by David Lodge
There was a knock on the door of the compartment, and a steward came in with steaming coffee. He switched on the light and announced:
– Garmisch-Partenkirchen thirty minutes!
The men yawned, and stretched.
– We’re going through some fantastic mountains, said Timothy. You should have a look.
– The Alps, kid, said Greg.
Alps entirely surrounded the Rest Centre, a vast hotel, timbered and balconied, built on the shore of a big lake called the Eibsee, about half an hour’s drive from Garmisch. Timothy had a room to himself next to Kate’s, with a connecting balcony from which she pointed out to him the Zugspitz, the highest mountain in Germany. As they gazed, the calm surface of the lake was disturbed by a motor boat that came into sight, drawing behind it a man on skis.
– Is that water-skiing? he exclaimed. I’ve only seen it on the pictures before. Is it difficult?
– Once you get going, it’s easy, or so they tell me. I’ve never succeeded in getting started.
– What’s the water like?
– Cold, it’s glacier water. But wonderfully refreshing.
He was able to verify this later. After breakfast, they all walked round the rim of the lake to a small bathing beach, with a diving raft moored a few yards out from the shore and a life-guard seated on it. Timothy and Kate were first in the water. The cold made him gasp, but afterwards, drying off in the warm sun, a delicious sense of well-being spread through his body.
– This is a fantastic place, Kate, he murmured.
At lunch Ruth suddenly said:
– Kate, isn’t that your G.I. over there?
– My G.I?
– At the table by the window. The Jewish-looking guy we met at the pool that day.
– Don! Timothy exclaimed. What’s he doing here?
Kate blushed and frowned.
– He’s got a nerve.
– How d’you mean? Ruth asked. Did he know you were coming here?
Kate nodded.
– He was fishing for an invitation to come with us.
– How exciting! He must have it real bad.
– Don’t let it worry you, Kate, said Vince. You don’t have to take any notice of him.
– Well, I can’t just ignore him, can I?
– I don’t see why not.
Kate turned to Timothy.
– Did you know he was going to come here, Timothy?
– No, he replied, honestly. But he felt obscurely responsible for the intrusion.
– He’s seen us, said Ruth, and waved.
– Ruth, for God’s sake, don’t, Kate scolded. But Don came boldly over to greet them.
– Well, hi, everybody! he said with a forced casualness.
– Hallo, said Kate coldly.
– Like it here, Timothy?
– It’s very nice, he managed to say, smiling uncomfortably.
A chilly silence followed, which Ruth broke:
– Did you come on the overnight train, Don?
– No, I hitched a ride yesterday. Coupla guys I know were driving to Munich.
– How are you going to get back?
– Oh, I’m planning to stay on a while. I got fired from my job, you see.
– Fired? said Kate quickly. Why?
– Well, that’s not what they called it, but that’s what it was. Seems somebody passed the word along that I was a conscientious objector once. I guess they thought I might corrupt the kids. You can’t be too careful about pinkoes these days, am I right?
He swept them with a sardonic grin and glanced at his watch.
– There’s a bus trip to the Linderhof castle this afternoon – anyone going? No? Well, I’ll see you around, no doubt.
When he was gone, Kate turned angrily to Vince.
– Vince, did you say anything to anyone?
– What d’you mean, honey?
– About Don. You and Greg were the only people I told.
– Not guilty, said Greg, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
– What’s all this about? Ruth demanded.
– Ask Vince, said Kate, frowning after the departing figure of Don.
Vince explained:
– Our friend told Timothy, here, that he was a C.O. one time. Timothy told Kate and Kate told us. Now he thinks we leaked it to the Education Department. As if there were no such thing as files.
– Well, you can’t blame him, can you? Kate said. She got up abruptly and followed Don into the lobby. She returned a few minutes later.
– I told him we had nothing to do with his losing his job, she announced. And I asked him to join us this evening. To show there’s no ill-will.
She met Vince’s eyes defiantly. He shrugged his shoulders.
– Fine, honey, if that’s the way you want it.
Timothy anticipated the evening with considerable misgivings. He felt in the awkward position of a neutral country between two enemies, with reasons to be friendly to both, but driven to make a commitment one way or the other. In the event everything went much more smoothly that he had dared to hope, and it was Mel, rather than Vince, who clashed with Don. Rather to Timothy’s surprise, neither Vince nor Greg tried to assert any prior claims on Kate. Kate herself, evidently anxious to atone for any offence, real or imagined, gave Don most of her attention, and danced with him a lot, while Vince devoted himself to Maria, who fairly blossomed under his charm. Greg flirted mockingly with Ruth, while Mel, who disliked dancing, got steadily drunk.
In consequence of this pairing off, Timothy found himself left alone at the table with Mel a good deal. Mel was talking obsessively about the war, which was quite interesting, except that he kept going on about the superiority of the American armies in a way that Timothy found rather annoying. He had his own convictions, imbibed somewhere in childhood, that the British were the tougher soldiers, Americans requiring a constant supply of modern comforts in the front line and frequent rest periods. The others came back from the dance floor when Mel was in full spate about the over-cautiousness of Montgomery after D-Day, and Don immediately upset him by saying that of course the war was won and lost in Russia.
– Maybe that school wasn’t so stupid to fire you, after all, Mel said rudely.
– Cut that out, Mel, said Ruth.
– Don’s right, you know, said Vince unexpectedly. You only have to look at the casualty figures on the Eastern front. There was never a battle like Stalingrad in the West.
– I was with the Third Army – I know what I’m talking about! Mel almost shouted.
– You were Quartermaster in a catering supply depot, honey, said Ruth. You saw more cans of condensed milk than shell-cases, so stop shooting your mouth off.
Mel looked for one moment as if he was going to hit her. Kate desperately changed the subject.
– What about this Burgess and Maclean affair? Has there been any news lately?
The choice of topic was not particularly fortunate. Don perversely defended the ineptitude of British security:
– The countries with the most efficient secret services are the most repressive. Just think of Russia. America is more security-conscious than Britain, and the price we pay is McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover.
– Joe McCarthy is a great American, Mel growled.
– McCarthy is a bum, said Vince coolly, and in due course will be shown to be one.
– Hell, whose side are you on, Vince? Mel complained.
– Yours, of course, said Vince, with his imperturbable smile. But let’s face it, McCarthy is not doing America any good. All he’s doing is giving liberals, like Don here, a persecution complex.
– Of course, I feel sorry for her, said Ruth.
– What the hell are you talking about? Mel demanded.
– Mrs. Maclean.
– We’re not talking about Maclean, we’re talking about McCarthy.
– You may be, but I’m not. Imagine him leaving her when she was eight months pregnant.
– I won
der if she knew, said Kate.
– Of course she knew. Think I wouldn’t know if Mel were passing secrets to the Russians?
And so the conversation resumed a lighter note, more drinks were ordered, and Mel sulked in silence. Only when he was left alone with Timothy again did he unburden himself.
– It’s true what that bitch of a wife of mine said, that I never saw any action personally, but I was a helluva lot closer to it than your pal Kowalski, and I was proud – I’m not ashamed to use the word – I was proud to be with the Third Army. Patton was a bastard in many ways, but he was a kind of genius, too, and he made his men do the impossible. There was never anything like it in the history of warfare, kid, the way he pushed his armour through. Those guys drove their Shermans like they were driving hot-rods down the turnpike. The Krauts were paralysed by the sheer speed of it. They still used horses and carts, you know, the Krauts, and the Russians. Our boys were the only soldiers in Europe who’d grown up with the automobile, took it for granted, and knew how to use it. And they used it with . . . well, I can’t explain, but it was as if they were all in some goddam movie or something, and they were bound to win and the wounds weren’t real. They were, of course.
His bloodshot rheumy eyes stared into his glass, which he rotated slowly, chinking the ice-cubes against its sides. He added:
– But it gave them a kind of courage which was very fine. Timothy kept a respectful silence. He was strangely moved.
The next morning, after a late breakfast, everyone except Timothy went down to the shore to the water-skiing jetty. He arranged to meet them later, after attending a Mass he had seen announced for 10 o’clock in the Rest Centre. It was celebrated in the main lounge with rows of easy chairs instead of pews, in which the congregration lolled and stretched out their legs during the sermon, which the priest delivered in a casual drawl, and sprinkled liberally with jokes. It wasn’t exactly religion but, like most things American, it was fun.
He was in no particular hurry to try his hand at the water skiing, though if Kate had the nerve to attempt it, he could hardly avoid doing so with honour. As it happened, he was too late. Coming out on to the terrace, blinking in the bright sunshine, he met Kate, being carried by Vince and Don. All were in wet swimming costumes. Kate tried to smile at him, but her face was white with pain. Ruth came clucking up the steps behind them, followed by Maria, and Mel.
– Just twisted my ankle a bit, Timothy, said Kate. Not to worry.
– You ought to have a doctor look at it, said Don, it’s beginning to swell already.
– I’ll see to it, said Ruth, as the two men carried Kate inside.
– She seemed to get her skis crossed somehow, Mel said. I’ve never seen it happen like that before.
– What a shame! I hope she is not broken, said Maria. I told her to give up, but she must have another try.
– We thought she was laughing because she’d taken another nosedive starting off, said Mel. Then we realized she was in distress. Vince and Kowalski jumped in and held her up until the boat came back to pick her up. She screamed as they pulled her out of the water. Jesus! I thought she’d broken a leg for sure. But it looks like just a sprain.
The doctor confirmed this diagnosis. Kate was to rest the ankle completely. He advised her not to travel till the end of the week, at the earliest.
– Well, said Kate, grinning wanly at them as they gathered round her bed afterwards, it looks like I’ve got myself an extended vacation. You too, Timothy, unless you want to go back to Heidelberg with the others.
– I’d rather stay with you, he said. But what about Mum and Dad? They’re expecting me back on Wednesday.
– We can wire them.
– I’d stay, if I could, honey, said Vince. But Greg and I have a meeting in Frankfurt tomorrow.
– Oh, I’ll be fine, said Kate. Timothy will look after me.
– And Don’s staying on – isn’t that right? Ruth said.
Don, who had disappeared, now returned carrying what looked like an old-fashioned fireguard.
– I thought you might find this useful, he said to Kate.
– What in God’s name is that for – to keep the flies off her face? Ruth squawked.
– No, to keep the bedclothes off her foot.
Don lifted the bedclothes at the end of the bed and inserted the fireguard, which made a hump over the injured foot.
– Well, said Ruth with a high-pitched laugh, we’re leaving you in good hands, honey, that’s for sure. She nudged Don as she added: I bet you’re a great physiotherapist, too, huh?
Idyllic days followed. Many guests left the Rest Centre at the end of the weekend. The vast building was only half full, and the lake shore uncrowded. The weather remained fair. After a couple of days, Kate was allowed up on crutches, and the management provided a wheelchair in which Don and Timothy could push her around for walks. In the evenings they played cards together, or listened to records in the music room, classical ones that Don chose. There was one called Tapiola, by Sibelius, that they liked to listen to sitting at the window as the light faded on the mountains and a mist rose from the surface of the lake.
On the Wednesday, Timothy went on the bus excursion that Don had taken earlier to Linderhof, where there was an extraordinary castle built by the mad king Ludwig of Bavaria, with a hall of mirrors and huge fountains and a grotto made out of papier mâché. He enjoyed the expedition so much that he went off the very next day to see another of Ludwig’s castles, at Neuschwanstein. It was further away than Linderhof, and the trip would take all day. When they were about halfway to their destination, however, the bus was caught in a violent thunderstorm. The driver halted the bus on the mountain road and they cowered under a deafening bombardment of hailstones that completely obscured the valley below. In fifteen minutes the storm had passed and the sun was shining again, but a landslip further along the road blocked their progress and they had to turn back. The driver had to steer the bus in reverse for two miles, round twisting bends with a sheer drop on one side, before he reached a place where he could turn round.
Full of this adventure, Timothy hastened up to his room at the Rest Centre, dumped his belongings on his bed, and went out on to the balcony where Kate and Don often sat looking out over the lake. The balcony was empty, but Kate’s french window was wide open. He walked along the balcony and looked into the room.
Kate and Don were lying on the bed. They were naked except for the bandage around Kate’s ankle and the fireguard that incongruously covered it. Don had his face pillowed on one enormous milk-white breast, while his hand clasped the other, a rosy nipple peeping between his splayed fingers. Kate was lying on her back with her eyes closed, one arm thrown across Don’s neck and shoulders. She was smiling in her sleep as if dreaming of something pleasant. Her belly rose and fell as she breathed. At her crotch there was a thick bush of black curly hair.
He went softly back along the balcony, through his room and down the stairs. He went out of the lobby, across the terrace, and down the road to the lake shore. All he could think of doing was to put as much space as possible between himself and Kate’s room.
At the jetty where the water-skiers started from, a motor launch was filling up with passengers for a cruise on the lake. Somnambulistically, he lined up, paid his fare, and took a seat. There were not many passengers, and he wondered irritably why a plump, sandy-haired G.I. chose to sit down right beside him. The young man was festooned with leather cases of various shapes and sizes, suspended from his neck and shoulders by straps. He opened the largest of these cases and took out a film camera. As the motor launch chugged out towards the other side of the lake he began to take pictures of the receding shore.
– Great place, he remarked. Very scenic. But there’s a terrible shortage of tail. You know what I mean?
Timothy thought he did, but could think of no useful comment to make.
– You found any tail since you got here?
Timothy assured him that he had not.<
br />
– Perhaps you’re too young to be interested in tail?
Timothy responded with an ambiguous leer.
– I mean, what’s a furlough without tail?
Timothy murmured his agreement that the question answered itself.
– The nearest I ever get to it is this goddam boat trip.
Timothy expressed puzzlement.
– You see that beach there on the other side of the lake? That’s where the Krauts sunbathe in the nude. If you’re in luck.
He snapped open another of his leather cases and took out a pair of binoculars, which he focused on the shore. He whistled through his teeth.
– Today we’re in luck. Get a load of that.
He offered the binoculars to Timothy, who declined politely. The spectacle no longer held for him the interest it would have done once. As the boat drew nearer the shore, white figures became discernible against the dark background of trees. The G.I. fiddled with the lens of his camera, then pointed it like a gun at the shore. The apparatus whirred. The people on the beach were unquestionably nude, but unabashed by the boat’s intrusion. They seemed to be mostly families with children. Some stood up and waved. Timothy waved back.
So all women had hair. Just like men, except that a woman’s was more sharply defined, like a trimmed beard. It was funny, the little beard, but it was all right once you got used to the idea. He had been shocked when he saw it on the Jinx woman, but seeing it again on Kate he hadn’t been shocked. It made women seem more like men. Perhaps they wouldn’t find a man’s thing ugly, because they weren’t exactly beautiful in that part. There had been something beautiful about Kate and Don lying on the bed, but that was taking all of their bodies together. Taken all together they had looked rather beautiful, like a painting. Though all the paintings, and the photographs, he had seen of naked women had been deeply misleading.
