The Everlasting Sunday

by Robert Lukins

  ‘Is it too late?’ he asked and waited for the reply.

  The clock showed thirty minutes after midnight but Teddy was standing in his suit and the fire was sparking with fresh wood. After completing a lap of the room and giving the globe on the desk an aimless quarter-turn he took to his seat and waved for Radford to occupy the one opposite. He had not set foot in the room since the day of his arrival but, like the others, he had stuck his head around the frame of the open door many times. They stood at the threshold to receive instructions, ask their questions, take receipt of requests and plead their cases. Teddy was granted his rooms. Now Radford sat facing him, not knowing how the conversation might be initiated.

  ‘Oh,’ Teddy said as if remembering something. He leant over his desk. ‘Here, here – toffee?’

  He tilted open a silver box, took one of the small parcels for himself and tossed another into Radford’s lap. For a few minutes they sat chewing their sweets to surrender. The shelves of books behind Teddy were all histories. Egyptian, Greek, Roman, British – civilisations laid out, bound in leather and assembled. Wars and their territories all resolved and in order of time’s passing.

  ‘You’re welcome to these,’ Teddy said, noticing Radford’s inspection. ‘You’re interested in history?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ He would have typically answered this kind of question without consideration, either in the affirmative to hurry beyond the scrutiny or in the negative to avoid it, but that night he found truth coming more easily than habit. ‘There was the story you told me about the Royal Oak.’

  ‘I have something here.’ He began a fingertip along the spines. ‘Yes, here we are.’ Teddy pulled a book from the line and handed it over. An Account of the English Civil Wars by E. N. Seymour. ‘Nostalgia disguises itself,’ he said. ‘Be wary of it.’

  Radford spun the book, feeling the grain of the leather and the undulations of sunken letters.

  ‘Each generation feels it stands on the precipice of eternal decline,’ Teddy said. ‘And every generation has thought that it alone is correct in this judgement. We believe the best is behind us, that there’s a time that would suit us better and it’s always just gone, just out of reach. Sweet, really.’

  ‘I’ve come about West.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Waiting for one of them to continue Radford became aware of the clock’s dull ticking. The wind joined in, making swoops against the window glass.

  ‘You want to know if he’s okay?’ Teddy asked.

  ‘I suppose.’

  The man produced his pipe and began all its ceremonies. ‘It’s a fair question and I’m glad you’ve asked it. I see that you two have become close. The truth about West is that I am not sure.’

  Radford waited for this to explain itself.

  ‘Please do not condemn me for this uncertainty,’ Teddy said. ‘I’ve been thinking of little else since his performance.’

  ‘Performance? He carved himself open.’

  ‘I know full well.’ Teddy showed pain at the accusation. ‘When I say performance I say it in hope rather than as a dismissal. I want it to have been only a show – for his parents, for us all – because that is something I have seen before and something we can recover from. I cannot tell you that West is okay any more than I can be certain that any of you are. That is not something I can ever be sure of. If I were then I could sleep.’

  The recesses of Teddy’s face darkened as he allowed the first wraith of smoke to escape his mouth. Radford didn’t know how to take his words. He knew only that his worry for West was making him sick in the belly. His chest felt as if it were bound.

  ‘I don’t know if I am helping,’ Teddy said. ‘That is the full truth. But I have to believe the Manor is a better place for West right now than anywhere else. If there were somewhere that I knew could keep West safer he’d be packed and sent in an instant. Please believe me.’

  ‘I do.’

  Teddy nodded. ‘All we can do is our job. We are all similarly employed, do you see? All on duty and that is all we can be, all we must.’

  The last of the smoky toffee lapped Radford’s teeth and he thought of what Teddy might mean as the wind lashed again and startled them both. They laughed at each other’s fear.

  ‘I’ll let you be, Teddy. Thank you for the book.’ He patted its cover and stood.

  ‘You keep it as long as you like. Tell me, do you think you’ll read it?’

  Radford again recognised the easy journey of honesty to his lips. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Just taking it to be polite?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Teddy smiled broadly. ‘May not be a bad thing if you never read it. The past has powers.’ He made wizardly suggestions with his fingers and sucked on his pipe. They both stared into its red centre. ‘It is an intoxicant – it is set, you see? No matter how cruel, the past is a fixed and knowable thing and no future can make a claim like that. History, as written, is certain, and that is very attractive. Don’t give in.’

  Radford made his way out, returning downstairs and hoping for West to be awake. His friend’s door was ajar and Radford took this to mean he had yet to attempt sleep but as he pushed it open the vision of West lying unconscious beneath his bedclothes greeted him. It was Radford’s involuntary apology that opened West’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. The door was … I thought.’

  ‘Don’t worry, come in. Come on.’

  Radford tried to shut the door but found a square of wood had been fixed to the frame, preventing it from coming fully closed.

  ‘Part of the new deal,’ West said, switching on his lamp. ‘They had Snuffy nail it in. I can’t be trusted with privacy, who knows what I’ll get up to?’ He mimed slitting his neck.

  ‘Don’t joke.’

  ‘Oh Christ, Radford. Really, everyone needs to calm a little. One stupid thing and—’

  ‘You can’t be surprised you got a reaction.’

  ‘Of course not, I’ve admitted that. I’m not the only one who’s pulled a stupid trick. Did you know Brass put his head through a plaster wall last year?’

  Radford wanted his frustration acknowledged. He could only cross his arms.

  ‘Well, he did, the dolt. Rich saw him. They told Teddy it was from a cricket ball. Wore a cap for a fortnight to hide the crack down the back of his idiotic head.’

  ‘People in glass houses.’

  ‘Clichés now?’

  ‘That’s all you’re worth.’

  ‘You do know actions speak louder than words?’

  Radford stood at the bed’s end and grudgingly allowed his grimace to depart. ‘But the pen is mightier than the sword.’

  ‘Well, exactly. Confusing, isn’t it?’

  Radford sat on the mattress corner. ‘You can’t be mad at people’s worry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ West said. ‘I’m embarrassed.’ He adjusted his pillow and sat higher. ‘I feel like a fool, if I’m being honest. What a stupid thing to do. A dumb, dumb thing.’

  ‘Yes.’ Radford locked his hands together, warming them. ‘But that is it, isn’t it? I mean, is this the end of it?’

  ‘Of course.’ West’s face flushed. ‘Of course that’s the end.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise you.’

  Radford refused to crumble. Despite every urging, he would not fold, because it could not help. He thought of Teddy’s reminder, of his employment.

  ‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you, will you promise?’ West took his arm from beneath the covers and extended it, offering a handshake.

  ‘To what?’

  ‘That you’re not going to get hurt either,’ West said. ‘Why don’t we … can we say this is the end of stupid business for us both? Let’s agree on that. That’s not something we do.’

  Radford
thought of his first night in the house. Of his standing at the edge of the ultimate depth, and West’s interruption. ‘Okay, yes.’

  West gripped tighter, calling for focus. ‘No, you have to promise. Indulge me.’

  It was a call that made such great demands of Radford’s heart, building a pressure in him. The demand to be there. He cursed his soft shell.

  ‘I promise,’ Radford said and the pair gave a final, emphatic downstroke as the windows rattled angrily.

  Winter held the house by its roof and shook, longing for cracks through which it could plunge its arms and choke these prideful creatures. Its moon face remained without expression. These vainglorious clowns, they would repent.

  *

  Another doctor arrived, a Dr Cass – and he made clear he was to be thusly addressed. He was brought from the village by Snuffy in a journey that was by both their accounts foul. The roads were under thick snow again, as good as impassable they said, and a man at the butcher’s had heard that the clearing gangs weren’t expected for at least a week. Cass would be staying. Teddy called all to the dining room and made introductions.

  This visitor seemed at once an unforgiving, dubious type. Ashen-skinned, he appeared a similar age to Teddy but his posture spoke of a different provenance. He was evidently angered by the challenges of the journey, and by the sudden proximity of so many boys and their incomplete attention.

  Twice during Teddy’s announcement Cass called for quiet.

  ‘Ooh-er, will you get him,’ Brass said too camply and too loud, and Teddy was forced to scold him.

  ‘Sorry, Teddy.’ Brass covered his mouth.

  Cass flinched at this flagrant use of an adult’s name. Teddy explained that the doctor was present to observe and to learn. The doctor’s questions were to be answered and he was to be afforded the same respect offered to all of the house staff.

  ‘Bugger-all then,’ someone called from the back.

  Teddy glared in the direction of the voice and gave Cass an apologetic smile. ‘High spirits.’

  Cass made for his suitcase and hat and waited to be shown through the sea of insolence. West’s group were taken to the kitchen by Snuffy, and Radford learnt that Rich had been asked to bunk in with Lewis to make a spare room. They had screamed murder upon learning of the arrangements.

  ‘He’s up to dark things, that Cass,’ whispered Snuffy to the completed scrum. ‘I tried to juice him for information on the way here. Only got that he wants to have everything as it should be.’

  ‘He’s here to blow the place up.’

  Lewis dismissed this.

  ‘You do know where you’ll end up if we’re booted?’ Brass twirled his finger around his ear and cuckooed.

  ‘What is this?’ Lillian pushed into the circle. ‘Who is making schemes in my kitchen?’

  Snuffy explained Cass and the suspicions.

  ‘Do you think this is the first time they have sent their little worms?’ she said. ‘You must trust in Teddy.’

  ‘It’s me,’ West said, stepping back against the cooker. ‘That’s why he’s here, why they’re checking up.’

  ‘It is not, my sweet,’ she said.

  They watched West leave, only surfacing from their inaction when Lillian barked. ‘Wretches. Find my beloved West. My love today is only for him.’

  On their way back Cass, with Teddy talking at his side, walked through the group and this had the effect of dispersing it into the corners of the building. It was Teddy’s nervousness rather than any ferocity on Cass’s part that was unsettling.

  Radford found himself in his room, the door shut, An Account of the English Civil Wars bringing itself to attention. He felt again for the tiny ripples of its cover and traced t-h-e-E-n-g-l-i-s-h. It smelt older even than it looked, like the pages might be in decay.

  He thought of nothing that could ease West’s mind. What he’d said was likely true. However invisibly, the house was connected to the outer cosmos, the secondary world, and West had tugged on the line. Radford was losing his talent for retreat. What did that leave him with? Worry. Worry and delusion, and the never-ending squabble between them.

  He returned the book to rest.

  FIVE

  They spent the morning in the Long East Room conducting what had become a regular tryst. Manny would arrive first, laying out his cases, arranging tools and components, and he would be in the final stages of neatening as Radford rounded the corner.

  He would pull up his chair: close enough that he could muck in, far enough away that Manny wouldn’t flinch; to the side such that neither of them felt under examination. Idle chat was skipped and instead they congressed in wire, charts and the course of that electricity.

  The few necessary words were spoken considerately. Manny would talk of objects being connected in series or parallel, of melted lead, of hertz and watts and farads. Of current being resisted and alternated. Radford would nod, add his affirmations of understanding or shake his head. Manny would begin again, holding a capacitor or battery at a new angle, or instructing Radford on where the hot iron should be directed.

  Circuits were made. Their mornings dealt in mercury, silver and porcelain. Radford fell for the simplicity and difficulty of it all: there was so much to learn and for the first time this was something both frustrating and tempting. He wanted to know these things, how they came together.

  Ohm’s law. This was, Manny made clear, at the heart of the matter. Current equalled voltage over resistance. Current was I, voltage was V and resistance was R; I equalled V over R. Radford frowned as the brick wall of mathematics presented itself, but Manny told him to close his eyes and picture a hot, empty plain. Into this scene walked an Indian, feathered headdress and all, and he looked to the distance where a vulture was flying high above a rabbit. Could Radford see this? He could. He sniffed the dry air and heard the cries of the patient bird and the rabbit’s fearful squeaks. The Indian was I then, and the vulture V and the rabbit R. So I equalled V over R.

  A flash of recall came, of school. Radford had finished there only recently but it was already such a distant idea. The years, those who peopled it, already fog. As he strained to hold the sensation, a corrupted memory came, of life in a glasshouse. Humidity and heat rising as the day brightened overhead, his breathing becoming a difficulty though all the others chuckled on, untroubled.

  He and Manny were close to done for that morning when Cass arrived. His shoes biting into the floor echoed around the unfurnished room. Manny became nervous and lowered his chin, letting curls fall across his eyes, and this disturbance incensed Radford. He wanted this pale, nasty presence gone from their peaceful shire.

  But Radford nodded politely, saying, ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Just good morning, is it?’

  ‘Good morning, Dr Cass.’

  ‘Doesn’t take much, does it?’

  Radford imagined grabbing Cass’s arm and twisting it behind his back, marching the pig out of the house and down into the filth.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t take much.’

  The doctor peered over the table. ‘Do not allow me to halt your lesson, Mister …?’

  He waited for Manny’s introduction. As time burnt away and Manny, if anything, lowered his gaze further still, Cass’s expression grew less tolerant.

  ‘It’s Manny, Dr Cass,’ Radford said.

  ‘Mr Manny.’ Cass tilted his head, trying to make eye contact. ‘Or is it Dr Manny? Professor?’

  He spoke this last word with unshielded condescension. In his mind Radford gave the pig Cass a rough kicking while he lay helpless in the slush. He could remember no time when he had wanted so badly to raze another human being.

  ‘It’s just Manny.’

  ‘Radford, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Cass.’

  ‘I will not turn a blind eye to the boorish habit of misaddressing your super
iors.’ He waited, as if for confession or concession. ‘I insist on remedy to this practice. So it will not be just Manny.’

  Radford faced his friend, who was now beginning to pack away the table, his brow still bowed. He wanted Manny to be carried away from here, to be comforted and praised and built a palace of ideally conducting gold.

  ‘So which is it? What is your title?’ Cass was speaking now as if to someone hard of hearing. ‘Shall it be Mister or Doctor or Professor? Because it can no longer be just Manny. No longer, sir. If this facility is to be rescued, and I say that it is, it will begin with the fundamentals of respect. So which is it to be – Pastor? Prime Minister? You must have qualifications. To what level are you qualified? Even this facility must require some level of competence from its staff. To what degree have you been awarded? Because just Manny is not going to be enough.’

  ‘God damn, stop it!’ Radford stood and sent his chair screeching back along the floor. ‘Leave him alone, will you? Why are you doing this – why are you here?’

  Cass’s shock turned promptly to rage. He leant in until his face was an inch away, as if baiting for a reaction, then swung his open hand and struck Radford hard on the side of his head. Radford howled and clutched at his ear. It was hot and throbbing and he could now hear a frightening ring.

  ‘You will show respect.’ Cass threw looks between the two of them. ‘Remember this.’

  Through the pain Radford straightened his back and stood as high as he was able. He returned Cass’s stare, adding a smile.

  ‘Yes, Dr Cass. I will do my best.’

  The man stormed from the room and it was some time before the gunshot of his footfalls retreated into quiet. The stinging in Radford’s ear dimmed to a pulsing headache as he helped to pack away the table.

  When only a few containers of components remained, Manny pushed his hair back and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Manny.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The desk was clear and all else was zipped and clipped tight.