by Nigel Dennis
This was the chairman’s or president’s day, to sum up and judge, and he was in no hurry to miss a minute of it, putting away his usual glasses and drawing larger ones from his pocket and polishing with a shammy. He called on each of the four spokesmen to say their last words, which they all did loudly and firmly, and when they had done he asked them certain questions, to confirm what he had already decided, and made notes carefully of their answers – while all I could think was whether the new men, not knowing the proper routine, would try and open the shed door to put back my empty bucket. He then adjourned for lunch, though it was only twelve – I suppose not wanting to make a speech for only an hour before needing to interrupt himself.
But sharp at two he got going, with all our row like dead men and the Colonel holding himself up by the arms of his chair, which was all a consolation to me, not because of what I had suffered from them but because they were with me now in the soup – and much worse off, because I was only an enemy and they were their country’s soldiers. But just as he was about to begin, the door opened and a stranger came in – somebody very stout and loudly uniformed whom the president or chairman rose to greet and gave a special place to in the well. I knew from his hat that he was to do with the Prisons, but it was a good two hours before I guessed he was the Camp Commandant, come up from the prison below to hear the verdict.
After that, all went smoothly, beginning with many references and readings aloud from books, with everyone holding his head in his hand and waiting patiently for what mattered. So far as I can tell, the more personal side began with me, judging from the glances I received, and went on far into the afternoon, after which there was a pause before he started on his countrymen.
To do him justice, he got a move on then: I suppose their misconduct was plain-sailing. But even so, the evening began to draw in and the lights came on, with him becoming sterner and sharper as he went on. When he came at last to the Colonel, he stopped to have a drink first, and was sipping from his glass when the siren from the camp went off.
Everybody started with surprise, but everyone kept his seat except the fat Commandant, who without a word to the president or chairman, threw back his chair and ran for the door, with a number of accidents on the way. He was not at the door before the first church bells joined the siren, then he was gone with the door ajar behind him.
There were loud whisperings and exclamations, but they were silenced at once and the door ordered closed. Then there was only what seemed at first to be somebody’s heavy breathing, getting louder, which proved to be the Colonel, shaking from head to foot with laughter. This, mixing with the bells announcing the serious emergency, made everyone angry except our row, but we were too glum by then to find anything funny. His good laugh seemed to do him good, however, because he sat straight up in his chair again as he had done on the first day and, when the last word had been said, bowed his head very politely and waited cheerfully enough for his moment to go out.
The four spokesmen now rose in turn and made little acknowledgements while their assistants put their papers back into their brief-cases. Everything, then, was finished apparently, but to my surprise, there was another item.
The agronomist, who had not once been questioned or said a word, got up with his friendly smile and spoke to the Court. He bowed to all the spokesmen and the president or chairman, and even acknowledged the witnesses. He seemed to be saying thank you to everybody, and did so briefly, but with great politeness. When he sat down, the hall was cleared of all the rest of us, leaving it to him and the president, who departed together.
They kept me back in the hall so long that I began to think I would never see my greenhouse again, and I even began to worry in case the lawyers who had proved me to be a secret agent had really in the end, by so much talking, come to believe that I was. But at last my guards brought me to the verandah, where every manjack and woman that had been in the hall were lined against the railings, staring down at the camp – a vivid sight, with every searchlight pouring on and, as before, the circle of beaters drawing in slowly round the main building, with the little military cars racing round and round the fields outside the circle, and all to the ringing of the bells as if it were a day of feasting or resurrection. My escort had a difficulty getting me through the crowd and down the steps, and having put me through my door, took up position in front of it and stared into the valley with the rest. Very soon, they were relieved by four soldiers, who took up positions round the greenhouse in a square, while an engineer set up an electric light on the verandah rail, to shine over my glass walls. If my second visitor had not run on when the siren went, he would never get out now – nor did I mean to look into the hut and see, but only sat on my chair on the concrete strip, watching the valley with everybody else. Only once my heart stopped, when out of a little hooded car with a spinning ventilator in the roof, they brought two dogs, causing excitement on the verandah. But these happy animals, though they tried their best with waving tails and pleasure, did no more than run in circles, as if they had been trotted out just for the look of things, but no real scent to follow, and soon they were ordered back into their private car. Once they had disappeared, the audience on the verandah took it as a signal and began to drift away, until when midnight came and the beaters had drawn their knot tight round the prison walls, there was only me left with my guards, and slowly even the bells stopped.
Now, my guard was inspected by a junior officer, who walked all round the hut and greenhouse with a tough face, and having satisfied himself that there was no escape for me, made me do what I didn’t dare to do of my own accord. He gestured me into the hut with a scowl, as if I had no business putting off my bedtime, and watched to see me lay out my blankets there and lie down. When I had done so, he came in with a torch and flashed it thoroughly into all sides of the shed, after which he was content and went away. MACKENZIE’S second visitor had been even more cautious for my sake than the first had been, leaving no trace of his form behind him, nor even any paper scrap of ORDERS as to what I must suffer next. When I saw that such things could be done, and done so well, I suddenly began to feel almost happy and somehow to imagine myself what the court had tried so hard to prove me. I thought of all the compliments they had paid to my bravery and cunning and began to think they must be true, however absurd they really were. One question by one of the spokesmen kept coming back to me more than all the others, particularly because he had pressed it on me with so much friendliness and tried so hard in his tone to show me that it answered itself:
Q: My friend! Are you prepared to pretend to this Court that you endured silently and without complaint a captivity that would kill an ordinary person, and did so not because it suited your bold plans but only because you were born with the heart of a chicken?
I also remembered this question because it had caused a murmur in the Court, everyone except the Colonel and our row turning their eyes to respect me.
When morning came, the beaters had all gone from round the camp, but I saw the hooded car with the dogs draw up again in the empty space and watched the handler go inside the prison by the big gate. Almost at the same moment, the agronomist appeared on the verandah, talking cheerfully to my old interpreter, who came down the steps, acknowledged my guards, and said to me: ‘If you have anything to take, you have ten minutes in which to do so’ – and without another word turned his back on me and went into the house. But the agronomist stayed at the head of the verandah steps, slapping his gloves lightly, waiting for our transport.
I found the two pots with the leaf-cuttings of the house-leek and stood them beside me, to wait. After five minutes, the handler came out of the gate below with something to show his dogs, who again began their happy running to and fro, eager in the morning sun. In only a few minutes more, one of them picked up the trail with great excitement and both began to race up the hill, until checked by the handler, who attached their leads and then began to run with them. But at the same moment a hooded car, like a Black
Maria but with canvas sides, drew up on the gravel road and one of my guards opened my door and beckoned me out.
The agronomist preceded me, taking his seat beside the driver. I followed with a pot in each hand, escorted by my guards, and climbed into the back by little metal steps. Two armed soldiers were already awaiting me on the black benches inside, and the opening by which I had got in was at once drawn tight with cords. The last thing I saw as they drew-to the last chink was a man pushing a carrier on rubber wheels down the verandah to the steps: having nowhere else to put them, they were returning my plants to die in their empty house. Then, one of my two guards pulled up the iron steps with a clang and we moved off fast, checking only an instant to let the excited dogs and the panting handler cross the road towards my old greenhouse, and then moving on briskly in the military way.
I was not in darkness because there was a square of artificial glass in the canvas roof, but I could see nothing but the sky – a fine day (temp. 70 deg. approx.). Very soon, the nearest guard made me shift my seat towards the front, and he and the other sat at the very back, secretly smoking cigarettes and blowing the smoke through the corded slits. As is the Army way, they obliged me to smoke too, so I could be the culprit if the smoking was noticed. And so we went the whole morning, climbing and coming down one mountain pass and having to check a couple of times for troop movements, but pushing on at a fast speed generally.
Some time after noon, we stopped and I was ordered out. A vast blue mountain stood against the sky, but fields stretched from its base and, in front of me, a quiet country inn with a brook running near it and stone tables and benches in the little garden. This made me burst into tears, but the agronomist was understanding and, sending my guards to another table, sat beside me on a stone bench and, when I had recovered, said to me as he took the two pots:
‘Well, I am astonished and very grateful. Sempervivum Melitense – dead and gone one hundred years and now renascent in captivity! They will be treated, you may be sure, with unlimited respect, and we must both hope that your own name will join theirs in memorable Latin one day.’
He then put them aside carefully and went on:
‘As you have guessed, the president of the inquiry, who decided that you were not quite such a dangerous monster as the lawyers suggested, has been good enough to pass you on for useful work in my department. This means that you will shortly have official recognition as a prisoner and that you will serve as such in a regular way until my friend’s case comes up, when you will be, of course, the most important witness.
‘You may have thought that what you have just experienced was a trial, but it was only an inquiry, to establish whether a trial is necessary. The president’s decision will, I am sure, be that there must be a trial, so we must all be prepared, I am sorry to say, to go through the whole trash-heap again – and possibly once more after that, when my friend appeals to a higher court. We shall all be very old men by then and more than one useful career will be broken forever.’
He stopped while a company marched down the road with a lot of din, and then went on:
‘Much as I would value your services in my department, I am convinced that a better use can be made of you. If you are not present to give evidence when my friend’s trial comes up, his enemies will be deprived of their principal witness. This will make a huge difference – indeed, without your help, the whole matter may have to be dropped.
‘I can think of many ways of disposing of you. I can arrange for you to be shot while trying to escape. With a little medical help, I can see you safely buried. Or my friends in the civilian police can come to my help: they have more ways than you can imagine of disposing of unwanted witnesses.
‘The most practical way, however, is to say good-bye to you here and now. Once you are gone, I can think of many ways of explaining your non-existence. On paper, I can send you to many places in the service of agriculture, and decide at which one of these you will run into the trouble that will end your life.
‘I have brought you to this place because it is the nearest I can safely get to your own troops. There is nobody here: the landlord and his wife went long ago and even the dog, as you can see by his empty barrel and forlorn chain, has been evacuated. Cross the fields and follow the broad ride that goes up the hill and you will probably find yourself in friendly company before dark. Try and keep your courage up, because it would be a pity after all you have survived to die of fear on the last stretch.’
He then gave me a pat on the shoulder and a cheerful smile and, after ordering my guards back into the Black Maria, took me to the back of the empty inn and showed me my way. When I managed to say that I would rather remain a prisoner in his department than try to go free, he only gave me another smile and said:
‘You cannot expect wars to continue forever, just to make you feel at home, or to live your whole life under the protection of your enemies. And we have already suffered enough from your devotion.’
He then turned his back on me and, holding a pot in each hand, went off to the Black Maria, which drove away immediately.
To walk forever, exposed on all sides in such a huge, flat valley, seemed terrifying to me after so many months with only a ten-foot walk of concrete in a glass shell. But I walked as I had been told simply because the foothills a mile away were thick with trees, in which I could bury myself and not have the feeling that for miles round a thousand eyes were watching, riflemen aiming, etc., etc. I kept my eyes fixed on the path, never on the blue mountain, and was too afraid to run, but so near to being hysterical and horrified to be out of my shell that I tried to make illusions for my protection, pretending that the path under my feet was my old concrete strip and my glass prison still built round me and covering me at every step – thinking once or twice, in the terrified way I had months before: ‘They would never shoot a man through glass’; ‘They would wait for him to come into the open’, and managing even to see round me every pane of my old prison, with its dead putty and hundred cracks. So, when I met the first tree, I screamed as if I had bumped into a person, and then ran for my life into the wood, in and out of the trees uphill, until I was too breathless and had to rest. I could see on my right the broad ride I was supposed to take, but it was no better than the huge, open valley, being a hundred yards wide, and turfed, and where one would be one figure, shot at by hundreds from the surrounding trees. So I went on the hard way, keeping in a line with the ride but giving myself a wretched time sliding on the pine-needles and bending under the lower branches – all in hysterical tears most of the time and frantic when great open squares came with thousands of white stubs from felled trees, which I had to go all round, so as not to expose myself to vacancy and shots. But I persisted so hard that I hardly saw at first the thinning out of the forest, and suddenly, to my right, the halting of the ride at a metalled road, which I realized was a curve in a mountain pass. Rather than face that exposure, I sat down at the foot of the trees on the verge, until I heard the beginnings on the curves below of roaring engines and saw the head of a motorized column crawling up to me as slow as tortoises. Sure that they would open fire on me as soon as they saw me, I lay close under my trees, watching with amazement the white-stencilled words on the crawling vehicles and knowing, as I read these words, that this was my own language, needing no interpreter. But I would have sat under my trees forever, as I had once sat on my chair, not daring to shout or wave to attract notice, if a soldier, stepping off the road to relieve himself, had not caught sight of me and, being in no position to level a rifle, stared at me dumbfounded and yelling as I raised my arms. After which, it was all easier, others running up and escorting me to the road, as astonished to hear me speaking our common language as I was myself. When I fell down, a sergeant who arrived inquired if I was wounded, and when I said no, I was a prisoner, asked me with surprise from where? When I answered: ‘the greenhouse’, which was all I could think of, he seemed to decide my case was grave and kept me where I sat until the appearance of a su
baltern, after which I rose, rank by rank, as the days passed, and from field hospital to base, etc., etc.
I am lucky in my village policeman – not only an old acquaintance but a real policeman, interested mainly, like real train workers, only in how to grow things. Especially on the long summer evenings he arrives on his trim scooter and parks it on the road above my greenhouse where it crackles and squawks out local messages. As he talks to me, he always has one ear open filtering these ORDERS, yet never so that he can’t talk shop with real understanding – a most efficient man who, through the badness of his pay, must make do with a greenhouse that he can never heat and so always be limited in what he is best at.
