by John Hanley
‘Nonsense, you stay, talk to Yak. You say you have thing to tell him.’
Rachel’s face reddened.
‘Not now, Malita. I have to go. My parents will be expecting their tea.’
‘Ah, you too soft with them. They have hands. They make own food.’ She sounded exasperated as though this was an old argument, often repeated.
‘Why aren’t you two at work?’ I asked.
‘We’re surprised as well. They closed the workroom so we could watch the ship arrive. I suppose we’ll have to make the time up later. You looked very smart, Jack,’ Rachel answered as she got up and held her chair for me.
I brushed against her as I moved to sit down. The chair was warm from her body and a faint scent, more simple than Caroline’s exotic perfumes, hung in the air. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy, as though she had been crying. I knew that she and Malita worked together in the dressmaking department at de Gruchys, but hadn’t realised they were this close. I felt like I’d broken into an intimate conversation. Malita led her to the door.
She paused and smiled back at me. ‘I would like to speak to you sometime, Jack. It’s not important though. When you have a moment…’ her voice tailed off as she turned away.
I was intrigued. We’d been friends for years but she’d never spoken like that before, as though she were frightened of me. What had I done? Should I go after her? I got up as I heard the front door close.
Malita blocked my way. ‘Not for now, Yak. She need time, alone.’ She shrugged and motioned me to sit. Grabbing a ladle from the range, she banged it against one of the copper pans hanging above. Once they’d stopped reverberating, I heard movement from the basement, followed by footfalls on the wooden steps. Uncle Fred, wearing overalls, covered in sawdust, appeared from the passageway.
‘Jack, coumme est qu’ tu’es ?’ He limped over and grasped me on both shoulders. ‘I, y,a Iongtemps qu, je n,vos avais pon veu.’
It hadn’t been that long but I had neglected them since Caroline had returned from her travels. I had brought her round to meet them. I wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
‘Tch’est qu’en s’ait d’eune tassee d’thee?’ Fred motioned me to sit at the pine table while Malita turned to the kettle.
‘Yes, please, Uncle, if you’re having one.’ I watched as Malita rattled the teapot out of the cupboard.
‘Well, young man, what have you been up to then – playing at soldiers?’ In sharp contrast to his use of our Jèrriais language, Fred’s English accent was guaranteed to raise eyebrows, if not hackles. It was pure home counties, languid yet piercing, its contorted vowels a superb counterfeit of the aristocratic disdain which he so despised. He derived great amusement from mimicking his “class” enemy.
‘Doing one’s duty, Uncle.’ I put on my own best accent.
Fred’s lined face creased into a wide grin. ‘From the look of you, not a labour of love, I vow.’
‘It was a bit hot, Uncle, in fact, someone had to jump into the harbour to cool off.’
I told the story while Malita served the tea, reducing both of them to fits with my impersonation of Phillips.
‘You need to be careful, Jack. His self-importance has cleansed his veins of any dint of kindness. Like all bullies, he’s vulnerable to ridicule and won’t forgive anyone who bests him.’
‘He’s married, isn’t he?’ I asked.
‘Yes, poor Doris. She’s the living proof that love is indeed blind.’ Fred chuckled.
‘Do they have any children?’
He peered at me. ‘Interesting question, Jack. What prompted that?’
‘Well I was talking to Nutty about him –’
‘Hedley Pallot? And what did the old gossip have to say?’
‘Not much but he did hint at a few things.’
He smiled. ‘I bet he did. Did he tell you that Phillips does a lot of charity work with children?’
‘Why?’
‘Entre nous, and not to be repeated. He was posted to Palestine, caught something nasty – probably from a camel. Can’t have any children of his own.’
‘And that should make me feel sorry for him?’
‘Perhaps. It changed him. He used to be a bit wild but now he’s obsessed with rules, hence the refereeing and busybody policing. He’s always been a bit of a loner but he’s stubborn and well-connected, though not overly blessed with intelligence. That makes him potentially dangerous.’
‘He didn’t go to college, did he?’
‘No. Not enough brains and the family didn’t have the money. That’s something else that grates on him.’
I sucked in a breath. ‘What do you know about a fight he had with Father?’
He stared at me, measuring how much I knew, then laughed. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Oh, at the club. Is it true?’
‘Hedley again, I suppose. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your father about that.’
‘Oh, come on, Uncle, spill the beans.’
He considered for a moment. ‘Alright, but you didn’t hear it from me. Which fight are you talking about?’
‘There’s more than one?’
‘Oh, yes. Your father isn’t a forgiving person either.’
Didn’t I know that. ‘The one during the water polo match. The one over the girl.’
He coughed and sprayed tea over the table. ‘My sister, you mean?’
‘Oh, God. Not my mother? She didn’t, you know, with Phillips?’
‘No, no. Phillips let his interest be known, as they say, and Mary used that to encourage your father to be more forceful. He was very shy then. Phillips misread her interest and thought Aubin was trying to steal her. They had words, which turned into fists. It was very embarrassing at the time. The committee had to sit in judgement and banned them both from competitions for a couple of weeks. Sound familiar, Jack?’
How did he know? Of course, Rachel must have told them. ‘Was there another fight?’
‘Yes, but you’ll need to ask your father about that. I wasn’t there and no one else saw it. I heard that Phillips’ face looked as though it had been used to mop the sawdust off the floor in his butcher’s shop.’
‘Did Father fight with him there?’
‘No, that was me. I was trying to persuade one of his employees to join the union. Phillips found out and sacked him. I confronted him in the shop. I was arrested.’ From his tone, it wasn’t a pleasant memory. ‘I’ll get even one day, when he isn’t hiding behind the parish police.’ He smiled to hide the bitterness in his voice. ‘Anyway, what are you going to do about the fragrant Caroline?’
‘Apart from give her another bath you mean?’
They laughed.
‘Not much I can do. I’ve messed up there. It’s not all her fault. In fact, I think I’ve behaved like a pig.’
‘“Chein q’nou n’a jamais veu, et jamais n’vairra, ch’est un nid d’souothis dans I’ouotheille d’un cat.”’
I translated, ‘What one has never seen, and will never see, is a mouse’s nest in a cat’s ear. Is that right?’
‘Exactly. Mistress Caroline has you by the nose, young man. You must find her company very…’ a strange smile flickered across his face, as though a distant memory had been disturbed. He paused, searching for the right word. ‘Stimulating.’
‘He is lucky young man, she is strong and honest lady. I like.’ Malita beamed at me. ‘I like also much Rachel. Is difficult choice, no?’ Her grin widened. I felt my cheeks colour.
‘What do you mean, Malita?’
She laughed and turned to Fred. ‘He is, how you say, making a pull of my leg, no?’
Fred chortled. ‘No, Lita. He doesn’t understand what you mean.’
‘Si, Yak, you come here. Look in mirror.’
Amused, I followed her round the table and stood in front of the tarnished mirror. ‘You look and tell what is you see.’
‘Humour her, Jack.’
‘Okay, I see my mother’s curls, though they need a cut
. Uncle Fred’s broken nose.’ I ducked as a lump of cake flew towards me. I scrutinised my face. ‘My father’s eyes, without the wrinkles of course. A chin in need of a shave, some cuts from this morning’s hurried effort –’
‘What else, Yak?’ Malita moved closer to me.
‘Dusty uniform, too small round the shoulders, collar too tight.’ I turned to her. ‘What am I looking for?’
Fred laughed. ‘I think she means that you might have a problem with girls, Jack.’
‘Problem, you say problem. Is no problem for him. Is, how you say, big battle for girls.’ She grinned, teasing me, digging her hand into my curls.
‘That’s nonsense, Malita. I think I’m quite shy.’
‘Shy. What is this “shy”? I see you on the stage.’ She clapped her hands together in delight. ‘You make the yoke, eh, shy for Shylock.’ She poked me in the ribs. ‘This is clever, but you lie. Girls, they love you with your curls, your hot eyes, your smile, even with silly beard. You fill the hall with your voice, your charm. Even when you lose, and the Christian is saved, they cry for you, these girls.’
‘But, that’s acting, Malita, only acting.’
‘You no shy. I think you know who you are, my Yak.’
‘That’s enough, Lita, you’re embarrassing him. He’s eighteen, leave him some innocence.’
I felt very self-conscious as Malita moved closer and placed her hands on either side of my face. ‘Is too late. The war has begun.’
I pulled away, retreated to my uncle. ‘I’m sorry, Malita. You’re wrong. Rachel is just a friend.’ I shrugged. ‘And after today, I think Caroline and I are finished anyway.’
‘Just as well.’ Fred sounded more serious.
‘You no listen, Yak, he is old man, no understand how it is now.’
‘Not so old that I can’t recognise trouble when I see it; wilful, self-opinionated, arrogant.’
‘Yak, that is what he no like –’
‘Her father is nothing more than –’
‘Please, Uncle, she can’t help her father.’ I was somewhat surprised to find myself defending her but I wanted to divert Fred before the floodgates of his obsession opened wide.
‘It’s bastards like him who will destroy us. Capitalists, greedy pigs, feeding fat in the trough whilst the workers starve.’
‘Uncle, you sound like a pamphleteer.’
He looked startled then smiled. ‘Do I now? I didn’t know you read that sort of literature.’
‘I don’t as a rule, but you sound so one-sided –’
‘I suppose you have discussions at school, do you? Weigh all the evidence, look at both sides, come out with a balanced view, eh?’
It wasn’t quite that simple. My classmates didn’t care for political discussion. ‘You’ve told me about what happened in the war and I think I understand –’
‘Oh, that’s good, then. You think you understand what it’s like in the trenches.’ He was in full flow now, his sarcasm tearing at me. Like a toppling wave, I could dive under it, ride it ashore, let it swamp me or throw myself straight into it and risk a heavy bruising.
‘For God’s sake, Uncle. You know damn well, I can’t understand. I used the wrong word. I’ve listened to you. I try to understand. I’ll always listen, but only if you don’t bloody shout!’
He laughed. ‘Good for you. That’s my Jack, nil carborundum, or haven’t you been taught that one yet?’
‘It’s my personal motto. I won’t let the bastards grind me down. Not that I see you as –’
‘Quite, though perhaps sometimes I act as one, eh?’
Over 800 Jerseymen had not returned from the war. Three of them would have been my uncles. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I find it difficult to understand. I’ve never seen a dead body, never been in a real fight.’ Though my neck felt like it had. ‘How could I understand what happened to you in Belgium or Russia? I’ve never even seen snow.’
‘Well, I never want to see any again, I can tell you.’ His eyes misted over and he swallowed with difficulty. ‘The problem with snow is that it shows up the blood, Jack. I never knew there was so much blood until they sent us to that wasteland. 200,000 of us to save the Tsar. Save him? I wanted to kill the fucking bastard!’
His eyes blazed now with an anger I didn’t want to touch. His vile words echoed in the small room. Whatever had happened to him in those frozen wastes was way beyond my understanding.
We supped our tea in silence, Malita and I conscious of Fred’s inner battle with his emotions.
Eventually, the resonance subsided. He turned to me. ‘How’s your training with Mr Pavas going?’
‘How do you know about that? Christ, are there no secrets in this island?’
‘Don’t be silly, Jack. Of course there aren’t.’ He stroked his nose. ‘I’ve still got a few though, despite my friends at the town hall. Take your Mr Pavas – you call him Miko, don’t you?’
‘That’s what he asked us to call him.’
‘Now, he is a very interesting man and I bet you know nothing about him, do you?’
‘Enough. He knows what he’s talking about and he’s improved my swimming.’
Fred laughed. ‘He could improve your mind as well. He won’t have told you, but he was a lecturer in physics in Timisoara, in Romania, before the fascists expelled him from the university.’
‘Physics?’ I was trying to reconcile my image of a university teacher with the picture presented by Miko but failed. He always wore the same khaki shorts, white polo shirt, blue cotton cap and brown sandals. He looked more like a beachcomber than a professor. Even when he was dressed up as a waiter in his penguin suit, with his shaven head, he looked anything but an academic.
‘Yes, he’s desperate to get back to a university. He claims it’s an interesting time in his special field of transmutation, whatever that means.’
‘I know he’s trying to get to England but he can’t get a permit. Why’s that, Uncle?’
‘Why do you think? They’re trying to limit the number of Jews, that’s why.’
‘Even clever ones?’
‘Especially clever ones. Never mind, their loss is our gain.’ He winked and I realised that he would be working on Miko to turn him into a Communist. Fred had some murky connections.
‘No, he’s never mentioned physics but he has a scientific approach to training though I sometimes find his explanations hard to follow. Do you know that water is 800 times more dense than the air and that to double your swimming speed you need to increase your effort by eight times?’
‘Ah, that would be Newton’s third law of action and reaction.’
‘How the –’
‘I do remember some things from my school days, obviously more than you. Do you just daydream in science lessons?’
‘Of course not. I think constructively and sometimes work out how I’m going to beat you at chess.’
‘Aha, so you are dreaming.’
‘I bet you didn’t know that, though a man can outrun a horse over a short distance, he will never outswim a fish.’
‘I know you won’t. It seems you have difficulty outswimming a Dutchman.’
Sometimes our conversations were a bit like our games of chess. One day I would win one. I knew Malita held the same forlorn hope. I smiled, acknowledging defeat.
He slurped his tea. ‘How’s your mother?’
No query about my father then. One day I’d find out why they hated each other but not from either of them.
‘She’s fine, Alan’s as tall as me now, still mad on shooting things. Dying to join the army. Excuse the pun. The farm’s doing well. Father’s okay. We speak. Well, I listen. I think Mum misses you.’ Big mouth, had to let it slip out.
He glanced at Malita. ‘I miss her too.’ He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I felt the emotion he couldn’t put into words. ‘Anyway, one day, we’ll pop out and see them all, won’t we, Lita?’
I knew there was a greater chance of snow falling in July than those two turn
ing up on our porch.
He rattled the teapot. ‘What did you think of the destroyer then? Would you want to go to war on it? Or would you prefer your cousin’s command.’
‘Sheffield? Oh, come on Uncle, Ed doesn’t know me. He must be at least six times removed. I didn’t even get an invite to look her over. Did you go?’
‘Strange thing, Jack. You know every boat going out to her was “full” when I tried – no room for undesirables on one of His Majesty’s ships.’
I hadn’t realised. ‘Anyway, there isn’t going to be a war, Uncle. Hitler isn’t a complete idiot. How can he take on two empires? How could he attack the Maginot Line?’
Fred picked up the breadbin and grabbed several cups. He plonked the bin down on one edge of the table, turned the cups upside down and placed them at roughly six-inch intervals on the surface so that they formed a line from the bin to the other edge. Finally, he filled the gap from the last teacup to the edge of the table with a tea towel.
‘Voilà, the Maginot Line.’ He thumped the bin. ‘Swiss border – mountains.’ Reaching across, he ruffled the tea towel. ‘Belgium border – no mountains.’
He inspected his model then got up and returned with a scrubbing brush. He upended it and placed it between two of the cups. ‘Ardennes Forest – impenetrable. Huh. In between, forts with interlocking fields of fire.’
He looked up at me. ‘Right, Jack, how do you defeat this?’
‘Go round it? Over the tea towel?’
He thumped the table. ‘Yes. If you can see that, why can’t the French?’ Before I could answer, he continued. ‘The Germans won’t stay on the chessboard, you know. Anyway, Maginot’s plan created employment so it satisfied the socialists. It was designed to be defensive, so it satisfied the pacifists and it gave the army somewhere to put its soldiers. As a defence against Hitler, it is as much use as a sand castle.’
He sighed. ‘I suppose you discuss this at school, read the Evening Post, listen to the BBC? Do you also listen to the German Radio or read their papers?’
‘Of course not.’ I felt rather uncomfortable at the suggestion.
‘Yak, take no notice – he worry too much. Look.’ She bent over and pulled two cardboard boxes from a cupboard. Their shape looked familiar. She opened one and pulled out a gas mask.