed sadly.
‘I am supposed to deliver the final draft of The British Twilight by the end of next month. So far I have written three chapters of this supposedly contemporary study. If I could remember what they deal with, I’ve no doubt I should find them obsolete by now. It ruins a man’s concentration to have a crêche hanging over his head.’
‘What is amazing me as much as anything is that you’ve managed to keep it quiet. I’d have said you hadn’t a chance,’ Alan told him.
‘I did say it,’ Zellaby admitted. ‘And I’m still astonished. I think it must be a kind of variant on The Emperor’s Clothes theme – either that, or an inversion of the Hitler Big Lie – a truth too big to be believed. But, mind you, both Oppley and Stouch are saying unneighbourly things about some of us that they’ve noticed, though they appear to have no idea of the real scale. I’m told that there is a theory current in both of them that we have all been indulging in one of those fine old uninhibited rustic frenzies on Hallowe’en. Anyway, several of the inhabitants almost gather their skirts aside as we pass. I must say that our people have restrained themselves commendably, under some provocation.’
‘But do you mean that only a mile or two away they’ve no idea what’s really happened?’ Alan asked incredulously.
‘I’d not say that, so much as that they don’t want to believe it. They must have heard fairly fully I imagine, but they choose to believe that that is all a tale to cover up something more normal, but disgraceful. Willers was right when he said that a kind of self-protective reflex would defend the ordinary man and woman from disquieting beliefs – That is unless it should get into print. On the word of a newspaper, of course, eighty or ninety per cent would swing to the opposite extreme, and believe anything. The cynical attitude in the other villages really helps. It means that a newspaper is unlikely to get anything to go on unless it is directly informed by someone inside the village.
‘Internal stresses were worst for the first week or two after our announcement. Several of the husbands were awkward to handle, but once we got it out of their heads that it was some elaborate system of whitewashing or spoofing, and when they discovered that none of the others was in a position to make a butt of them, they became more reasonable, and less conventional.
‘The Lamb-Latterly breach was mended after a few days, when Miss Latterly got over the shock, and Miss Lamb is now being cosseted with a devotion scarcely to be distinguished from tyranny.
‘Our leading rebel for some time was Tilly.… Oh, you must have seen Tilly Foresham – jodhpurs, roll-neck, hacking-jacket, dragged hither and thither by the whim of fate in the form of three golden retrievers.… She protested indignantly for some time that she would not mind much if she happened to like babies; but, as she much preferred puppies, the whole thing was particularly hard on her. However, she seems now to have given in, though grudgingly.’
Zellaby rambled on for a time with anecdotes of the emergency, concluding with the one in which Miss Ogle had been narrowly headed off from making the first payment, in her own name, for the most resplendent perambulator that Trayne could offer.
After a pause, Alan prompted:
‘You did say that about ten who might be expected to be involved actually are not?’
‘Yes. And five of those were in the bus on the Oppley road, and therefore under observation during the Dayout – that has at least done something to dispel the idea of a fertilizing gas which some seemed to be inclined to adopt as one of the new scientific horrors of our age,’ Zellaby told him.
CHAPTER 11
Well Played, Midwich
‘I AM really sorry,’ Bernard Westcott wrote to me early in May, ‘that circumstances preclude well-deserved official congratulations to your village on the success of the operation to date. It has been conducted with a discretion and communal loyalty which, frankly, has astonished us; most of us here were of the opinion that it would prove necessary to take official action well before this. Now, with only some seven weeks to go before D-day, we are hopeful that we may get through without it.
‘The matter which has given us the greatest concern so far was in connexion with Miss Frazer, on Mr Crimm’s staff, and so, one might say, not the fault of the village proper – nor even of the lady herself.
‘Her father, a naval commander, retired, and a fire-eater of some truculence, was bent on trouble – all set to get questions asked in the House about loose-living and orgiastic goings-on in government establishments. Anxious, apparently, to make a Fleet Street holiday of his daughter. Luckily we were able to arrange for suitably influential people to have a few effective words with him in time.
‘What is your own opinion? Do you think Midwich will last it out?’
That was far from easy to answer. If there were no major upset, I thought it might stand a good chance: on the other hand, one could not fail to be anxiously aware of the unexpected, lurking round any corner – the small detonator that might set things off.
We had had our ups and downs, though, and managed to get through them. Sometimes, they seemed to come from nowhere and spread like an infection. The worst, which looked at one time like becoming a panic, was allayed by Dr Willers who hurrie
dly arranged X-ray facilities and was able to show that all appeared to be quite normal.
The general attitude in May one could describe as a bracing-up, with here and there an impatient desire to let battle commence. Dr Willers, normally an ardent advocate of having one’s baby in Trayne hospital, had reversed his usual advice. For one thing, it would, particularly if there should be anything untoward about the babies, render all attempts to keep the matter quiet utterly useless. For another, Trayne did not have the beds to cope with such a phenomenon as a simultaneous application by the whole female population of Midwich – and that alone would certainly have been fuel for publicity – so he went on wearing and flogging himself to make the best local arrangements he could. Nurse Daniels, too, was tireless, and it was a matter for thanksgiving by the whole village that she had happened to be away from home at the critical time of the Dayout. Willers, it was understood, had a temporary assistant booked for the first week in June, and a sort of commando of midwives signed-up for later on. The small committee-room in the Village Hall had been requisitioned as a supply-base, and several large cartons from firms of manufacturing chemists had already arrived.
Mr Leebody was working himself dead tired, too. There was much sympathy for him on account of Mrs Leebody, and he was more regarded in the village than he ever had been before. Mrs Zellaby was holding resolutely to her solidarity line, and, aided by Janet, continued to proclaim that Midwich would meet whatever was to come with a united front, and unafraid. It was, I think, chiefly on account of their work that we had come so far with – except in the matter of Mrs Leebody and one or two others – so little psychosomatic trouble.
Zellaby had operated, as might be expected, in less definable capacities, one of which he described as chief liquidator of the all-my-eye-and-crystal-balls division, and he had shown a pretty knack of causing nonsense to wilt, without putting backs up. One suspected that he was also supplying quite a little help where there was need and hardship.
Mr Crimm’s worries with his Establishments Branch continued. He had been making increasingly urgent appeals to Bernard Westcott, and reached the point of saying that the only thing that would save a scandal throughout the Civil Service soon would be for his research project to be switched, and quickly, from ministerial to War Office control. Bernard, it seemed, was trying to achieve that, insisting the while that the whole affair must be kept quiet for just as long as it was possible to hold it.
‘Which, from the Midwich point of view,’ said Mr Crimm, with a shrug, ‘is all to the good. But what the devil it can matter to M.I. I still don’t begin to see.…’
∗
By mid-May there was a perceptible change. Hitherto, the spirit of Midwich had been not ill-attuned with that of the burgeoning season all around. It would be too much to say that it now went out of tune, but there was a certain muting of its strings. It acquired an air of abstraction; a more pensive mien.
‘This,’ remarked Willers to Zellaby, one day, ‘is where we begin to stiffen the sinews.’
‘Some quotations,’ said Zellaby, ‘are greatly improved by lack of context, but I take your meaning. One of the things that isn’t helping is the nattering of stupid old women. What with one thing and another, it is such an exceptionally good wicket for beldames. I wish they could be stopped.’
‘They’re only one of the hazards. There are plenty more.’
Zellaby pondered glumly for a little, then he said:
‘Well, we can only keep on trying. I suppose we have done pretty well not to have more trouble with it some time ago.’
‘A lot better than one thought possible – and nearly all of it due to Mrs Zellaby,’ the doctor told him.
Zellaby hesitated, and then made up his mind.
‘I’m rather concerned about her, Willers. I wonder if you could – well, have a talk with her.’
‘A talk?’
‘She’s more worried than she has let us see. It came out a bit a couple of nights ago. Nothing particular to start it. I happened to look up and found her staring at me, as though she were hating me. She doesn’t you know.… Then, as if I had said something, she broke out: “It’s all very well for a man. He doesn’t have to go through this sort of thing, and he knows he never will have to. How can he understand? He may mean as well as a saint, but he’s always on the outside. He can never know what it’s like, even in a normal way – so what sort of an idea can he have of this? – Of how it feels to lie awake at night with the humiliating knowledge that one is simply being used? – As if one were not a person at all, but just a kind of mechanism, a sort of incubator.… And then go on wondering, hour after hour, night after night, what – just what it may be that one is being forced to incubate. Of course you can’t understand how that feels – how could you! It’s degrading, it’s intolerable. I shall crack soon. I know I shall. I can’t go on like this much longer.” ’
Zellaby paused, and shook his head.
‘There’s so damned little one can do. I didn’t try to stop her. I thought it would be better for her to let it out. But I’d be glad if you would talk to her, convince her. She knows that all the tests and X-rays show normal development – but she’s got it into her head that it would be professionally necessary for you to say that, in any case. And I suppose it would.’
‘It’s true – thank heaven,’ the doctor told him. ‘I don’t know what the devil I’d have done if it weren’t – but I know we couldn’t have just gone on as we have. I assure you the patients can’t be more relieved that it is so than I am. So don’t you worry, I’ll set her mind at rest on that point, at any rate. She’s not the first to think it, and she’ll certainly not be the last. But, as soon as we get one thing nailed, they’ll find others to worry themselves with.
‘This is going to be a very, very dodgy time all round.…’
∗
In a week, it began to look as if Willers’ prophecy would prove a pale understatement. The feeling of tension was contagious, and almost palpably increasing day by day. At the end of another week Midwich’s united front had weakened sadly. With self-help beginning to show inadequacy, Mr Leebody had to bear more and more of the weight of communal anxiety. He did not spare any pains. He arranged special daily services, and for the rest of the day drove himself on from one parishioner to another, giving what encouragement he could.
Zellaby found himself quite superfluous. Rationalism was in disfavour. He maintained an unusual silence, and would have accepted invisibility, too, had it been offered.
‘Have you noticed,’ he inquired, dropping in one evening at Mr Crimm’s cottage, ‘have you noticed the way they glare at one? Rather as if one had been currying favour with the Creator in order to be given the other sex. Quite unnerving at times. Is it the same at The Grange?’
‘It began to be,’ Mr Crimm admitted, ‘but we got them away on leave a day or two ago. Those who wanted to go home have gone there. The rest are in billets arranged by the doctor. We are getting more work done, as a result. It was becoming a little difficult.’
‘Understatement,’ said Zellaby. ‘As it happens, I have never worked in a fireworks factory, but I know just what it must be like. I feel that at any moment something ungoverned, and rather horrible, may break out. And there’s nothing one can do but wait, and hope it doesn’t happen. Frankly, how we are going to get through another month or so of it, I don’t know.’ He shrugged and shook his head.
∗
At the very moment of that despondent shake, however, the situation was in the process of being unexpectedly improved.
For Miss Lamb, who had adopted the custom of a quiet evening stroll, carefully supervised by Miss Latterly, that evening underwent a misadventure. One of the milk-bottles neatly arranged outside the back door of their cottage had somehow been overturned, and, as they left, Miss Lamb stepped on it. It rolled beneath her foot, and she fell.…
Miss Latterly carried her back indoors, and rushed to the telephone.…
∗
Mrs Willers was still waiting up for her husband when he came back, five hours later. She heard the car drive up, and when she opened the door he was standing on the threshold, dishevelled, and blinking at the light. She had seen him like that only once or twice in their married life, and caught his arm anxiously.
‘Charley. Charley, my dear, what is it? Not – ?’
‘Rather drunk, Milly. Sorry. Take no notice,’ he said.
‘Oh, Charley! Was the baby – ?’
‘Reaction, m’dear. Jus’ reaction. Baby’s perfect, you see. Nothing wrong with the baby. Nothing ’t all. Perfect.’
‘Oh, thank God for that,’ exclaimed Mrs Willers, meaning it as fervently as she had ever meant any prayer.
‘Got golden eyes,’ said her husband. ‘Funny – but nothing against having golden eyes, is there?’
‘No, dear, of course not.’
‘Perfect, ’cept for golden eyes. Not wrong at all.’
Mrs Willers helped him out of his coat, and steered him into the sitting-room. He dropped into a chair and sat there slackly, staring before him.
‘S-so s-silly, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘All that worrying. And now it’s perfect. I – I – I –’ He burst suddenly into tears, and covered his face with his hands.
Mrs Willers sat down on the arm of his chair, and laid her arm round his shoulders.
‘There, there, my darling. It’s all right, dear. It’s over now.’ She turned his face towards her own, and kissed him.
‘Might’ve been black, or yellow, or green, or like a monkey. X-rays no good to tell that,’ he said. ‘’F the women of Midwich do the right thing by Miss Lamb, should be window to her, in the church.’
‘I know, my dear, I know. But you don’t need to worry about that any more. You said it’s perfect.’