Some Here Among Us

by Peter Walker

  ‘What demonstration?’ said Toby.

  ‘Against Vietnam,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘Nineteen sixty-eight!’ said Race.

  ‘Sixty-seven,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘I’m sure it was ’68,’ said Race.

  ‘He’s a marine biologist,’ said Chadwick to Toby. ‘What does he know? It was 1967. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is: Clifford remembered it too. I told him where I’d seen him and he said: “I remember that!” He’d been to all these countries to raise more troops for the war and there were no demonstrations on the whole trip, but then he got to Wellington and there we were. Ten thousand kids standing in the rain. He remembered standing at a window and looking down at us.’

  ‘I remember that!’ said Race. ‘I remember seeing him at the window.’

  ‘You were there?’ said Toby to Race.

  ‘We were both there,’ said Race.

  ‘You guys,’ said Toby.

  ‘He even made a joke about it,’ said Chadwick. ‘He said there were more people out that window than New Zealand had ever sent to the war. But it was an important moment for him, he told me. He looked down at the crowd and he saw the signs, and for the first time he thought “Maybe we’re wrong.” ’

  ‘What signs?’ said Toby.

  ‘Oh, the usual thing,’ said Chadwick. ‘Make Love not War and so on. He was this big Cold War warrior, you see, but at that moment he thought “Maybe these kids are reading the tide of events better than us.”

  ‘All You Need Is Love,’ said Race.

  ‘All You Need Is Love!’ said Chadwick. ‘Maybe that’s what changed his mind. Morgan’s sign.’

  ‘I painted that,’ said Race.

  ‘You did? I thought Morgan painted it.’

  ‘I painted it,’ said Race.

  ‘And I laughed at it,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just wanted to jeer for some reason. I wanted to bring Morgan down a peg or two. He was so damned aloof. And he turned on me and read me a lecture. Abdera was the vilest town in all of Thrace.’

  ‘I’d forgotten that,’ said Race.

  ‘I never forgot it,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘You two,’ said Toby, jogging on the spot.

  ‘I didn’t know what he was talking about,’ said Chadwick. ‘It would take about two seconds to find out today but we didn’t have the internet then. But I always remembered that – The town of Abdera was the vilest town in all Thrace. Of course I was busy with other things and I never really thought about it, but one day I ran into that sentence again.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ said Race.

  ‘It’s an old Greek play called Andromeda,’ said Chadwick. ‘It’s a boy-meets-girl thing. Andromeda is this beautiful girl left chained to a rock by her father to be eaten by the sea-monster. Then Perseus comes by on winged sandals, “cutting a path through the midst of the air”, and he sees her and falls in love and he makes this famous speech: “O love, love, prince of gods and men!” The rest of the play is lost. We only know it existed because it was put on in a town called Abdera and the whole place fell for that speech. It was a famous incident. Everyone went around singing: “O Love, O Cupid, prince of gods and men”. The story was reported about 100 AD by a Roman called Lucian. I’ve read it all up now, you see. I’m a world expert on the fragment of Andromeda. The story reaches England in the seventeenth century. Hobbes repeats it, then it turns up in Sterne. Lucian and Hobbes both hated the story. They thought the Abderites were ridiculous: “The whole population went round like pale ghosts yelling, ‘O Love, who lords it over gods and men!” ’ But Sterne – he loved it. He’d have loved to have been there, you can tell: “In every street, in every house, O Love! Prince of gods and men! The fire caught, and the whole city, like the heart of one man, open’d itself to Love.” That was Morgan’s theory, you see. The same thing was happening to us. 1967. Love, love, love! And this time it was all around the world. And some people loved it, and other people hated it, and they still do.’

  ‘Morgan said all that?’ said Race.

  ‘He must have thought that. He knew the Sterne by heart,’ said Chadwick. ‘He fired it straight back at me.’

  ‘What did Clifford do?’ said Toby.

  ‘Well, that day changed his mind, he said. He saw these kids and he thought, “Maybe they’re reading the tide better than us.” That was his phrase. But he said nothing when he came back and he was then made Secretary of Defense. And then he came out against the war. Top guy in Pentagon is against war! The president was furious but what could he do? He’d just appointed him. Everything was going crazy that year anyway. Martin Luther King shot. Riots everywhere. American cities burning. This city right here was on fire. You could smell the smoke in the White House. So LBJ gave in. He started peace talks with the Vietnamese. And it took a few years but, you know, we got out of an unwinnable war.’

  They stood under the pillars looking at the city.

  ‘I think there’s something bad going on down there right now,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘What?’ said Race.

  ‘I think they’re going to invade Iraq,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Race.

  ‘Uncle Chip’ll be pleased,’ said Toby.

  ‘Uncle Chip!’ said Chadwick.

  He stood musing.

  ‘Then he climbed on the limo roof!’ he said.

  ‘He jumped on that limo!’ said Race. ‘I didn’t know you saw that.’

  ‘Who?’ said Toby.

  ‘Of course I saw it,’ said Chadwick.

  ‘What limo?’ said Toby.

  But they ignored him. They were looking at Morgan on the roof of a long black car beside a rose garden decades earlier.

  There was a faint fanfare of trumpets. Toby dived into different pockets of his sweatpants and took out his phone. He spoke for a while, looking first at the horizon, and then he turned to look at Race and at Chadwick while he listened to Candy. The call ended, and they kept watching him.

  ‘Bernard’s had a fall,’ Toby said.

  5

  ‘Reuben!’ cried Bernard, stretching out both arms.

  Toby paused at the door. Bernard, sitting up in bed, wore a bandage on his head at a rakish angle. One of his legs was in a cast: his ancient naked foot peeped from the encasement of plaster at the edge of a light blanket.

  ‘Reuben!’ said Bernard again. ‘Who did you marry?’

  ‘I didn’t marry anyone,’ said Toby cautiously. He came further into the hospital room. Merle was sitting on a straight-backed, plastic-seated chair beside the bed. Romulus was outside in the corridor on a red vinyl bench, doing his homework.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Bernard. ‘You should marry, you know. “It is not good that man should be alone.” God said that. Or was it Adam? I forget which. My own wife was here a little while ago. Have you seen her about at all?’

  ‘No,’ said Toby.

  ‘Your own wife died,’ said Merle. ‘Twenty year ago.’

  ‘Oh no, that can’t be right,’ said Bernard. ‘I’m sure someone would have mentioned it. Haven’t you seen her at all today? I’m sure I have.’

  ‘No, Granddad,’ said Toby. ‘Merle’s right. Your wife died.’

  ‘Either you’re wrong, or I’m wrong,’ said Bernard. ‘Perhaps I haven’t been compos mentis for quite some time. Oh dear, where is the front door key? I have always made a point of keeping it right here.’

  He patted the glassed top of the bedside locker.

  ‘He’s high,’ said Merle. ‘He had another shot. Enough morphine to kill a horse.’

  Bernard giggled. ‘I just don’t want to be a nuisance,’ he said. ‘I want to die so I won’t be any trouble to my children. You can drop me off any time, you know.’

  ‘We’re not dropping you off anywhere, Grandpa. How do you feel?’

  ‘Dreadful!’ said Bernard.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ said Toby.

&n
bsp; ‘I would,’ said Bernard.

  ‘Cup of coffee?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be wanting that,’ said Bernard. ‘What’ll we have? Name your poison!’

  ‘I’d like a cup of coffee.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you.’

  Afternoon sunlight, slightly begrimed, shone through the window. Pigeons were cooing out of sight on a ledge nearby, and the sound of traffic on K Street soughed through the double glazing.

  ‘How’s your leg?’ said Toby.

  ‘My leg?’

  ‘Your femur.’

  ‘My femur?’

  ‘You broke your femur. And your tibia.’

  ‘No, my boy. You must be confusing me with someone else. I have never broken a bone of my body in my life.’

  ‘What’s this, then?’ said Toby, touching the cast with a light finger.

  ‘That?’ said Bernard. ‘Oh, I let the girls here do all that to keep them happy. They have very little to occupy their time.’

  A nurse came in, addressed herself wordlessly to various checks and balances, covered Bernard’s empurpled toes with the blanket and departed.

  ‘I suppose you find these nurses highly attractive, sexually?’ said Bernard.

  ‘I guess,’ said Toby. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Well, I am rather selfish in these matters,’ said Bernard. ‘How about you?’ he said to Merle.

  ‘I’m going out,’ said Merle, standing up and putting on her hat. ‘I have some shopping. I leave Romulus with you for ten minutes?’

  ‘Leave him with me,’ said Toby.

  He followed Merle into the corridor and stood over Romulus.

  ‘It’s you and me, kid,’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Science,’ said Romulus, not looking up from his writing. Toby read over his shoulder:

  Our own Sun rings like a bell, according to Nasa scintists. It pulses and make a ringing as it does so. We cannot hear the sounds, but we can see oscillations in our Sun’s brightness every few minutes

  ‘Wow,’ said Toby.

  He went back into Bernard’s room and sat on the straight-backed chair with the plump, taut seat which Merle had vacated. Steatopygia, he thought.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering about my walking stick,’ said Bernard, his eyes closed. ‘Of course, I’d like it back because it is an item.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ said Toby.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘They said at the Manchester laboratory: “We can’t afford Bernard Drake, he’s too highly paid,” said Bernard. ‘I was on thirty shillings a week. But Colin McClintock put in a word for me. He said “He’ll be value for the money” .’

  ‘I bet you were,’ said Toby.

  There was a silence. Bernard seemed to have fallen asleep. Toby looked out the window at the westering sun.

  ‘It’s the only thing I do well now,’ said Bernard, half opening his eyes. ‘Sleep, I mean. I am very old . . . And lazy.’

  ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘It’s very hard at this end of life.’

  ‘I meant today, here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘In hospital.’

  ‘Hospital!’ said Bernard.

  ‘We’re at the University Hospital,’ said Toby.

  ‘Are we?’ said Bernard. ‘What are we here for?’

  ‘I’m visiting you. What do you think of the place?’

  ‘They’re a bit bloody zealous. I intend to leave shortly.’

  ‘You can’t leave yet. You need nursing. There are no nurses at Barleycorn Street.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  There was a long pause. This time Bernard began to snore. Toby went out of the room.

  ‘Come on, Romulo,’ he said.

  ‘Where’re we going?’

  ‘Fresh air,’ said Toby.

  They took the elevator down and went outside and stood in the concourse by the street. Toby lit a cigarette.

  ‘Whyn’t you quit?’ said Romulus severely.

  This made Toby laugh. He took the school book from Romulus’s hand.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ he said.

  ‘ “The earth moves round the sun at twenty-five (25) miles a second round the sun,” ’ he read.

  ‘Twenty-five miles a second!’ said Toby.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Romulus. ‘The sun’s going round the galaxy faster than that. And the galaxy’s going somewhere else as fast as hell as well.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Toby. He looked along the street. The lights changed, the traffic came forward decorously.

  ‘You’d never know it,’ he said.

  Two hospital porters came out and stood on the concourse, big men, burly, about thirty, wearing white T-shirts and hospital jackets. Then a third came after them. He was much younger, also black, with a limp.

  ‘You’re a good man, Pete,’ said the younger man, ‘you’re giving me advice as a family man, I like that, it’s important.’

  He was looking anxiously from face to face.

  ‘My kid’s eighteen months old,’ he said. ‘He knows me. His mother calls and says: “He wants a word.” “Put him on,” I say. “Dadda!” he says. She wants a romantic affair with me again but I don’t want it. After we split up she was full of animaversity to me, all kinda stories which ain’t true, that I’m a junkie, that I’m a closet, that I beat her up. I never beat her up – she beat me up.’

  The other two said nothing. Romulus was listening with frowning brow, like a Times critic on a first night.

  ‘Pete, you look good, you look well, you always do,’ said the man with the limp. ‘So do you, Pete, you both do. I love you guys even though you used to beat me up, even when I had a crippled knee.’

  The two Petes said nothing. The traffic changed again at the lights.

  ‘Come on,’ said Toby.

  He and Romulus went along the street as far as the intersection. Then they turned back, went in the main entrance and took the elevator up to Bernard’s room. Merle was already there, sitting beside the bed.

  ‘Hey!’ said Romulus. ‘Which entrance you come in?’

  ‘The same one I went out of,’ said Merle.

  ‘You must have walked straight past us,’ said Romulus in admiration at the universe.

  The TV set, hung above the bed and angled down, had been switched on. ‘Bloodshed in Gaza!’ said a richly timbred voice.

  ‘The news,’ said Merle. ‘He’s asleep but he likes the news when he’s asleep.’

  ‘Four boys aged between five and twelve were on their way to class at about seven a.m.,’ said the television voice.

  ‘I’m worried about my wife,’ said Bernard, opening his eyes. ‘It would be foolish to pretend at this point of our lives that we have a lot of time left together.’

  Chadwick walked into the room. He was wearing a suit of some magnificence and carrying a newspaper. The dark suit, without any further agency, seemed to change the interpersonal dynamics on the wing. A nurse came in and then a doctor appeared for the first time that afternoon. He glanced briefly at Bernard and then turned to Chadwick to say that Bernard was doing well. Chadwick shot his cuffs and listened to the prognosis. The doctor and nurse went out again. Chadwick sat on one of the tautly plump chairs and winked at Toby.

  ‘Body parts were strewn scores of yards away,’ said the television voice.

  ‘I saw smoke rising,’ said another voice. ‘I went running and I saw pieces of people on the ground – legs, hands. Children’s legs and children’s hands.’

  ‘Funny business, that,’ said Chadwick, watching the television from the side. He tapped the paper, then unfolded it and looked at the front page, and then back at the TV.

  ‘Same old thing,’ said Toby. ‘Arabs and Jews.’

  ‘I know,’ said Chadwick. ‘But if a country does something like that – us, the Russians, Israel – the first thing you do is deny it. It’s only human nature. States are just like people – more primitive and cruel,
but just as cunning. And yet here are the Israelis saying: “Oh, yeah. We did that! That was us all right!”’

  The doctor came back in and indicated with an inclination of his head that Chadwick should come out to the hall to talk to him.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Chadwick.

  He tossed his copy of the Times on Bernard’s bed and went out. Merle got to her feet heavily and took the paper off the bed and put it on the third chair. She then went around the bed and picked up the glass water-jug from the locker. She tilted it, looking in, then left the room. Toby picked up the paper to read the story:

  It was about half an hour after sunrise. The boys were on their way to school, following the lanes between tumbledown houses and greenhouses and out to a field of bright green peppers. Then they climbed a steep sand dune: there was a roar and the ground shook.

  ‘I have come to a momentous decision,’ said Bernard, his eyes closed.

  There was a long pause. Toby watched him.

  ‘I have determined,’ said Bernard, ‘taking full responsibility for my actions, to tell the Surgeon-General that I will not comply with his directive. I consider that I am not in a position to do otherwise. I will therefore not go to Cincinnati.’

  ‘Well, OK,’ said Toby.

  ‘There is a matter of grave importance which requires my presence here,’ said Bernard.

  There was another silence. The pigeons cooed.

  ‘I was on the tram with Father,’ said Bernard, his voice now light and far away. ‘I was reading the paper to him. The headline said: “Woodrow Wilson – Too Proud To Fight”. I read that to Father. And a man on the tram said: “Some men fight and some won’t.” And I said to Father: “You’re a poor blind man. You won’t fight.” ’

  There was another silence.

  Bernard opened his eyes. He stared all around in alarm, then he set eyes on Toby.

  ‘Someone said that,’ he said. ‘Some boy – half jokingly – suggested that Father should be in the war. But it wasn’t me.’