by David Lodge
The beach slipped away out of sight. The G.I. sighed and put away his equipment.
– Well, that’s another reel for the archives, he said. Wait till the guys back home see this.
Timothy enquired about his home.
– Friend, Nebraska.
– You mean a place called Friend? Timothy stifled a giggle.
– That’s right. Real friendly it is, too.
Timothy laughed outright. The G.I. didn’t seem to mind. He smiled like the author of a successful joke.
Walking along the road from the lake shore towards the Rest Centre, Timothy saw Kate and Don sitting, fully dressed, on the balcony outside her room. They waved to him and he waved back. He thought of their naked entwined bodies again, and wondered whether today was the first time, or whether they had done it before. He reflected, wryly, that what his mother had suspected, what she had sent him out here to discover, he had in a sense helped to bring about. If it had not been for him, Kate would never have met Don. And what would they do now – get married? It was difficult to imagine them married, unless of course Kate was pregnant . . . He checked his wandering thoughts. They had led him sadly astray once before. What Kate did was her own business. He was not going to get involved again. Nevertheless he felt strangely pleased on Kate’s behalf about what had happened, in spite of its being a sin.
As he came on to the terrace, they leaned over the balcony rail and called down to him.
– How was the castle?
– I dunno, he answered, with a shrug. We had to turn back, because of a landslide.
Kate pulled a sympathetic face.
– What a shame, she said, when he joined her on the balcony. When did you get back?
– A couple of hours ago. I took a boat trip on the lake. I thought you were probably resting.
– Yes, we were, I was. Resting.
A deep blush spread over her face and she tried in vain to meet Timothy’s eye. He was amused and embarrassed, but also touched.
– Don’t you think your sister’s looking great? Don said.
He agreed that she was.
– The doctor says I can travel back to Heidelberg tomorrow, said Kate.
– So when shall I go back home? Timothy asked. Next Monday?
– Well, I had a letter from Vince this morning. The Heidelberg fireworks are on Saturday week, and we’re all invited to a party at the boys’ flat to watch. What d’you think?
– You mean, stay on another week?
– It seems a pity to miss the fireworks. It’s a great display. We could send Mum and Dad another wire.
– All right, he said. Then, with a grin: They’ll think I’ve gone mad.
– Don’t you think Timothy should stay for the fireworks, Don? said Kate.
– Sure, but count me out of the party. I’ll see you at dinner.
– Oh, dear, sighed Kate when he had gone. I wish Don and the boys could get on together. It’s going to make things so awkward when we get back to Heidelberg.
– Well, he won’t be there long, will he? Don, I mean?
– Why? Kate asked quickly.
– Well, he’s been offered a place at L.S.E., hasn’t he?
– Yes, but I don’t know whether he’s definitely accepted it . . . Decisions, decisions, she sighed. How I hate them! It’s been so blissful here this past week. Nothing to worry about except my ankle.
– Perhaps you should try and twist the other one, said Timothy, and ducked as she threatened him with her crutch.
It was raining when their train drew into Heidelberg the following evening: a fine drizzle falling from low clouds that swathed the tops of the mountains. The town looked lost and blind, hemmed in by the mountains and the mist, drained of colour and shrunken into itself like a snail into its shell. But it was a measure of how long he had been away from England that coming back to Heidelberg felt almost like coming home.
The cab drew up outside Fichte Haus behind a familiar white sports car, its hood up, its paintwork beaded with moisture.
– I wonder what Vince is doing here? Kate exclaimed. Perhaps he and Greg are fixing a meal to welcome us home.
– In that case, said Don, I’ll just help you in with your bags and go.
In the lobby, Rudolf sprang out of his little office to greet them, an envelope in his hand. Kate asked him if Vince was in the building.
– No, Miss Young. He and Mr. Roche have gone to Berlin for the weekend. They return tomorrow.
– But his car is outside.
– Yes, Miss Young, he has kindly borrowed it to me.
– Vince lent you his car?
Rudolf made a gesture of annoyance.
– I should say lent it, of course.
Kate did not attempt to disguise her astonishment.
– You mean he said you could drive it?
– Yes, tonight I drive to my parents. Quicker than a bicycle, no? he said, smiling at Timothy. Here is a cable for you. It came just this morning, from England.
– Mum and Dad must be in a flap, said Timothy.
– Oh Lord, perhaps they didn’t get my wire, said Kate. What does it say?
He read it out to them:
– YOU PASSED GCE FIVE DISTINCTIONS THREE CREDITS STUBBINS GILLOW OFFER FIVE TEN PER WEEK EXCELLENT PROSPECTS STARTING IMMEDIATELY HEAD SAYS STAY ON CONGRATULATIONS LOVE DAD.
Kate hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks.
– Timothy! You clever boy!
Don shook his hand warmly.
– Congratulations, Timothy. All those distinctions – it sounds really impressive.
– I wish he’d told me what subjects they were, said Timothy, staring at the telegram.
– Never mind the details, Kate cried. Rudolf! Timothy’s passed his examinations. Brilliantly!
– Well, I wouldn’t call it brilliant, exactly, Timothy mumbled, accepting Rudolf’s handshake.
– You’ll go on to college now, won’t you, said Don.
He looked at their faces, seeing his success reflected unselfishly there, and for the first time in his life he sensed the possibility that he might not be entirely ordinary. It was a wonderful feeling, but there was no vanity in it: he merely accepted it humbly, like a grace which had descended upon him. But the decision he had to make seemed blindingly obvious. He wanted more moments like this one.
– Yes, he said. I’ll stay on at school. I’ll send a telegram to Dad tonight.
– Good for you, Timothy! Don clapped him on the back.
– We can do it by phone from my room, said Kate. Come on up.
In the excitement of the news it was some time before Kate reverted to the mystery of Rudolf and Vince’s car.
– I’m simply flabbergasted. I know Vince has lent it to friends occasionally, but he hardly knows Rudolf to speak to.
– Perhaps a friendship has ripened in our absence, said Don drily.
Timothy had his own theories, but did not air them. Later he went down to the lobby to get some Coke from the icebox, and found Rudolf preparing to leave. He looked smart, dressed in a new-looking zipped windcheater of a type Timothy had seen in the P.X.
– I spoke to Mr. Vernon, as you suggested, said Rudolf. He thinks he may be able to do something about my father’s pension. I am most grateful for your suggestion.
Timothy followed Rudolf out into the street. He looked not at all like a porter, standing tall and proud beside the car in his smart zipped jacket.
– Beautiful, isn’t it? he said, running his eyes almost lustfully over the lines of the car. Would you like a small ride? No? Then goodbye, and thank you again.
Rudolf ducked into the driver’s seat. The engine started and the wipers scythed through the raindrops that had accumulated on the windscreen. The car moved slowly forward, and Timothy saw Rudolf lean forward in his seat to steady the wheel with his damaged arm as he changed gear with his good hand. Then the car roared away and disappeared round a corner.
The news of his G.C.E. succcess made Timot
hy suddenly anxious to get home, to reconnect himself with reality again. He had made a mistake, he felt, in agreeing to stay in Heidelberg for another week, just for the sake of seeing a fireworks display. The weekend of their return from Garmisch was dull. The rain continued. Kate was not allowed to walk any distance, and Don had no car, so they were confined to her room, passing the time by playing Canasta and Scrabble. It took him back to the ritual games of Monopoly and cribbage with Jonesy and Blinker on Saturday nights, in the years of his boyhood that now seemed so barren and empty in retrospect.
On the Monday Kate went to the Military Hospital to have her ankle examined, and Timothy took a guidebook Don had lent him and went for a walk round the town to re-examine its sights more attentively. The gardens of the castle were melancholy, rain dripping from the trees on to the gravel paths. From the eastern terrace you could see the traces of a maze laid out in the time of Elizabeth Stuart on the model of Hampton Court. According to the guidebook, it was considered a great wonder by visiting ambassadors and in reports to their masters it became an allegory of the politics of the period. There was a curse on the castle, apparently. A Protestant preacher had been burned alive there for heresy, and a witch had cursed the ruling prince for his cruelty and called on God to burn down the castle. The buildings were subsequently damaged by fire on several occasions, and the castle was finally destroyed by the French armies at the end of the seventeenth century. The fireworks commemorated this event.
Reading about Catholics burning Protestants always made Timothy uneasy. Mary Tudor, for instance: it was difficult to feel the same way about the Catholic martyrs under Elizabeth when you discovered that Mary had killed just as many, if not more, Protestants. It was as if you discovered that the Allies had committed atrocities in the war as well as the Nazis.
He wandered back to the town and had lunch in the snack bar where the Mercer boys had taken him. They were not there, but Gloria was, chatting with a group of friends near the jukebox. She was wearing a white sweatshirt with the letters U.S. printed on the front. He thought to himself that two 50c. signs would be more appropriate, one over each breast. The coarse private joke could not suppress his awareness that he lacked the courage to speak to her. She appeared to recognize him from Don’s class, for she gave him a shy but friendly smile as she left the snack bar with her friends, but he weakly failed to respond. Afterwards he tramped around the town in the rain in the unacknowledged, and unfulfilled, hope of bumping into her again.
In the evening he had dinner with Kate and Don in her room. The hospital had said that her ankle was in good shape and she could go back to work providing she kept her weight off it as much as possible.
– I told my boss, and he’s going to send his driver round with an Army car to fetch me every morning – isn’t that sweet of him? I was going to ask one of the boys to pick me up, but I couldn’t get hold of them.
In the course of the evening Mel rang up, apparently asking about Vince and Greg. Kate put her hand over the phone and said to Timothy and Don:
– It’s very mysterious, Vince and Greg were due back this morning, but nobody’s seen or heard from them . . . Just a moment, Ruth is coming – she wants to speak to you, Timothy.
What Ruth had to say was that the daughter of a friend of hers was having a birthday party on the following Friday and that Timothy was invited. He declined politely but firmly.
– You should have said yes, Kate badgered him afterwards. It might have been fun.
– I wouldn’t know anybody there. This girl doesn’t know me from Adam. I bet Ruth bullied her into inviting me.
– Don’t be silly, Timothy, you know how friendly Americans are. Anyway, she said one of this girl’s friends knows you.
– Who? he demanded, anticipating, with a bitter pang of regret, what the answer would be.
– Ruth did say, but I’ve forgotten. Someone in your class, Don. Rose somebody.
– Maybe it was Gloria Rose. D’you remember the well-stacked brunette in the back row, Timothy?
– No, said Timothy. I don’t like parties, anyway.
– Oh well, if you won’t, you won’t, Kate said with a shrug. But I should have thought you would be getting a bit bored, on your own in Heidelberg all day.
– I’m all right, he said doggedly.
– Hey, said Don, soothingly, I’ve got to go to Frankfurt on Wednesday. How would you like to come along, Timothy?
Timothy accepted, grateful for the change of subject. He went back alone to the hostel. Kate’s injury made it inconvenient to practise their usual subterfuge, and in any case, now that his time in Heidelberg was drawing to a close, he had grown reckless. He walked boldly into the hostel, and, if he happened to meet anyone, looked purposefully at his watch, as if he had come to pick up a date.
He had not seen or heard anything of Jinx Dobell since he returned from Garmisch, and presumed that she had gone away for a while, perhaps on vacation. He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry if this was the case. It would be extraordinarily embarrassing to meet her again after that night, which seemed like a dream in retrospect, when she had offered to do it with him; but there were times, like tonight, when his mind played hesitantly with the idea of being given a second chance. He banged the door of Dolores’ room deliberately as he went in, and moved about noisily preparing for bed. After a while he went over to the cupboard, turned the key and opened the door for the first time since he had locked himself in. There was no light or sound coming through the chink in the wall from the next room, but there was a book on the floor of the cupboard. He picked it up. It was a paperback edition of Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman. He stood perfectly motionless for some minutes, holding the book as if it were a booby trap. Then he opened it, and read an inscription on the fly-leaf: To Don Juan, with love, J.D. He opened the book at random, and read:
I mind how once we lay such a transparent morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart
And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.
He locked the door of the cupboard, got into bed and began to read the poem from the beginning. But it was a very long poem and he found it difficult to follow. There didn’t seem to be a story, though long poems usually had stories. His eyes felt heavy after about ten pages, and he put the book down and turned out the light. But he couldn’t get to sleep. He thought of the book, ticking in the darkness of the cupboard like an unexploded bomb, for how many days? What did it mean? Why had she left it there for him? It seemed to be a kind of parting gift, which was probably just as well. He thought she was probably slightly touched.
He turned over in the bed and thought of Gloria instead. She had looked very nice in the snack bar, in her U.S. sweatshirt. As well as her breasts, she had a nice face. Smooth skin, a dark matt complexion, glossy dark brown hair parted in the middle. Gloria Rose. He turned over again.
About fifteen minutes later he sat up abruptly, switched on the bedside lamp, and picked up the telephone. He had never used it before, because it meant going through an operator. The man, however, sounded sleepy and incurious, and put him through to Fichte Haus where Rudolf connected him to Kate.
– Timothy! is anything wrong?
– No, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about that party. I’d like to go.
She laughed with relief.
– What made you change your mind?
– Oh, I don’t know. I thought Ruth might be offended.
– Well, that’s very thoughtful, Timothy. I’ll phone her first thing tomorrow morning. It’s getting kind of late now.
– You weren’t asleep, were you?
– Er, no, I wasn’t asleep.
She seemed to stifle a giggle, and he thought he heard Don’s voice in the background.
–’Night, then, he said.
–
Goodnight, Timothy. Pleasant dreams.
The next morning he was in the P.X., buying some presents to take home, when he ran into Ruth. She was wearing knee-length shorts, a coolie hat and sandals with wooden soles. She looked more than usually excited.
– Timothy! she cried, clutching him with her long painted talons. Have you heard about Vince and Greg? I called Kate as soon as I heard the news.
– What news?
– Why, A.F.N, said this morning that two Americans were missing in Berlin. They think they must have wandered into the Soviet Zone by mistake, and been arrested, though the Ivans are claiming they don’t know anything about it.
– Vince and Greg?
– Well, they didn’t give any names, but it all fits. Mel and I are real worried. Imagine being locked up behind the Iron Curtain! Jesus, sometimes you never hear of people again.
– Perhaps it isn’t them.
– Then where are they? She glanced at her watch. I must run.
– Did Kate say anything to you about the party? he asked anxiously.
– The fireworks party? I guess that’s cancelled until further notice.
– No, I mean the birthday party. The one you phoned about last night.
– Oh yeah. Kate said you’d like to go after all, right?
– Yes please.
– Fine, I’ll tell Lola Eastman, the mother of your hostess, Cherry. She’s a sweet kid, you’ll like her.
– Why did she invite me? I mean it’s jolly decent of her, but . . .
Ruth gave a sly grin.
– Well, to tell you the truth, it was Lola who invited you. She was playing bridge with us last night and I was telling her about you. Look, I must fly.
She began to hobble towards the exit.
– But, he protested, trotting beside her, does this Cherry girl know?
– Don’t worry about it, Timothy, there’ll be about a thousand kids at this party. I just hope the goddam boat doesn’t sink.
