Out of the Shelter

by David Lodge

  – What d’you think? she murmured. A bit grim, isn’t it?

  He shrugged.

  – It’s all right.

  In the end Kath decided that he would rest in her own room that day, and come back to Frau Himmler’s in the evening if she hadn’t been able to find anywhere better. This plan appealed to Timothy, who didn’t look forward to being left in Frau Himmler’s charge.

  They had breakfast in a low-built, tree-shaded restaurant quite near the station, called the Stadtgarten. It was a cafeteria, but not a bit like a Lyons or an A.B.C. Under Kath’s instruction, he loaded his tray with orange-juice, cornflakes, eggs and bacon, toast, and something called hot cakes, which looked like fat pancakes.

  – You’ll have two eggs, won’t you? Kath asked him.

  – Can I?

  – Of course. How would you like them – fried, poached or scrambled?

  – Fried, please.

  – Sunny side up? the cook asked Timothy, as he broke the eggs into a frying pan. Timothy looked at Kath for interpretation.

  – D’you like your eggs sunny side up – with the yolks showing – or turned over and broken into the pan?

  – Sunny side up, he said, grinning at the childish but cheerful phrase.

  Only one item of his meal disappointed him. When he asked for tea he was given a cup of hot water with a cardboard ticket on the end of a string hanging out of it.

  – What’s this? he asked, lifting the string and discovering a sodden little bag on the end.

  – It’s a tea-bag, said Kath, giggling.

  – Can you take as much sugar as you like? he asked, unwrapping two lumps from the bowl on the table.

  – Of course. There’s no rationing.

  – None at all?

  – Not for American personnel.

  – Gosh! he said, and took another lump.

  – I can see you’re going to enjoy the food, anyway, Timothy.

  Their conversation remained on this level, light and casual. There was a little shyness between them, Timothy felt, and they were both trying each other out. It was not only that they hadn’t seen each other for over three years. In those three years he had narrowed the age difference between them. Sixteen was nearer to twenty-seven than thirteen to twenty-four. Throughout his childhood, Kath had been almost indistinguishable from the grown-ups around him, more like an aunt than a sister. That relationship was no longer possible, but he wasn’t quite sure what would replace it.

  Towards the end of the meal, when Timothy was eating more out of greed than real hunger, and Kath was smoking her second cigarette, a woman who was passing their table stopped and greeted her.

  – Kate, honey! Hi!

  – Dolores! Haven’t seen you for ages. What a gorgeous costume!

  Dolores smirked and smoothed her skirt over her hips.

  – Don’t tell anyone, but I got it at the Thrift Shop.

  – I don’t believe it! Oh, Dolores, this is my brother Timothy.

  Dolores, who had been shooting glances at him from under her thick eyelashes, stared.

  – Well, how marvellous! Hi, Timothy, I’m so pleased to meet you. She extended a limp, manicured hand, adorned with a heavy jewelled ring and a gold bracelet. Is this the kid brother who sends you all those cute letters, Kate?

  – Yes, just arrived from England to spend a vacation with me. Won’t you sit down a moment?

  – Thanks honey, but I’m just starting a vacation myself. Well, perhaps for just a second. I’m taking the eight-thirty train to Frankfurt, and flying to Rome.

  – Heavenly! For how long?

  – Five whole weeks, my dear. I’ve been saving it up. She flashed her smile between them in a wide arc, like a torch beam. I’m having two weeks’ sightseeing – you know, really doing all those old churches and museums, and then three weeks on Capri, just lazing on the beach.

  – Sounds marvellous.

  – Should be, as long as I get some company, you know what I mean? She winked suggestively at Timothy. How was your journey, Timothy?

  – Oh, don’t talk about it, Kath broke in, and related the whole story. Dolores drew back her head and kept him covered with a wide-eyed stare throughout the narrative.

  – Well, she exclaimed at intervals. How ghastly . . . all those hours . . . it’s a wonder he’s still on his feet . . .

  Then Kath went on to describe Frau Himmler’s room.

  – The poor kid, it sounds just awful. Couldn’t you find him something better, honey?

  – I’ve been searching everywhere for the past three weeks. This was my last hope. You know what Heidelberg is like at high season, unless you pay the earth.

  – It seems a real shame . . . My room will be empty for the next five weeks, Kate, if that’s any help.

  – You mean . . .?

  – Sure, he’s welcome to use it.

  – Did you hear that, Timothy? Kath said excitedly.

  – It’s jolly nice of you, he mumbled, completely taken aback. He’d just been thinking what a bore this woman was, when she came out with this extraordinarily generous offer.

  – Well, why not, for heaven’s sake? As long as he doesn’t mind living in a women’s hostel.

  – A women’s hostel? Timothy repeated faintly.

  – That’s right. Dolores turned to Kath. You’d have to figure out some way of sneaking him in in the evenings. The mornings would be no problem – he could just stay in the room until all the girls had gone to work.

  – I know, said Kath. I could go in with him at night pretending he was my boyfriend seeing me home. He looks old enough, doesn’t he?

  – Sure he does, said Dolores, inspecting him doubtfully.

  – Thanks very much, but I’d rather not, said Timothy firmly.

  The two women cajoled him for some time, but he refused to be budged.

  – Well, take the key, anyway, Kate, said Dolores, getting to her feet. Just in case he changes his mind. Timothy, have a great vacation.

  He thanked her again, and they watched her prance across the floor of the restaurant, waving her braceleted hand to another friend.

  – Timothy, said Kath, in a low voice, I hope you won’t mind my mentioning it, but don’t you know that you should stand up when a lady leaves the table?

  – Sorry, he muttered. I forgot.

  – Only these little things are important. And I want you to make a good impression on all my friends.

  – I said I forgot.

  – Now you’re cross.

  – No, I’m just tired.

  – Poor darling, of course you are. You must get some sleep and I must get to work.

  When they left the restaurant, the mist had nearly cleared, and it was quite warm though not yet eight o’clock. He felt sluggish and sticky, and it was an effort to keep up with Kath’s brisk pace and conversation.

  – Dolores is very sweet, don’t you think? I think she overdresses, though, don’t you? Most American women do. You’d be much more comfortable in her room, you know. Well, see how you feel when you’ve had a sleep.

  He reminded her that his bag, with his pyjamas in it, was still at the station. She glanced at her watch.

  – I don’t think we’ve got time to pick it up now, or I’ll be late for work. I can lend you some pyjamas, if you like. She giggled. They’ll be a bit big for you.

  – It’s all right, I can sleep in my underwear.

  – I’ll get Rudolf to bring your bag across during the day. That’s our porter at Fichte Haus. Charming boy, speaks English fluently.

  Rudolf was operating the switchboard in a little office by the door when they entered Kath’s hostel. He smiled through the glass and motioned them to wait. He was a handsome young man, with clean-cut features and fair hair combed straight back from his forehead. When he came out of the office, Timothy saw that his left arm was missing below the elbow, and the sleeve of his jacket was pinned neatly to his chest.

  – This is my brother, Timothy, Rudolf. You remember, I told you
he was coming to visit me.

  – Indeed, yes, Miss Young. Rudolf made a slight bow that seemed oddly formal because of the folded sleeve, and shook Timothy’s hand.

  – He’s going to rest in my room today until I’ve sorted out his accommodation.

  – I will make sure he is not disturbed.

  Timothy thanked Rudolf and Kath asked him to bring the bag over from the station later in the day.

  – Will he be able to manage it? Timothy whispered, as they ascended the carpeted stairs. With his arm, I mean?

  – Oh, yes, he has a trolley. I could get a cab, but he’ll be glad of the tip.

  – How did he lose it?

  – His arm? In the war, I guess. I don’t like to ask him. I know he was a prisoner of war in England. That’s where he learned English.

  – He looks too young to have been in the war.

  – I expect he was called up at the very end. The Germans were drafting schoolboys by then.

  – You’d never guess . . . I mean, he seems jolly nice.

  – It’s a shame, he’s far too intelligent for this job, but the Germans can’t pick and choose, especially with a disability like that. Well, here we are, chez Young.

  She slotted a key into one of the flush-fitting doors spaced out down the corridor, and pushed it open.

  – Good, she said, looking round, they’ve made the bed already.

  – You mean somebody makes your bed for you?

  – Yes, we’re really spoiled here. I never even touch a duster.

  – It’s a smashing room, Kath, he said, looking round, taking in a divan scattered with bright cushions, a drop-leaf table and two upright chairs, an easy chair and coffee table, fitted cupboards in varnished wood.

  – Hey! he exclaimed. That’s one of my sketches on the wall.

  – That’s right, I had it framed. I show it to all my friends.

  – I’d forgotten all about it. The perspective is all wrong. I can do much better than that now, he said. But it pleased him to see his work – a pen-and-wash sketch of Tower Bridge, done from a photograph – handsomely framed on Kath’s wall. It didn’t look at all bad, actually.

  – Well, I like it, anyway. Perhaps you could do some sketching while you’re here. There are lots of nice views.

  – Maybe. I brought my pad and some watercolours with me.

  She pulled back the coverlet on the divan bed.

  – Now, would you like to take a shower? I should think most of the girls will have finished with the bathrooms by now.

  – No, I don’t think I’ll bother.

  – Want to hit the sack right away, huh? Well, I can’t blame you. You can have a wash here. She opened one of the cupboards to reveal a fitted washbasin and mirror.

  – Er, is there a lavatory anywhere?

  – Halfway along the passage. The white door.

  When he returned to Kath’s room she had taken off her jumper and was buttoning up a white blouse.

  – Looks as if it’s going to be a hot day, she said. I’ll pull down the blinds and leave the window open.

  She tugged at a string behind the curtain, and the Venetian blind, pale green to match the walls, dropped down, quenching the sunlight. Timothy sank into the easy chair and took off his shoes, wriggling his toes inside his woollen socks. Kath stood before the mirror, ran her tongue over her lipstick, and dabbed at her hair, turning her head from side to side.

  – Well, she said, dropping the lipstick into her handbag and closing it with a snap, have a good rest, Timothy, and don’t worry about a thing.

  – As long as I don’t have to live in that women’s hostel . . .

  – You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, my pet, she assured him, stroking his head. This is your holiday, and I want you to have a really good time. I haven’t been much of a sister to you, have I?

  – I wouldn’t say that, he said awkwardly.

  – Well, anyway, I want to make it up to you now you’ve come all this way. She bent to kiss him on the forehead. Now I’ve put lipstick all over you. I’ll be home about five-thirty, she went on briskly. We’ll eat out with Vince and Greg – two of my particular friends. They’re dying to meet you. If there’s anything you want, ask Rudolf. There’s an icebox in the hall with Coke and suchlike. Now, I really must fly.

  – ’Bye, Kath. Kate.

  She grinned, and was gone.

  Timothy locked the door, took off all his clothes except his pants and vest, and bathed his feet one by one in the wash basin. They were red and swollen, imprinted with the ribbed weave of his socks. Then he washed his face and hands and climbed into the bed. The sheets were cool and crisp and clean. He stretched luxuriously.

  Though he was tired, he felt too excited to go to sleep at once. Not excited, exactly, but strange: strange to his surroundings, and strange to himself. In this sleek, comfortable, tidy room, suffused with a green underwater light, he floated free of time and space. Home seemed infinitely remote, and the self that belonged there just as distant. Between them and himself, here, now, the journey had intervened; but the journey itself scarcely seemed real in retrospect, perhaps because it had been a night journey. In the daytime you could watch the miles flow past the window, and the changing scene kept pace with the changes inside you. But at night you could see nothing except your own reflection in the glass. Had he dreamed the whole journey? Was he dreaming now? No, he wasn’t dreaming. He could feel the starch in the fresh sheets. He could see the lines of light thrown on the ceiling by the Venetian blinds. He could hear the murmur of the traffic, punctuated by hooters and tram bells. These things were real. And yet they weren’t enough to establish the reality of Heidelberg. He hadn’t seen enough of the place to form a coherent picture; and the people he had met – Don and Dolores and Rudolf and even Kath herself – were like figures in a dream landscape, like the characters in The Wizard of Oz, eccentric and unpredictable and slightly alarming even when they seemed friendly. And he couldn’t say to himself, well I’ve finally arrived, this is my place for the next three weeks, because this room was only a waiting-room, a stage on the way to his final destination, Frau Himmler’s guest house. Or Dolores’ hostel. That was a daft idea, and yet . . . Frau Himmler’s was not an inviting prospect. Not only was it bleak and unwelcoming, it was also unmistakably German.

  Timothy had already acquired a sense of two communities living in Heidelberg: underneath, the Germans, and on top of them, floating, or skimming over them with minimum contact, like dragon-flies or water-boatmen, the Americans. From their point of view the German surface looked docile and calm as a millpond. But who knew what dark shapes moved in the depths below? To stay at Frau Himmler’s would be to sink at least partially into those depths, and Timothy shrank instinctively from their cold contact. Even Kath, he thought, had seemed less at ease in the dark forbidding house, less certain in her dealings with Frau Himmler, than she did elsewhere.

  Kath had certainly changed. She had a poise and a self-confidence and a fresh clean health about her that made him feel dowdy and uncouth at her side. And she was almost what you might call good-looking now. She was still on the fat side, but you weren’t so much aware of it – it was something to do with the way she dressed and carried herself. And if her bust was enormous, it wasn’t in the droopy way of fat women on seaside postcards, but more like Jane Russell, or the bare women in Razzle, who made boys at school double up and groan as if in pain when they looked. She held her breasts high, like her head. And her face was quite pretty, really; though the chin was just a little too big, it gave a warm, good-humoured expression to her face. And her hair – he couldn’t remember, now, exactly how her hair was done, except that it was neat and framed her head attractively. Her new-found attractiveness made his mother’s suspicions, that she had had some kind of affair, and perhaps a child, seem more plausible. But in that case why had she invited him out, risking discovery? It could only be, he realized, with a sudden flash of intuition, because she wanted him to find
out.

  Yes, some time in the next three weeks Kath would take him, without explanation, to some home or orphanage – he visualized it as an old house in the country near Heidelberg, run by gentle, soft-spoken nuns, with children toddling about in the garden, digging in sandpits and playing on swings . . . and there would be one little girl (for some reason he was sure it would be a girl), dressed in a smock like all the others, but somehow different from them, a pretty little girl with dark ringlets, like Jill, who came running across the grass as soon as she saw Kath, and Kath caught her up and swung her round in the air and said to him, What d’you think of this one, Timothy? and he said, She’s sweet, and Kath said, She’s mine, Timothy, she’s mine and burst into tears. And he was very grown-up about it and not a bit shocked but full of sympathy and understanding. And he promised to help her bring up the child as soon as he had a job and to persuade their parents to accept it. And Kath was amazed and overjoyed and grateful. Oh, Timothy, she said . . .

  But though it was her voice that he heard, she would not say what she was supposed to say, and it was as if she were speaking to someone else, talking right through him.

  – Sixteen . . . a real English schoolboy. It brought it all back to me as soon as I set eyes on him. You know those terrible raincoats they make them wear in England? . . . No, of course you wouldn’t, well, they’re navy blue and they’re too hot in summer and too thin for winter and they don’t keep the rain out anyway, and they’re tied up in the middle like a sack of potatoes. And thick grey flannels and black shoes and a cap – wait till you see the cap . . . And he looked so pale and tired, poor kid, stood up all night because he couldn’t get a seat . . . Absolutely packed, he said . . . Well, they probably thought it would be extravagant, that’s one of their favourite words, extravagant . . .

  He realized now that Kath was not speaking to him in his imagination or in a dream. She was in the room, speaking to someone else. She must have come back for something. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting curled up on the armchair, with her back to him, wearing a flower-patterned dressing-gown. She had a cigarette in one hand and the telephone receiver in the other. The light in the room had changed, and the air felt warmer. Was it possible that he had been asleep – that it was afternoon already, and Kath was back from work? It felt as though it was only a moment ago that he had got into bed.