by Ken Follett
Tonio nodded. "All right," he said dully.
As they wound their way through the trees, Hugh wondered again why Tonio was so disturbed. After all, bullying was nothing new at Windfield. What had happened at the pool after Hugh had escaped? But Tonio said nothing more about it all the way back.
The school was a collection of six buildings that had once been the hub of a large farm, and their dormitory was in the old dairy near the chapel. To get there they had to go over a wall and cross the fives court. They climbed the wall and peeped over. The courtyard was deserted, as Hugh had expected, but all the same he hesitated. The thought of the Striper whipping his behind made him cringe. But there was no alternative. He had to get back into school and put on dry clothes.
"All clear," he whispered. "Off we go!"
They jumped over the wall together and sprinted across the court to the cool shade of the stone-built chapel. So far, so good. Then they crept around the east end, staying close to the wall. Next there was a short dash across the drive and into their building. Hugh paused. There was no one in sight. "Now!" he said.
The two boys ran across the road. Then, as they reached the door, disaster struck. A familiar, authoritative voice rang out: "Pilaster Minor! Is that you?" And Hugh knew that the game was up.
His heart sank. He stopped and turned. Mr. Offerton had chosen that very moment to come out of the chapel, and now stood in the shadow of the porch, a tall, dyspeptic figure in a college gown and mortarboard hat. Hugh stifled a groan. Mr. Offerton, whose money had been stolen, was the least likely of all the masters to show mercy. It would be the Striper. The muscles of his bottom clenched involuntarily.
"Come here, Pilaster," Mr. Offerton said.
Hugh shuffled over to him, with Tonio following behind. Why do I take such risks? Hugh thought in despair.
"Headmaster's study, right away," said Mr. Offerton.
"Yes, sir," Hugh said miserably. It was getting worse and worse. When the head saw how he was dressed he would probably be sacked from the school. And how would he explain it to his mother?
"Off you go!" the master said impatiently.
The two boys turned away, but Mr. Offerton said: "Not you, Silva."
Hugh and Tonio exchanged a quick mystified look. Why should Hugh be punished and not Tonio? But they could not question orders, and Tonio escaped into the dormitory while Hugh made for the head's house.
He could feel the Striper already. He knew he would cry, and that was even worse than the pain, for at the age of thirteen he felt he was too old to cry.
The head's house was on the far side of the school compound, and Hugh walked very slowly, but he got there all too soon, and the maid opened the door a second after he rang.
He met Dr. Poleson in the hall. The headmaster was a bald man with a bulldog's face, but for some reason he did not look as thunderously angry as he should have. Instead of demanding to know why Hugh was out of his room and dripping wet, he simply opened the study door and said quietly: "In here, young Pilaster." No doubt he was saving his rage for the flogging. Hugh went in with his heart pounding.
He was astonished to see his mother sitting there.
Worse yet, she was weeping.
"I only went swimming!" Hugh blurted out.
The door closed behind him and he realized the head had not followed him in.
Then he began to understand that this had nothing to do with his breaking detention and going swimming, and losing his clothing, and being found half naked.
He had a dreadful feeling it was much worse than that.
"Mother, what is it?" he said. "Why have you come?"
"Oh, Hugh," she sobbed, "your father's dead."
Section 3
SATURDAY WAS THE BEST DAY OF THE WEEK for Maisie Robinson. On Saturday Papa got paid. Tonight there would be meat for supper, and new bread.
She sat on the front doorstep with her brother, Danny, waiting for Papa to come home from work. Danny was thirteen, two years older than Maisie, and she thought he was wonderful, even though he was not always kind to her.
The house was one of a row of damp, airless dwellings in the dockland neighborhood of a small town on the northeast coast of England. It belonged to Mrs. MacNeil, a widow. She lived in the front room downstairs. The Robinsons lived in the back room and another family lived upstairs. When it was time for Papa to arrive home, Mrs. MacNeil would be out on the doorstep, waiting to collect the rent.
Maisie was hungry. Yesterday Maisie had begged some broken bones from the butcher and Papa had bought a turnip and made a stew, and that was the last meal she had had. But today was Saturday!
She tried not to think about supper, for it made the pain in her stomach worse. To take her mind off food she said to Danny: "Papa swore this morning."
"What did he say?"
"He said Mrs. MacNeil is a paskudniak."
Danny giggled. The word meant shitbag. Both children spoke English fluently after a year in the new country, but they remembered their Yiddish.
Their name was not really Robinson, it was Rabinowicz. Mrs. MacNeil had hated them ever since she discovered they were Jews. She had never met a Jew before and when she rented them the room she thought they were French. There were no other Jews in this town. The Robinsons had never intended to come here: they had paid for passage to a place called Manchester, where there were lots of Jews, and the ship's captain had told them this was Manchester, but he had cheated them. When they discovered they were in the wrong place, Papa said they would save up enough money to move to Manchester; but then Mama had fallen ill. She was still ill, and they were still here.
Papa worked on the waterfront, in a high warehouse with the words "Tobias Pilaster & Co" in big letters over the gate. Maisie often wondered who Co was. Papa worked as a clerk, keeping records of the barrels of dyes that came in and out of the building. He was a careful man, a taker of notes and a maker of lists. Mama was the reverse. She had always been the daring one. It was Mama who wanted to come to England. Mama loved to make parties, go on trips, meet new people, dress up and play games. That was why Papa loved her so much, Maisie thought: because she was something he could never be.
She was not spirited anymore. She lay all day on the old mattress, drifting in and out of sleep, her pale face shiny with sweat, her breath hot and odorous. The doctor had said she needed building up, with plenty of fresh eggs and cream, and beef every day; and then Papa had paid him with the money for that night's dinner. But now Maisie felt guilty every time she ate, knowing she was taking food that might save her mother's life.
Maisie and Danny had learned to steal. On market day they would go into the center of town and pilfer potatoes and apples from the stalls in the square. The traders were sharp-eyed but every now and again they would be distracted by something--an argument over change, a dogfight, a drunk--and the children would grab what they could. When their luck was in, they would meet a rich kid their own age; then they would set on him and rob him. Such children often had an orange or a bag of sweets in their pockets as well as a few pennies. Maisie was afraid of being caught because she knew Mama would be so ashamed, but she was hungry too.
She looked up and saw some men coming along the street in a knot. She wondered who they were. It was still a little too early for the dockworkers to be coming home. They were talking angrily, waving their arms and shaking their fists. As they came closer she recognized Mr. Ross, who lived upstairs and worked with Papa at Pilasters. Why was he not at work? Had they been sacked? He looked angry enough for that. He was red in the face and swearing, talking about stupid gits, lousy bleeders and lying bastards. When the group drew level with the house Mr. Ross left them abruptly and stomped inside, and Maisie and Danny had to dive out of the way to avoid his hobnailed boots.
When Maisie looked up again she saw Papa. A thin man with a black beard and soft brown eyes, he was following the others at a distance, walking with his head bowed; and he looked so dejected and hopeless that Maisie wanted to cry
. "Papa, what's happened?" she said. "Why are you home early?"
"Come inside," he said, his voice so low that Maisie could only just hear.
The two children followed him into the back of the house. He knelt by the mattress and kissed Mama's lips. She woke up and smiled at him. He did not smile back. "The firm's bust," he said, speaking Yiddish. "Toby Pilaster went bankrupt."
Maisie was not sure what that meant but Papa's tone of voice made it sound like a disaster. She shot a look at Danny: he shrugged. He did not understand it either.
"But why?" Mama said.
"There's been a financial crash," Papa said. "A big bank in London failed yesterday."
Mama frowned, struggling to concentrate. "But this isn't London," she said. "What's London to us?"
"The details I don't know."
"So you've got no work?"
"No work, and no pay."
"But today they've paid you."
Papa bowed his head. "No, they didn't pay us."
Maisie looked at Danny again. This they understood. No money meant no food for any of them. Danny looked scared. Maisie wanted to cry.
"They must pay you," Mama whispered. "You worked all week, they have to pay you."
"They've no money," Papa said. "That's what bankrupt means, it means you owe people money and can't pay them."
"But Mr. Pilaster is a good man, you always said."
"Toby Pilaster's dead. He hanged himself, last night, in his office in London. He had a son Danny's age."
"But how are we to feed our children?"
"I don't know," Papa said, and to Maisie's horror he began to cry. "I'm sorry, Sarah," he said as the tears rolled into his beard. "I've brought you to this awful place where there are no Jews and no one to help us. I can't pay the doctor, I can't buy medicines, I can't feed our children. I've failed you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He leaned forward and buried his wet face in Mama's breast. She stroked his hair with a shaky hand.
Maisie was appalled. Papa never cried. It seemed to mean the end of any hope. Perhaps they would all die now.
Danny stood up, looked at Maisie, and jerked his head toward the door. She got up and together they tiptoed out of the room. Maisie sat on the front step and began to cry. "What are we going to do?" she said.
"We'll have to run away," Danny said.
Danny's words gave her a cold feeling in her chest. "We can't," she said.
"We must. There's no food. If we stay we'll die."
Maisie didn't care if she died, but a different thought occurred to her: Mama would surely starve herself to feed the children. If they stayed, she would die. They had to leave to save her. "You're right," Maisie said to Danny. "If we go, perhaps Papa will be able to find enough food for Mama. We've got to go, for her sake." Hearing herself say the words, she was awestruck by what was happening to her family. It was worse even than the day they had left Viskis, with the village houses still burning behind them, and got on a cold train with all their belongings in two sailcloth bags; for then she had known that Papa would always look after her, no matter what else happened; and now she had to take care of herself.
"Where will we go?" she said in a whisper.
"I'm going to America."
"America! How?"
"There's a ship in the harbor that's bound for Boston on the morning tide--I'll shin up a rope tonight and hide on deck in one of the boats."
"You'll stow away," Maisie said, with fear and admiration in her voice.
"That's right."
Looking at her brother, she saw for the first time that there was the shadow of a moustache beginning to show on his upper lip. He was becoming a man, and one day he would have a full black beard like Papa's. "How long does it take to get to America?" she asked him.
He hesitated, then looked foolish and said: "I don't know."
She understood that she was not included in his plans, and she felt miserable and scared. "We're not going together, then," she said sadly.
He looked guilty, but he did not contradict her. "I'll tell you what you should do," he said. "Go to Newcastle. You can walk there in about four days. It's a huge city, bigger than Gdansk--no one will notice you there. Cut your hair, steal a pair of trousers and pretend to be a boy. Go to a big stables and help with the horses--you've always been good with horses. If they like you, you'll get tips, and after a while they might give you a proper job."
Maisie could not imagine being totally alone. "I'd rather go with you," she said.
"You can't. It's going to be hard enough anyway, to hide myself on the ship, and steal food and so on. I couldn't look after you too."
"You wouldn't have to look after me. I'd be quiet as a mouse."
"I'd feel worried about you."
"Won't you worry about leaving me all on my own?"
"We've got to take care of ourselves!" he said angrily.
She saw that his mind was made up. She had never been able to talk him round when his mind was made up. With dread in her heart she said: "When should we go? In the morning?"
He shook his head. "Now. I'll need to get aboard the ship as soon as it's dark."
"Do you really mean it?"
"Yes." As if to prove it, he stood up.
She stood up too. "Should we take anything?"
"What?"
She shrugged. She had no spare clothes, no souvenirs, no possessions of any kind. There was no food or money to take. "I want to kiss Mama good-bye," she said.
"Don't," said Danny harshly. "If you do, you'll stay."
It was true. If she saw Mama now she would break down and tell everything. She swallowed hard. "All right," she said, fighting back the tears. "I'm ready."
They walked away side by side.
When they got to the end of the street she wanted to turn around and take a last look at the house; but she was afraid that if she did she would weaken; so she walked on, and never looked back.
Section 4
FROM The Times:
CHARACTER OF THE ENGLISH SCHOOLBOY.--The Deputy-Coroner for Ashton, Mr. H. S. Wasbrough, held an inquest yesterday at the Station Hotel, Windfield, on the body of Peter James St John Middleton, aged 13, a schoolboy. The boy had been swimming in a pool at a disused quarry near Windfield School when two older boys had seen him apparently in difficulties, the court was told. One of the older boys, Miguel Miranda, a native of Cordova, gave evidence that his companion, Edward Pilaster, aged 16, stripped off his outer clothing and dived in to try to save the younger boy, but to no avail. The headmaster of Windfield, Dr Herbert Poleson, testified that the quarry was out of bounds to pupils, but he was aware that the rule was not always obeyed. The jury returned a verdict of accidental death by drowning. The Deputy-Coroner then called attention to the bravery of Edward Pilaster in trying to save the life of his friend, and said the character of the English schoolboy, as formed by such institutions as Windfield, was a thing of which we might justifiably feel proud.
Section 5
MICKY MIRANDA WAS CAPTIVATED by Edward's mother.
Augusta Pilaster was a tall, statuesque woman in her thirties. She had black hair and black eyebrows and a haughty, high-cheekboned face with a straight, sharp nose and a strong chin. She was not exactly beautiful, and certainly not pretty, but somehow that proud face was deeply fascinating. She wore a black coat and a black hat to the inquest, and that made her even more dramatic. And yet what was so bewitching was the unmistakable feeling she gave Micky that the formal clothes covered a voluptuous body, and the arrogant, imperious manner concealed a passionate nature. He could hardly take his eyes off her.
Beside her sat her husband Joseph, Edward's father, an ugly, sour-faced man of about forty. He had the same big blade of a nose as Edward, and the same fair coloring, but his blond hair was receding, and he had bushy Dundreary side-whiskers sprouting from his cheeks as if to compensate for his baldness. Micky wondered what had made such a splendid woman marry him. He was very rich--perhaps that was it.
They were returning t
o the school in a carriage hired from the Station Hotel: Mr. and Mrs. Pilaster, Edward and Micky, and the headmaster, Dr. Poleson. Micky was amused to see that the headmaster was also bowled over by Augusta Pilaster. Old Pole asked if the inquest had tired her, inquired if she was comfortable in the carriage, ordered the coachman to go slower, and leaped out at the end of the journey to have the thrill of holding her hand as she stepped down. His bulldog face had never looked so animated.
The inquest had gone well. Micky put on his most open and honest expression to tell the story he and Edward had made up, but inside he had been scared. The British could be very sanctimonious about telling the truth, and if he was found out he would be in deep trouble. But the court was so enchanted by the story of schoolboy heroism that no one questioned it. Edward was nervous, and stammered his evidence, but the coroner excused him, suggesting that he was distraught over his failure to save Peter's life, and insisting he should not blame himself.
None of the other boys was asked to the inquest. Hugh had been taken away from the school on the day of the drowning because of the death of his father. Tonio was not asked to give evidence because nobody knew he had witnessed the death: Micky had scared him into silence. The other witness, the unknown boy at the far end of the pool, had not come forward.
Peter Middleton's parents were too grief-stricken to attend. They sent their lawyer, a sleepy-eyed old man whose only object was to get the whole thing over with a minimum of fuss. Peter's older brother David was there, and became quite agitated when the lawyer declined to ask Micky or Edward any questions, but to Micky's relief the old man waved aside his whispered protests. Micky was thankful for his laziness. He was ready for cross-examination, but Edward might have crumbled.
In the head's dusty drawing room Mrs. Pilaster embraced Edward and kissed the wound on his forehead where Tonio's stone had hit him. "My poor dear child," she said. Micky and Edward had not told anyone that Tonio had thrown a stone at Edward, for then they would have to explain why he did it. Instead they had said that Edward banged his head when he dived in to rescue Peter.
As they drank their tea, Micky saw a new side to Edward. His mother, sitting beside him on the sofa, touched him constantly and called him Teddy. Instead of being embarrassed, as most boys would, he seemed to like it, and kept giving her a winning little smile that Micky had never seen before. She's stupid about him, Micky thought, and he loves it.