‘Please, I don’t know anything about it.’ Another blow, a slap this time, still painful but less surprising than before. And in response to it, a new voice.
‘Don’t leave marks on him.’
It was a woman, and he recognized her at once. ‘Miriam!’
There was silence, then a low curse. ‘Get her out of here.’
‘Help me, Miriam,’ Robert gasped, strangely elated at having found something in this hell he could identify. The enmity between them was trivial now; she was his saviour, his comrade, his sister. He imbued her with all the hope he had of escaping this place alive. ‘I warned you about the radio, didn’t I? I took risks for you.’ Hands fell again upon his head; he flinched and braced himself for more pain. Instead he felt the blindfold loosening; he blinked his irritated eyes as the small, slightly cluttered and perfectly ordinary living room of a house came into view, a setting altogether more mundane than the bare cell he had imagined. There was Miriam, arms folded, her face stern. There too was the retreating man who had chosen to let Robert see; the mild interrogator whom he now recognized as Miriam’s boyfriend, Tim. And there was the third man, looking downcast, seated on the arm of a red settee, loosely holding an empty beer bottle in his hand, its neck the gun that had touched Robert’s forehead. These three were only playing at being revolutionaries; they appeared incapable of doing much harm. Robert saw that his hands were bound with nothing more than sticky tape; the rest of him was unconstrained. He could easily make a run for the door.
‘Now you know who we are,’ said Tim. ‘If you like you can have us all shot, and our parents too.’
‘I don’t want that.’
Miriam stepped forward. ‘You were right, I was using the radio, and thank you for warning me. We were trying to find the frequency.’
‘Of the Red Star?’
She nodded, and Robert felt more confused than ever.
‘A better world is about to emerge,’ said Tim. ‘A new age is dawning. The star is the sign and we are the magi.’
‘What are you talking about?’
The other man explained. ‘Miriam works inside the College, she hears things, sees documents she shouldn’t. Kaupff thinks the star is alive, conscious, sending signals to Earth.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ said Robert.
‘But Kaupff is an atheist, a materialist. He can’t appreciate the spiritual side of life. He hasn’t been praying. He hasn’t received the word of God.’
‘And you have?’
Anger flashed on the man’s face; Tim saw it and calmed him. ‘Peace, brother.’ He turned to Robert again. ‘We aren’t afraid to become martyrs. Whatever happens, very soon our souls will ascend to heaven, because the whole world is about to witness the second coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.’
Robert was dumbfounded; these people were harmless but mad. It was best to appear cooperative. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Keep us informed. Tell Miriam whatever you find out about the star.’
He wondered if they knew of the capsule; they’d probably see it as a plan to shoot down Jesus with a missile. Tim went out of the room, and while he rummaged noisily in what was probably an adjoining kitchen, Robert looked steadily at the other two fanatics, his diminishing fear being replaced by a sense of power. ‘All right,’ he began saying to them, ‘you can trust me …’ He stopped when he saw what Tim, coming back into the room, held in his hand. It was a long carving knife, glinting as he approached. Panic flooded back and without any further hesitation Robert jumped from his chair and ran for the door, his bound hands held in front of him like a battering ram. Tim moved to block his way; the other man grabbed Robert’s waist and Miriam screamed.
‘Don’t cut him!’
They held him down on the floor; Robert gave a shout for help while Tim, throwing the knife to one side, desperately tried to cover his mouth. ‘You fool – I only want to free you! Let me get the tape off, then you can go home.’ Robert stopped struggling, Tim retrieved the blade and carefully sliced through the binding while the other man maintained a cautious grip on Robert’s shoulders. When it was finished they helped him to his feet and led him out of the room to the front door, which Tim opened, revealing the dark and empty main street of the Town. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said, gently pushing the dazed soldier outside and immediately closing the door on him.
Robert instinctively broke into a run that carried him all the way back to the Franks’ house, where as soon as he reached his room he collapsed fully clothed on his bed, not stirring until a heavy knock startled him awake in the darkness.
‘Seven o’clock,’ Dorothy called through the door.
He switched on the bedside light and looked disbelievingly at his wristwatch.
‘Sausage and egg?’
Robert called back a yes, finding his throat hoarse from cigarette smoke or the chemical he had inhaled, and when he came out of his room he noticed that Miriam’s door lay open, and her room was dark. He washed, then went downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs Frank was frying his breakfast and Mr Frank sat reading the Daily Worker, a picture of normality. Beside him, neat and unperturbed in her grey suit, munching a slice of toast as if this were a morning no different from any other, sat Miriam.
‘Well, if it isn’t the partygoer himself!’ Arthur ebulliently declared, folding his newspaper and gesturing with outstretched palm towards the empty chair whose back Robert clutched in need of support. ‘How are you feeling?’ Robert’s hesitancy was caused by sheer bewilderment both at Miriam’s presence and at her nonchalance, but Mr Frank interpreted it otherwise. Hoping for a manly exchange, Arthur’s smile exuded so much bonhomie that he resembled a panting dog waiting for a stick to be thrown. ‘Headache?’ he asked jovially.
‘A bit,’ Robert replied, sitting down and glaring at Miriam, who ignored him. She must have slipped out after her parents went to bed and returned before they woke. ‘And how are you today?’ he asked her lowered head while she buttered another slice of toast.
She looked up. ‘Me? I’m fine. Mum, did I tell you I might be late tonight? We’re doing a stock check.’
Robert boiled with inner rage. As casually as he could manage, he asked, ‘Did you do anything special last night?’
‘No,’ she said, holding the knife firmly in her hand. Mr Frank, whose ability to read human emotions was only a notch or two above total illiteracy, nevertheless sensed some chemical reaction at work in the air between them, and with his unerring talent for misinterpretation took it to be a nascent flirtatiousness.
‘Miriam never goes out,’ Arthur said apologetically. ‘Or hardly ever. I’m always telling her she should be going to the dancing, then she could meet a nice boy.’
‘At the Blue Cat, perhaps?’ Robert asked pointedly. Mr Frank looked down at his empty plate and folded newspaper and gave a cough of embarrassment; Miriam stared fixedly across the table at Robert while her mother put his food before him and sat down on the remaining chair.
‘Nice girls don’t go there,’ Miriam said icily.
‘I see,’ said Robert. ‘And I take it you’re nice.’
Mrs Frank had no difficulty perceiving the flying bullets. ‘We’d all better eat up and get ourselves ready,’ she said encouragingly.
Robert took a few mouthfuls and tasted nothing. ‘I fell and hurt my head last night,’ he told Arthur, who looked at him with concern but decided it must be a laddish boast rather than a request for medical assistance.
‘Too much Victory?’
‘Somebody punched me.’
Now the Franks were both alarmed. ‘That’s terrible,’ said Dorothy. ‘Did you report it to security?’
‘You’ve got to be careful, Robbie,’ Arthur added warily. ‘Some of the boys here are apt to be hot-headed – they get jealous of these glamorous servicemen who come in and take the best girls. And there are some places in Town that are best avoided.’
‘Well, Robert?’ Miriam interrupted. ‘Are you going to report
it?’
He looked straight into her brazen eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t.’
‘I think you should,’ Mrs Frank insisted.
Robert wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘It was three stupid kids who should have known better. They’re too pathetic to be worth reporting. But, Miriam,’ he added, speaking earnestly to her, ‘if you should happen to go out, I really think you should take care about who you see and where you go.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Mr Frank said heartily. Dorothy was less sanguine.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a worried tone. ‘Robert, is there something happening at the Installation that we should know about?’
‘Lots of things,’ he said, ‘though not the sort I can talk about.’
Once again Mr Frank made the coughing sound that signalled closure. He refolded his already neat newspaper, stood up from the table and announced that he was departing. Miriam rose too, and Mrs Frank asked Robert if he’d like any more food before his car arrived.
‘I would, thanks,’ he said, his appetite restored now that he had been able to vent a little of his anger. ‘And I plan on walking to the College.’
Arthur’s eyebrow cocked. ‘Are you allowed?’
‘I sometimes do,’ Miriam said confidently. ‘As long as your papers are in order there’s no problem. Perhaps I’ll see you there later, Robert.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he told her as she breezed out to the hallway to put on her coat. Then she and Mr Frank left together to catch their bus to work.
Dorothy returned to the stove with Robert’s plate, reheated the frying pan and cracked an egg into it, leaving it sizzling while she plucked two leftover sausages from under the grill. Robert watched her with the same detachment he had felt while trying to fathom her daughter. ‘Has she got a boyfriend?’ he asked.
‘Who, Miriam?’ There was a smile in Dorothy’s voice, but when she looked round and saw Robert’s seriousness, her expression changed to suspicion. ‘No.’ She turned off the gas and scooped the cooked egg onto Robert’s plate, brought it to the table and sat down, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot. She was wary of Robert’s purpose but spoke with forced lightness. ‘Miriam’s a lovely girl, don’t you think?’
He pushed some food into his mouth and mumbled polite agreement while Dorothy watched him over her steaming teacup, waiting for him to add more. Then she said flatly, ‘Where did you two go last night?’
‘I went alone.’
‘She left after Arthur and I went to bed.’
‘Not with me.’
‘But you know where she went, don’t you?’
He laid down his knife and fork, held the pink-edged paper napkin to his lips once more and stared at Mrs Frank, trying to decide how much to tell her.
‘Say it wasn’t the Blue Cat, that’s all.’
He shook his head. ‘No, not there.’ He dropped the crumpled napkin beside his plate and dissected a blackened sausage. ‘I only went there because I had to. I saw Miriam afterwards.’
Mrs Frank sighed. ‘I hope you’re telling the truth. The girls there are desperate and think they’ll get privileges but Miriam doesn’t need that, she has prospects. I don’t want her making the same mistakes …’ She trailed off, touched her grey hair, took a sip of tea, and it sounded as if she knew all about those curtained cubicles.
‘We didn’t do anything. We’re not …’
‘You could help her.’
There was a hardness in her face that Robert had not seen before. ‘How?’
She put down her cup. ‘Miriam wants to get away from here and I don’t blame her, even if it means we never see her again. The only way is for her to marry a leaver.’
The proposal was more blatant than anything Robert had heard from Mr Frank, and nearly made him bolt on his food. ‘We’re not a couple. And even if I thought I could love your daughter, I’m certain she’d never love me.’
‘I’m not talking about love. Arthur and I have got savings.’
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Are you trying to sell me your daughter?’
‘Our money’s no use to us here,’ she continued, seemingly intent on striking a good deal. ‘I’ve always known there was only one thing it could buy, and that would be Miriam’s freedom. All you have to do is marry her, set up home together outside the Installation for the statutory year and a day, then divorce her.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ She appeared genuinely perplexed. ‘You’d pay for a woman, wouldn’t you? Why not get paid to have one? Or are you too proud for that?’
‘There are things about Miriam you don’t know.’
‘Such as?’ Dorothy raised her chin defiantly, as if waiting for the punch that Robert had been preparing for someone else since the moment he woke up.
‘She has a lover – she was with him last night.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘They meet here, or at his place.’
Mrs Frank spoke with a mother’s fierce pride. ‘Miriam wouldn’t do that behind my back. She has principles, beliefs …’
‘You mean she’s a Christian?’
‘Yes,’ Dorothy declared. ‘Just like I am, and there’s no law against it.’
‘He’s called Tim.’
She was momentarily silenced, then laughed. ‘Tim? Is he the big secret you want to floor me with? They’ve been friends for years – they study scripture together.’
‘They were the ones who attacked me.’ He told her everything, and her eyes widened as she listened.
‘This can’t be true,’ she gasped. ‘She could have us all …’
‘Don’t let her out at night, keep her under lock and key and never tell her what I’ve said – otherwise I might be the one who’s shot.’
Mrs Frank nodded meekly. Now it was Robert who was in charge of the household – though Arthur need never know of the quiet handover of domestic control.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘There’s only one more thing I want to say before we go back to pretending nothing happened. I like you very much, Dorothy – you’ve shown me nothing but kindness. But I don’t like your daughter at all, and if I help her it’s only for your sake.’
Mrs Frank nodded again, still more humbly. ‘Miriam isn’t the easiest of people …’
He left her sitting at the table, looking dazed by what she had learned, and went out to the hallway. He was at the foot of the stairs when he called back, ‘I need a bag, a rucksack perhaps. Do you have one?’
There was a moment’s silence from the kitchen while Mrs Frank collected her thoughts. ‘A bag? Yes, I can give you one.’ She came out a moment later with an old canvas knapsack.
‘That’ll do,’ he said, taking it to his room where he collected his coat and dropped Rocket to the Stars inside, fastening the leather-strapped buckles as he came back downstairs and wished Mrs Frank goodbye.
‘Thank you,’ she said when he stepped outside.
‘It’s too soon for that.’ He slung the bag on his shoulder, dug his hands into his coat pockets and walked down the path.
16
Dawn was breaking, and already the people of the Installation were going about their business. Some shops were opening, and buses sped past every now and then along the otherwise empty roads, carrying workers to the Plant. A few folk, like Robert, preferred to walk, so he didn’t feel out of place in the quiet trickle of pedestrians until an engine rumbled behind him; not a bus this time but the familiar white car that rolled alongside, its driver nodding towards the empty front seat. Robert stopped and so did the car. He approached and opened the passenger door.
‘Good morning, sir,’ the driver said, leaning across and exuding both subservience and superiority; the pride of a man required to wait on others, and therefore more than happy to carry out any command that might involve ordering someone else.
‘I’d rather walk,’ Robert said curtly, still holding open the door.
�
��My instructions are to bring you to the College.’
‘I know how to get there.’
The driver’s smile hovered between laughter and a sneer. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I have clear instructions.’
‘Does that mean I have to follow them?’
Now he sneered. ‘Get inside, please. Otherwise there will be consequences.’
Passers-by ignored the scene as Robert climbed into the front passenger seat; all were familiar with the moment when a person is picked up off the street, and the correct response is to look elsewhere. But Robert was not being arrested; he had merely lost a small battle with the man whose job it had been for the last couple of days to ferry him around the Installation.
‘I wanted to buy some things on the way,’ Robert explained.
‘We can stop for them if you like.’ The driver seemed completely unruffled now that he had bent the volunteer to his will. His eyes never left the empty road while he followed its straight course with the care of a test candidate. ‘What do you need to buy?’
‘Some meat.’ Robert saw a change in the driver’s impassive profile; a raising of his eyebrows and the puzzled crinkling of his weathered forehead.
‘Meat to cook? Or do you want to feed a dog?’ A sardonic pout came to his lips. ‘Have you found yourself a pet?’
‘It’s for my landlady. She’s been very kind to me.’ The driver nodded sagely in response, evidently not believing a word of it. ‘I think I might also buy her a pair of gloves … and some chocolate.’
‘Santa Claus has come a few weeks early,’ the driver mused complacently. ‘Your landlady’s a lucky woman. She must treat you well. Very well indeed.’ Soon afterwards he said, ‘Here’s your meat.’ They were on the main street, passing the pub in which the recruits had drunk yesterday, and the car came to a halt a few metres further on, outside the butcher’s, where already there was a queue of women waving ration books. Robert was about to climb out but the driver stopped him. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘It’s better. Got your vouchers?’ Robert handed over the booklet and the driver went to see what was on offer, walking briskly inside the shop to the front of the queue, where the women stood aside to let him haggle with the butcher in his bloody apron, thick bare arms crossed over his chest.
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