by Phil Earle
Just then his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Mrs F and Syd in the distance, lugging a bale of hay while deep in conversation.
It may have been due to his already fragile state of mind, but Joseph instantly knew that the subject could only be one thing: him, or more specifically, his shortcomings in class.
Syd wouldn’t dob him in, would she?he thought. Trust me, she’d said.
He watched her closely; the emotion on her face as she talked, nineteen to the dozen, and Mrs F shaking her head as she listened, every second compounding Joseph’s paranoia. She was giving him away. Despite everything she’d said.
He was on his feet in a flash, ripping open his school bag, pulling out the dog-eared book he was supposed to be studying.
Syd might want to humiliate him, to force him into reading for Mrs F, but he wasn’t going to have that. Instead, he clutched the book in his left hand and marched towards Adonis’s cage, not caring any longer about the consequences, only letting go when he was sure that it would land inside the bars. Then, turning to Mrs F, and in particular to Syd, he let fly: ‘Can’t read it now, can I? So you can tell who you like: Miss Doherty, the headmaster, Clarence himself, for all I care – in fact you can stick it. Stick it in your pipe and smoke it!’
His voice shook, but that wasn’t all, his hands and arms too. In fact as he tried to gather his possessions it felt like his entire body was quivering, betraying him, preventing him from getting away before Mrs F was at his shoulder.
‘Joseph, what in God’s name was all that about?’
‘You know what,’ he replied, pointing at Syd. ‘And you do too. You couldn’t wait, could you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Syd, ‘What do you th—’ But she never finished, as her attention was broken by confetti falling around her. Confetti made from Joseph’s book by Adonis’s fingers.
The three of them stared at the ape, who sniffed at the remaining pages before dabbing them against his tongue. From the way he discarded them, they were clearly even less appetising than the cabbage.
‘Joseph,’ snapped Mrs F, ‘you need to explain yourself. And you need to do it now.’
But the boy wasn’t in the mood for helpful answers.
‘What’s the problem?’ he said. ‘You can clean it up next time you’re in there having a cuddle. And anyway, Adonis just told you everything you need to know. He likes reading as much as I do.’
And with one last deathly stare in Syd’s direction, he stomped away.
18
Joseph fell from his bed.
The siren seemed louder tonight, more urgent.
Did it know something he didn’t? He thought, as he dressed. Scuttling down the stairs, seeing his breath in front of him, he found both Mrs F and Tweedy waiting in the kitchen.
‘C’mon dog,’ Joseph said, heading for the back door and the shelter beyond, only to be stopped by Mrs F.
‘You’re both coming with me tonight.’
Joseph frowned.
‘Don’t be thinking for a second it’s any kind of reward. I know something went on at school today, no matter how silent you’ve been.’
‘What’s wrong with me hiding out back there?’
‘Rufus Twyford has a bug. His mother thinks he’s contagious, so we’ll be giving them a wide berth for a while.’
Joseph didn’t believe her. She hadn’t looked at him while she said it, which wasn’t like her. Besides, he wasn’t daft. He guessed there might have been words between Mrs F and Sylvie Twyford after the last raid. And he’d seen the way Mrs Twyford had looked down her nose at him when they’d met. If anyone was contagious in her eyes, it wasn’t Rufus, it was him.
It was a look he’d become attuned to. He’d seen it plenty of times over the years, judgement or despair at the way he behaved, and he’d learned to shut it out to make sure he fell foul of it no longer.
As they dashed from the house, the temperature dropped even further, and Joseph felt a momentary pang of longing for the relative warmth of the shelter.
‘Now,’ Mrs F said, without breaking stride or focus, ‘if you’re coming with me, you’ll do as you’re told, do you hear? You’ll not leave my side unless I tell you to do so. You can’t hide under the aquarium tonight, the timbers in the floor have started splintering under all the shaking, and besides, I want you where I can see you.’
Joseph shrugged. It suited him, meant he could watch her, rifle in hand. So for once he trotted alongside her and Tweedy through the pitch-black streets, only making out their exact whereabouts when the horizon lit up in pain.
It was so cold, though. The nipping in his fingertips and ears got worse with every minute, the wind’s teeth biting wherever his skin was exposed.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
‘You’ll be needing this,’ Mrs F said, pulling a knitted lump from her pocket and thrusting it into his grip.
It was a balaclava, by the looks of it, though Joseph didn’t want it. Was she trying to butter him up or something?
‘You’re all right. You keep it,’ he said coldly.
‘Don’t be daft. It’s yours.’ A sheepish look hit her face. ‘I knitted it for you.’ She seemed to go from sheepish to embarrassed to angry in nothing but a second. ‘Oh, stop being so ungrateful and put it on.’ She turned her head back to the front, straining into the inky night, allowing Joseph to thrust the balaclava as deep into his pocket as it would go.
Though by the time they unlocked the zoo gates, with the bombs still landing in the distance, his resolve was severely tested, teeth juddering in his head.
‘Meet me by Adonis’s cage. Feed him if he looks distressed,’ she said, before dashing in the direction of the office. ‘Check the others on the way, too. And take the dog.’
Needless to say, Tweedy was less than obedient, choosing her without hesitation. Still, Joseph did as instructed, casting a cursory glance at the camels, ponies, wolves and birds before arriving at the cage, straining into the darkness until his eyes finally focused, seeing Adonis sitting regally in his usual pose.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ he asked the beast, blowing on his ravaged fingertips, before shoving them inside his coat sleeves. ‘No way you’d find me out here if I didn’t have to be.’
The ape looked to him slowly, peering through his eyebrows, responding with the grumpiest of snorts.
‘Same to you. And you’re not having my coat, so don’t even ask.’
Another snort, louder, longer. Joseph thought he could smell the ape’s breath.
Mrs F had said to feed him if he was distressed. Joseph had no idea if this meant distress or just plain grumpiness, so he threw a clump of grass through the bars regardless.
It landed, pitifully, some yards away, but close enough to pique the ape’s attention. He pushed onto his front arms and leaned in its direction, before deciding that it wasn’t near enough to make him bother moving.
‘What’s the matter? You want waiter service or something?’
He threw a second clump and it landed closer, but still not close enough to tempt Adonis. It drew merely the same disdain. So he tried a manky carrot this time, closer again, but positioned so the beast would still have to make some kind of effort to retrieve it.
The ape’s head turned with a sneer, but then came the lifting of one arm, then another, the body pivoting slowly, showing again the strength that surged through every inch of his body. It may have been hidden by the fur, but there was no mistaking its power as it dipped to retrieve the food.
What surprised Joseph was that Adonis didn’t then return to his spot. Instead, he faced the boy, rooted his fists to the floor, his rump following. It was quite a sight to be so close, and a mightily impressive one, too, not that Joseph would admit it.
Everything was now magnified: his bulk, his scars, the intensity held in his eyes. J
oseph could see the icy wind blowing at his fur, making it ripple and flow as Adonis lifted his food slowly to his mouth. Joseph couldn’t be truly sure if the animal was looking at him, but there was no mistaking what happened next. Adonis devoured the carrot, barring the stalk, in one mouthful, then put his hand through the bars, just a foot or so from him.
But he did not drop the waste at Joseph’s feet as he expected. Adonis made to do so, but with a late flick of his wrist he sent the stalk sidewards some yards away, far enough for the boy to have to move to tidy it away.
This drew a surprised laugh from Joseph. One that he couldn’t keep in or swallow down. He might be going mad, but he thought that small gesture might be Adonis’s idea of a joke. One that said, All right, pal. If you’re going to make me move for my food, then you’re going to move to tidy it up.
‘Cheeky beggar! Did you mean to do that?’ he asked. Adonis threw his head back jerkily. ‘Hilarious. Just hit the bucket next time, will you. Or I’ll serve you the wolves’ food instead.’
Adonis grunted one last time, before loping back to his regular spot, sitting at the exact moment the latest bomb landed in the distance, louder and closer than before. It drew Mrs F and Tweedy quickly into view.
‘Have you fed him?’ she asked.
‘Oh aye,’ Joseph said without taking his eyes off Adonis. ‘His majesty has definitely eaten.’
‘Right, well step back here with me. Jerry’s obviously in a bad mood tonight.’
‘Must be contagious,’ he whispered, transfixed by the rifle in her hands, which lured him back into the shadows.
‘Look, neither of us wants to be here,’ she said, ‘but neither of us gets a say. This place is my responsibility, these animals – all of them – are my responsibility. Now, I may not like it, but if a bomb were to set Adonis here free? Well, it’d be like Hitler himself walking around town. The damage he would do would be huge. Only difference is, Adonis would do it out of fear. You can’t say that about Adolf.’
‘So you’d do it then? You’d kill Adonis if you had to?’
‘I’ve no idea. Won’t have, either, till that bomb drops, till I can see where it’s falling. Maybe it’ll get me before I can pull the trigger, maybe it’ll take Adonis with it first. All I know is that sometimes, doing the right thing feels completely wrong.’
And with that, she sat on the bench and wrapped her scarf tightly around her mouth: a clear sign that she was done talking.
19
The night was still cold: so cold it forced a single tear from Mrs F’s eye.
She wiped it away quickly with a rough woollen glove, but Joseph spotted it regardless.
Was she just cold or had the prospect of pulling the trigger become too much for her? He looked for more signs, but frustratingly she gave none, pulling her hat lower and her scarf higher, the perfect camouflage.
Joseph shivered next to her, but not close. The cold had starved him of energy. There was little of him visible either, bandaged in blankets and scarves retrieved from the office.
He kept his eyes forward, fixed on the bars of the cage, but every now and then he risked a glance to see if she was still awake, if her grasp on the rifle remained tight. It was exciting and boring all at the same time.
An hour passed.
The night darkened, so dark even the stars seemed blunted and useless, and it lulled the woman, pulling her down inside her coat, her breathing deepening until it echoed the grunts from the cage.
Joseph waited till he was sure sleep was just about to grab her.
‘I don’t think you’d do it.’
Her eyes flashed open, body tensing in surprise, finger tightening instinctively on the trigger.
‘Hhhhm? What?’
‘Pull the trigger. If you had to. I don’t think you would.’
She stretched and yawned, irritated at herself for nearly falling asleep. ‘You know everything, you,’ she said, eyes slit-like.
‘If you’re tired, you can let me hold the gun.’
‘It’s a rifle, not a gun. And besides, do you honestly think I’d let you hold this? You took such an instant dislike to Adonis, you’d be pulling the trigger even if Hitler waved a white flag from Berlin.’
Joseph fell silent, thinking about it. Wouldhe pull the trigger if he had to?
Ask him a few days ago and he’d have pulled the rifle clean out of her hands. Damned ape had scared the life out of him. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he had no idea if he could squeeze the trigger either. He’d seen Adonis behave differently at times: not just his playfulness tonight, but the way he was with Mrs F. The way he allowed himself to be fed with her so close by. They didn’t even need bars between them, such was their trust. He tried to imagine being able to feed the ape like that, before coming to his senses. It was pointless thinking of such a thing. That wasn’t how life worked for him. Friendship and trust counted for nothing. He knew that.
Silence fell, and darkness grew. There were no signs from above but the sirens hadn’t called it off yet either. The night was cold. So cold he resorted to the balaclava she had made him, daring to pull it over his head without feeling guilty for doing so.
The noises from Mrs F told him she’d succumbed to sleep, but he had not. He was awake and prepared to pinch himself whenever sleep dared to sneak up.
Her breathing deepened further and he felt her slump gently against him. His instinct was to push her off and as he did so, her grip on the rifle fell altogether and it slid, gently, onto his lap.
He cradled it, out of fear of it falling to the floor and setting itself off. But the second his hands grasped its bulk, it confused him, making him feel too many things at once. He felt the danger in it, the power in its weight. But with that power came an overwhelming and immediate sense of fear, too. He expected to feel brave, but he didn’t. He felt scared.
Was this how soldiers felt, he thought, the first time they picked up a gun? And did it change over time? Did it feel lighter, more normal the more you pointed it? Or did it only feel better when someone was pointing one straight back at you?
He thought of his dad, hundreds of miles away, and wondered if he was doing the exact same thing. Was he scared, too? He hoped not. He hated him for leaving him to struggle here on his own, but at the same time, felt a burning love for him, a desire to know that he was alive and breathing, and coming home.
Rustling broke from the cage, pulling Joseph from his thoughts. Adonis dashed along its length: not loud enough to wake Mrs F, but enough to see Joseph swing the rifle in his direction, pulse quickening.
Could he do it if he had to?
He looked to the sky: nothing. Empty. If they were coming again, they weren’t here yet, or even close.
So he waited, just like Mrs F did, hands tingling, and not just from the biting cold. But nothing happened. No one came, and just like her, eventually, he found his own clothes and blankets growing, pulling him under, until finally, and despite his protests, his eyes closed for the first time, the rifle slipping to the ground between them both. He didn’t pick it up.
Inside the cage two eyes remained open and alert.
Open, alert and fixed on the boy: keeping guard from a distance.
And they stayed that way, until the all-clear siren finally sounded.
20
A long night meant a long day for Joseph.
He’d pleaded through pinprick eyes to be allowed to sleep on: his head had only hit the pillow an hour or so earlier, but Mrs F was having none of it: ‘Do you think anyone else in the city slept last night, either?’
Joseph didn’t know or care. All he knew was that his eyes stung and his muscles ached. A bench had been no place to sleep, and it had been especially embarrassing to wake up nestled against Mrs F, stealing whatever warmth she had left. The only thing that eased the humiliation was seeing that she felt the same, scrabbling
to collect the rifle from the floor and move herself to the opposite end of the bench.
‘I’ll not listen to a single excuse, Joseph Palmer.’
He tried to protest, made a lame claim to a sore belly, which failed to raise an eyebrow, never mind a sick note, and ten weary minutes later, he found himself at the kitchen table.
‘So what did your teacher say yesterday? Are you up to date with lessons, or do we need to catch up at home? It’s a long time since I did any maths or English, but I can muck in if needs be.’
‘She’s still working it out,’ he spat, through an underwhelming bowl of unsweetened porridge. Again, though, he’d noted then ignored the fact that the helping she’d given him was bigger than her own.
‘So, no sums to do? Nothing?’
He shrugged. What didn’t speak, couldn’t lie.
‘Perhaps I should come with you today.’
As his mind raced for an excuse, salvation came in the unlikely figure of Syd at the door, who was just as surprised as Mrs F to see Joseph dash to greet her, school bag and gas mask box in hand.
‘What’s got into you?’ she asked, after he’d practically dragged her through the front gate and up the road. He didn’t reply, nor did he offer anything for a while, as once the relief of escaping Mrs F had passed, he felt tiredness cloud his every step, slowing him to a crawl.
‘Come on. Keep up,’ insisted Syd.
‘Give over, will you. I’ve barely slept,’ he said.
She shook her head unsympathetically. ‘Have you not realised yet, tiredness is something you’re going to have to get used to here?’
‘What, like your rudeness?’
‘I’m not rude, Joseph, just honest. The Germans aren’t going to have a night off just because you need to catch up on your beauty sleep, you know.’
He looked around him. He could see that from the landscape. Every corner they turned, it seemed there was another building crumpled in despair, another crater dug into the road.