Sputnik Caledonia

by Andrew Crumey

‘He isn’t,’ Miriam answered in a firm, no-nonsense way. ‘Looks like he’s in the bathroom. I’ll come down when I’m changed.’

  She went to her room; and after hurriedly washing, Robert went back towards his, carrying his damp towel and passing Miriam’s door. It sprang open.

  ‘Hello,’ she said abruptly. She was short, small featured, with dark shoulder-length hair and a matronly plumpness.

  ‘You must be Miriam.’

  ‘That’s right, I must.’ The way she stood looking impassively up at him made Robert feel he was blocking her way.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said, walking onwards to his room.

  ‘We’d better get used to it,’ she said to the back of his head, and when Robert closed his door and hung his towel over the wooden chair, he concluded that Rosalind’s comment about the pair of them going to the cinema had been ironic.

  A renewed disturbance in the hallway soon afterwards encouraged Robert to emerge again, and this time it was Mr Frank who had entered. Robert saw him from the top of the stairs – a thin man, greying but not without a lingering trace of youthfulness, divesting himself of the red scarf in which he had braved the cold weather outside. ‘Hello, sir,’ Robert called, descending with his arm outstretched.

  ‘Lovely to see you,’ said Mr Frank with unforced sincerity. ‘Settled in all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m really grateful.’

  A rueful smile graced Arthur Frank’s features. ‘It’s not as if we had much choice in the matter … Please don’t take that unkindly. All I’m saying is that it’s our duty to look after you, and we welcome it and shall do our patriotic best.’

  ‘That’s very nicely put, Arthur,’ said his wife. ‘Now if you two gentlemen would like to settle your patriotic bahookies in the lounge I’ll get on with preparing dinner. Coq au vin, Mr F?’

  ‘You’re an angel and a goddess, my love.’ Then, as if sharing a manly secret, he said to her with a tilt of his head towards Robert who was his intended audience, ‘In a happy marriage every day should be like every other, and every night should be like the first. Or to put it more succinctly: every night a bit of the other – eh, Robert?’

  Mrs Frank rolled her eyes at the indelicacy and went to the kitchen while the two men did as she had requested, taking themselves to the living room.

  ‘How long have you lived …’ Robert, seeking small-talk, began, before correcting himself. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Frank, I shouldn’t pry.’

  ‘Arthur. And don’t worry yourself,’ he said, settling into his favourite armchair while Robert returned to the one he had occupied earlier. ‘I’m Category A, general workforce. I can say what I want in this place because I don’t know anything worth spreading.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Dorothy called from the kitchen.

  ‘Listen to that sauce,’ Arthur chuckled. ‘Can’t live with them, couldn’t live without them. We’ve a closed existence here at the Installation but it’s good – twenty-three years, I’ve had. Or is it more?’ He began trying to count but quickly gave up. ‘In a town of nearly five thousand people there’s never a dull moment. I wouldn’t want to leave even if I had to. Worst thing I could imagine would be relocation, though it never happens. Once you’re in, you’re in; unless you’re Category C and can be trusted to leave without saying anything. I could be trusted, mind – it’s just that I prefer not to go. Different for Dot and Miriam, of course, but you know what they say about the tongues of women and children.’

  Miriam came in. ‘And what do they say, exactly?’

  ‘Never mind,’ said her father. ‘Have you two been introduced?’

  ‘We’ve met,’ Miriam told him, then asked Robert, ‘Do you like my room?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘My room. The one you’ll be sleeping in.’

  Mr Frank smiled nervously and rubbed his hands in a futile gesture of reconciliation. ‘I should explain, Robert, that when we got the billeting instructions we saw we had to provide adequate space, so we felt we’d better give Miriam the back room and let you …’

  ‘I really don’t want to inconvenience anybody,’ Robert immediately insisted. ‘I’ll take any room you want – I’ll even sleep on the floor. Really, I’m used to all sorts of conditions and as long as there’s a roof over my head …’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ said Mr Frank. ‘It’s done, it’s what we’ve decided, and it’s the right way to do it. Miriam, I think we should show a little more hospitality to our very important guest.’

  ‘I’m about to lay the table,’ she replied coldly. ‘Then I’ll help Mother serve the food. Excuse me, both of you.’ She went to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Robert,’ said Arthur. ‘That girl always has to be making some kind of point. Been like it since she was wee – I can’t think why. But as I was saying, the Category A workforce …’

  ‘Please,’ said Robert, ‘I don’t want you to compromise yourself through generosity. The less we know about each other, the better for everyone.’

  Mr Frank looked crestfallen. ‘Aye, all right. You realize we don’t get to see many outsiders. Not that we mind, of course, but that’s how it is here. Even the new lad who just started last week at the cold-casting works – I’ve known him since he was in nappies; his father got killed in the reactor leak fifteen year ago. Terrible, it was, seeing poor wee Stephen grow up without a father. He was at school with Miriam.’ Robert waited silently for Mr Frank to run out of steam, but the convivial host clearly had a lot to get rid of. ‘And that leak – we all thought we were done for. Cloud came off that fire looking black as hell. Reckon the whole town was irradiated but what can you do? And the lassie Stephen’s courting, wee Joyce, lovely girl, works in the baker’s so you’ll likely see her soon enough, she’s got something wrong with her, a funny kind of boil on her neck. I only noticed it the other week when I was in getting some potato scones, big livid lump, like a walnut, almost. Beautiful lassie, so she is, and I’ll say that for the Installation, there’s some bonny girls here. I reckon it’s the sort of breeding stock they bring in – know what I mean? There’s all the best scientists and top military people, the Category B’s and C’s, and they marry here and settle and have children – or they don’t marry or settle but have children, eh? Because don’t think it doesn’t all go on here, oh no. But then you’ve got these sons and daughters of the elite growing up and marrying, and more and more of the elite keep coming in. Quite a gene pool, as they say. And my Miriam should find a good match – she’s got her mother’s firm figure, nice chest on her and strong thighs. She’ll be someone’s catch if only she knew it.’

  Miriam had already re-entered the room before Mr Frank’s unsubtle attempt at matchmaking had finished, and she deposited the knives and forks on the dining table with a clatter, quickly turning on her heels and going back to join her mother.

  ‘Have you got a girlfriend, Robert?’

  The question took him by surprise, as he’d been letting Mr Frank’s monologue wash over him, trying not to let any unwanted details stick and register in his consciousness. ‘Girlfriend? No.’

  ‘And you an army boy too? Lad like you could have any girl you wanted, I expect. All the lassies love a uniform, don’t know why but that’s women for you. And while you’re here with us you’ll have your pick, you know. Every Friday night they’re all at the dancing. You’ll be needing your key to get in because the missus and myself like to retire early, specially on a weekend, eh? “Something for the weekend, sir?”, you take my drift? But I’ll sort you with the spare key if Dorothy hasn’t already, and the only thing is, if you do bring a lassie back, you know, be discreet about it, because I wouldn’t want Miriam hearing any, you know, goings-on, because she’s only a girl, same sort of age as you, and if she heard, you know, moaning and such like, well, it might put her off the whole idea altogether and you know how it is. They don’t always realize it feels nicer than it sounds. Dot and I used to have to …’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Mrs
Frank.’ Robert stood to greet the incoming coq au vin with a relief he never thought any cooked dish could possibly inspire.

  ‘I hope I won’t be spending all my time reminding you my name’s Dorothy,’ she told him as she deposited the hot casserole on the table, then gave the oven glove on her hands a triumphant clap. ‘Nobody touch that yet, mind. Arthur, will you see to the wine?’

  ‘Wine?’ said Arthur, evidently puzzled by this unprecedented novelty in dining chez Frank.

  ‘Aye, well, half of it’s in the meal already,’ his wife explained, going back out for the vegetables and nearly colliding with the incoming Miriam, who’d beaten her to them.

  ‘I don’t know if you’re having water or anything else to drink with the food so you’d all better sort yourselves out,’ Miriam declared, seating herself at the table.

  ‘I’ll get that wine,’ Arthur decided. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘And the glasses too,’ Dorothy ordered, telling him where in the kitchen to look. ‘Sit yourself down, Robert. Even if you’re eating out I’m sure you can still squeeze in a bit to tide you over.’

  ‘Eating out?’ Arthur chimed in, returning with the half-empty bottle and four stemmed glasses on a tray. ‘You’re not forsaking us for the officers’ mess, are you?’

  ‘I’m being picked up shortly,’ Robert said apologetically.

  ‘We won’t let Mum’s efforts go to waste,’ Miriam commented, helping herself.

  Mrs Frank hunted for some chunks of meat amid the sauce and deposited them on a plate. ‘Just a taste, Robert. Veg?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said, reaching over the table for the worryingly ample portion she offered. ‘It’s more than I need.’

  ‘And less than you deserve,’ said Mrs Frank. ‘Young lad like you, far away from home. I wouldn’t want your mother thinking I was starving you. Bread and butter?’ Robert shook his head, but as soon as he tasted the food he appreciated just how hungry he was.

  ‘That’s it, go right ahead,’ Mr Frank told him, offering Robert a paternal pat on the shoulder while pouring out the wine. ‘No need to wait for everyone to be seated – we don’t hold with formality. You’re one of us, now, Robert – part of the gang. It feels good not to be the only man about the house.’

  ‘Here you are, Arthur,’ his wife said, passing him a filled plate in what appeared partly a gesture aimed at shutting him up as swiftly as possible.

  ‘I think we should have a toast,’ said Arthur, raising his glass. He had given himself the smallest share of the half bottle of red wine, his guest the largest. ‘To Robert. May your stay here be a happy one.’

  ‘To Robert,’ his wife repeated, and Miriam raised her beaker of water.

  ‘Thank you so much, all of you—’

  ‘We haven’t known each other very long,’ Mr Frank interrupted, ‘but I can tell that you’re a young man after my own heart. I like you, Robert.’

  ‘You’re too kind …’

  ‘We have our own ways and customs at the Installation – our own unique way of life, which we’re very proud of. You’ve joined a community with strong traditions and a big heart. We know how to look after outsiders – we see so few of them! But one thing you should know about us, Robert, we aren’t afraid to show our feelings. I know you’ve come here with your outsider ideas – “silence is golden”, “never talk to strangers” and the like – but I’m Frank by name …’

  ‘Frank by nature,’ his daughter mouthed in weary unison.

  ‘And true to form, I want to tell you that while our life here may have been good, it hasn’t always been easy, and I know Dot might not want me to say this just yet, but I’ve always longed for a son of my own …’

  ‘Arthur, please not now.’

  ‘And I want you to know that as long as you’re here you’ll be like a son to me. If there’s anything you need, any bother, I’m here for you. That’s the sort of people we are. We’re Installation folk, and your ain’s oor ain.’

  His wife gave a sniff. Robert saw her get up and go to the kitchen, wiping a tear from her eye with a corner of her apron.

  ‘She gets a bit sentimental sometimes,’ Arthur said by way of explanation, tapping with gentle camaraderie on Robert’s forearm.

  ‘It’s no time to remind her of Jamie,’ Miriam said, adding for the lodger’s benefit, ‘I had an older brother that died—’

  ‘I know,’ Robert replied, cutting her off.

  ‘Right. So you know not to mention it.’

  Robert could understand her displeasure at losing her room, but Miriam’s habitual hostility was beginning to irritate him. And while her father was at the exactly opposite end of the hospitality spectrum, Robert felt that Mrs Frank’s happy medium was the best way of ensuring everyone got along together in the new regime. She came back from the kitchen, lacking any sign of her momentary distress except a slight smearing of mascara. ‘More food, Robert?’

  ‘Really I mustn’t.’

  ‘Oh, go on. We won’t be eating coq au vin every day.’

  He consented to another portion, and by quarter past seven the whole lot was gone and he was as full as every other member of the household. The doorbell rang.

  ‘They’re early,’ Dot said calmly. Arthur and Robert hurried to the door, Mr Frank struggling to detach a spare key from the bundle drawn from his pocket while Robert answered the bell’s second ring.

  ‘Coyle?’ said the waiting driver. A white Morris Commonwealth, its headlights shining in the darkness, stood idling on the road behind him, conspicuous for being the only vehicle in the street.

  ‘I’m coming.’ Robert grabbed his coat from the hook; Arthur held him back.

  ‘Here’s that key. Now, if you look at the lock …’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ called Robert, dashing after the driver, who was already at the car, holding the rear door open for his passenger. ‘See you later.’

  3

  They drove swiftly through the streets, darkened now, that Robert had seen earlier from the bus. There again were the terraces of white-walled houses with their curtained windows gleaming cosily, and then the deserted main thorough-fare of unlit, unmarked shops, and in the pallid glow of the streetlights, standing like benevolent watchmen, the obligatory statues of Marx and Shaw which made the Installation look like any ordinary town. The taciturn driver was wrapped in a thick coat, necessary since the car was as cold as the air outside, and he wore a battered old leather cap, leaving as Robert’s only view of him in the dim light a fat neck with a ragged tangle of unclipped grey hairs shedding dandruff on a dark blue collar. The driver whistled occasionally, as if oblivious to his passenger’s presence, and Robert gazed out at the nocturnal vista, seeing the buildings give way to dense trees which after a while were in turn replaced by what looked like an industrial zone, harshly illuminated by white floodlights. Steam belched from aluminium flues jutting out of concrete towers too tall to be seen in their entirety from where Robert sat. He was passing a complex of factories, refineries or power plants; and there was a further change of architecture as a series of low structures, fabricated from corrugated steel, passed his sight. These, Robert suspected, housed facilities used by the night workers who kept the Installation’s mechanized hub in operation.

  A brightly lit window gave Robert a brief view of a group of overalled men laughing together; another showed a stout woman in military uniform, writing at a desk. Then, as if whole regions or countries were being traversed in this drive across the Installation, the surroundings restored themselves to native moorland, and they came to a checkpoint where the driver halted to show his pass to a shivering guard. Satisfied with their credentials, the guard waved them on, and soon the vehicle began rising up a gentle hill towards twinkling lights which slowly resolved themselves like the stars in Professor Kaupff’s presentation, enlarging however not into circles but instead into the windows and lamps of an imposing mansion, patrolled by pacing guards. The car came to its final stop, the driver got out and held the door for Robert,
who emerged into the winter night to see a warm, open entrance.

  ‘This is the Lodge, sir,’ the driver explained, getting back into his car. Robert began walking towards the doorway, hearing the vehicle start up behind him in preparation for its return journey, and when he crossed the threshold he found himself in a wood-panelled lobby. Deer antlers, swords and shields were mounted on the wall, and on the right there was a solid desk where a uniformed butler stood waiting.

  ‘Good evening, Volunteer Coyle,’ he said, approaching to close the glass-paned inner door and then take Robert’s coat. ‘Professor Kaupff will receive you in the Maxwell Room, to which I shall now escort you.’ The butler placed Robert’s coat over his red-cuffed sleeve in a well-practised manner. Lithe and smooth-skinned, probably not much older than Robert himself, he had an air of confidence and experience which added to Robert’s unease at this wholly unfamiliar place with its deep-piled burgundy coloured carpet, its gilt-framed pictures and ornate carvings. Robert was led along a corridor to a heavy panelled door, which the butler opened, revealing a room dominated by the glow of a log fire.

  Kaupff sat alone in a leather armchair. ‘Welcome, Coyle.’ He rose and shook his visitor by the hand while the butler silently retreated to leave them in private. ‘Quite a nice place, don’t you think? Are your quarters satisfactory?’

  The gulf between the Franks’ house and the room Robert now stood in was too great for him to express, even if he had time to consider how best to put it, so he settled instead for polite agreement. ‘Fine, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Well, Robert, let us sit down so that we can get acquainted.’ There was another armchair beside Kaupff’s, the two positioned at right angles with a small wooden table between them on which stood an empty whisky glass. ‘Like a drink?’

  ‘I’m not thirsty.’

  ‘Come now,’ Kaupff laughed. ‘A small aperitif? What you Scotsmen call a “wee dram”?’ Fixed into the table was a brass push-button like that of a doorbell. Kaupff pressed it, and a moment later the butler reappeared.