Out of the Shelter

by David Lodge

  – You needn’t bother to meet me, Kate, he said.

  – O.K. my pet. Enjoy yourself.

  To his embarrassment, she pecked him on the cheek before teetering down the gangplank to the riverside pavement. He saw her link arms with Don and they disappeared into the crowd.

  – Now, said Mrs. Eastman, I guess you don’t know anyone here, do you, Timothy? She examined him with a frown, as if he was a puzzle on whose solution her self-esteem depended.

  – No, I don’t think so, he said, looking round. He saw Gloria leaning on the stern rail, but did not feel equal to claiming her acquaintance this early in the proceedings.

  – Baby! Mrs. Eastman grabbed the arm of a smaller edition of Cherry who was twirling round on the deck to admire her skirt. Timothy – this is Cherry’s sister, we call her Baby because she’s our youngest. Baby, this is Timothy, he’s from England. Get him a Coke or something, will you honey, and introduce him to some nice kids?

  Baby pulled a face.

  – Aw, Mom . . .

  –Baby! said Mrs. Eastman threateningly.

  – Oh, all right. C’mon.

  She jerked her head as a signal that Timothy should follow her, and led him to a pile of crates containing soft drinks.

  – Coke or Pepsi?

  – Coke, please.

  – Help yourself.

  While he was fiddling with the bottle-opener, she disappeared. He was not sorry. He took his Coke round to the other side of the boat, out of Mrs. Eastman’s sight, and leaned on the rail, feigning absorption in the view of the river and the far bank. The ship’s whistle emitted a shrill, comical shriek, and there was an answering yell of excitement from the passengers. The engine throbbed, and the boat began to move slowly away from the smiling, waving spectators on the bank. The loudspeaker crackled:

  – Hallo everybody, this is Harold Eastman speaking, that’s Cherry’s old man in case any of you don’t know. (There were cheers and a few jeers.) I’d like to welcome you all aboard this birthday party . . . (He paused to receive some polite laughter) . . . and to say how pleased we are, Cherry’s Mom and myself, to have you all here to celebrate this very special day in her life. Now we want you to have a lot of fun. There’s enough Coke and Pepsi on board to turn the Neckar pink. There’s all kinds of food in the saloon under the bridge. Just help yourselves. The top deck has been cleared for dancing. Just one serious word: we don’t want to spoil the party with an accident, so please don’t sit on the rails or lean over the side of the ship. That’s all. Enjoy yourselves!

  There was a cheer from the guests, and the music resumed over the loudspeakers. The boat paused to negotiate the lock above the Old Bridge and then headed upstream into the Neckar valley. At first the mountains sloped gently away from the river, but as it twisted its way further eastwards they heaved up more steeply. Some of the mountains were capped by tiny medieval-looking villages with fortified walls. Through this vast spectacular scenery the little craft made its way, spilling its music and chatter and laughter into the brooding silence of forest and mountain.

  Some of the older and more sophisticated guests began to dance under the awning on the top deck, but for the most part they gathered in groups, talking and laughing, the girls sitting shoulder to shoulder while the boys stood round them, lightly butting and punching each other, displaying themselves, prancing up to the tight knot of girls and then backing off again, tossing back bottles of Coke with a manly swagger. He saw Gloria Rose, looking very vivid and ripe in a wide red skirt and white peasant-style blouse threaded at the neckline with red ribbon, her long dark freshly-washed hair fanning out over her shoulders. She was engaged in animated conversation with two plainer girls seated on each side of her, and affected to ignore the attempts of one of the boys in her circle to untie the ribbon in her blouse, flicking her shoulder out of the way with a scornful shrug. He only needed to walk up to her and smile and say, Didn’t I see you the other day in Mr. Kowalski’s class? But what then? Supposing she said no? Even if she said yes, he couldn’t imagine himself joining the puppyish circle of boys romping at her feet. He felt, as he had felt with the Mercer boys, rich in experience that was of no use to him, that simply didn’t apply.

  As if to enforce the point, Larry himself appeared from the stairway leading to the saloon, a hot dog clenched between his teeth like a huge cigar, another in his right hand and a Coke in his left. Like most of the boys on the boat, he was wearing a rather gaudy jacket of lightweight checked material, a white shirt and a clip-on bow tie. His closely cropped hair had a downy sheen. Glad to end his conspicuous isolation, Timothy greeted him warmly.

  – I didn’t know you knew Cherry Eastman, Larry mumbled through his hot dog.

  – I don’t.

  – Whaddya doin’ here, then?

  Timothy explained.

  – I didn’t want to come myself, to tell you the truth, said Larry. I hate gettin’ all dolled up. I only came to make Con mad, because he wasn’t invited. He was mad, too.

  – Perhaps he thought there would be ice-cream sodas, said Timothy.

  Larry slapped his thigh and guffawed.

  – Holy mackerel! I’ll never forget that! How many did we have? Was it five?

  – Four.

  – I thought it was five. Lemme see, we had chocolate first, and the strawberry . . .

  – No, pineapple.

  – Right: pineapple, and then strawberry, and then . . .

  – Pistachio.

  – Didn’t we have another one after the pistachio?

  – You may’ve, but I didn’t.

  Larry nudged him in the ribs.

  – I remember, you had to go to the John. Con threw up on the bus goin’ home. Boy, was the driver mad! I threw up at home, in the livin’ room. Just couldn’t make it to the bathroom.

  Larry shook his head wistfully. A numb despair settled on Timothy’s spirits as their conversation dribbled on. It was as if Larry and himself were juvenile parodies of two old men at a ball or a wedding, two old, neglected boozers reminiscing about past excesses while the young people danced and flirted obliviously under their noses. He broke away abruptly on the pretext of getting something to eat.

  – Be seein’ ya, said Larry.

  The saloon was crowded with young guests pillaging the tables spread with sandwiches, pickles, pies and potato crisps. At the end of the room Major Eastman, in striped apron and chef’s hat, was slicing rolls and filling them with bright red sausages which he lifted from a large saucepan with a pair of tongs. Hot dawgs! Hot dawgs! he chanted, Mustard one cent extra!

  – Thank you very much, Timothy said as he was served.

  – Do I detect a British accent? Major Eastman enquired with a twinkle. You must be the young man Ruth Fallert has been telling us so much about.

  – I’m Timothy Young.

  Major Eastman wiped his hand on his apron and held it out.

  – Glad to meet you, Timothy. I was stationed in England in the war. Place called Scarborough – know it?

  – No, I’m afraid I don’t.

  – In Yorkshire, where the pudding comes from, isn’t that right, Gloria?

  The question was addressed over Timothy’s shoulder. He turned to find himself in sudden proximity to Gloria, all warm, breathing flesh.

  – I beg your pardon, Major Eastman? she said.

  – Never heard of Yorkshire pudding?

  – Gloria hasn’t even heard of Yorkshire, sir, one of the boys behind her quipped.

  – I have, too, she pouted. She indicated Timothy. He told us, in Mr. Kowalski’s class. It’s near Scotland, isn’t it?

  Timothy nodded, tongue-tied.

  – Oh, so you’ve met Timothy already? said Major Eastman, handing Gloria a hot dog wrapped in a paper serviette.

  – Yes, he drew us a map of the British Isles. I copied it. She smiled at him, and he managed to say:

  – I hope you never have to use it. You’re bound to get lost.

  It was apparently as easy as that
. He was somehow magically, effortlessly assimilated into Gloria’s group. When they had finished eating he followed them upstairs on to the deck again, where they arranged themselves around the stern rails in a new, significant pattern: boy-girl-boy-girl. The fading light allowed this adjustment to be made inconspicuously. Behind them a ruddy sunset still stained the sky, but the boat’s bows were headed into a tunnel of darkness. Timothy, with a cool stealth that surprised himself, took up a position on one side of Gloria. She shivered slightly in a puff of wind that blew off the river.

  – Gee, I should have brought a wrap.

  The boy on the other side of her sniggered.

  – I got something to warm you up.

  He produced a flat bottle from his inside pocket. The others crowded round him whispering and giggling.

  – What you got there, Ray?

  – Is that rum?

  – Hey, Ray has some rum!

  – Hot dog!

  – Ssh!

  – Anyone got a bottle of Coke?

  – Rum’n Coke, dee-lishus!

  – Don’t tell the whole boat, for Chrissake!

  They emptied half the contents of a bottle of Coke over the side, and topped it up with rum. Then it was solemnly circulated among the boys, the girls declining to drink. The boys smacked their lips, wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands and murmured, Boy, that hit the spot! Timothy gulped down a mouthful of the sweet, aromatic concoction and passed the bottle on.

  – Do you really like it? Gloria asked him.

  – It’s not bad. I prefer rum omelettes.

  – Rum omelettes? I never heard of a rum omelette before.

  – It’s nicer than Yorkshire pudding, any day, he said, and was rewarded by her answering smile.

  – Go on, try it, Gloria, Ray urged her.

  – I know what you’re trying to do, Ray Dillon, she said archly.

  – Aw, this won’t make you drunk. He took another swig and wiped the neck of the bottle chivalrously with his tie.

  – Well, just a little sip.

  As she lifted the bottle cautiously to her lips, Ray tilted it. She swallowed and spluttered.

  – Ugh! You sneaky –

  – Ssh! We don’t want Ma Eastman up here.

  – It tastes horrible, anyway.

  – Just wait a minute and you’ll feel all warm inside. Pass the bottle.

  She passed it to Timothy.

  – I’m sorry, she said, I don’t have a handkerchief.

  – It doesn’t matter, he said, raising the bottle, moist with her spittle and warm from her lips, to his mouth. One of the boys coughed loudly and somebody kicked him sharply in the shin. Mrs. Eastman had appeared out of the shadows. He was holding the bottle.

  – Hallo! she greeted them gaily. What are you kids hiding away up here for?

  – Oh, just enjoying the view, Mrs. Eastman.

  – It’s such a lovely evening, Mrs. Eastman.

  – Swell party, Mrs. Eastman.

  – Well, as long as you’re enjoying yourselves . . . but I’d like to see more of you young folk dancing. There seems to be a funny odour around here, she said, sniffing.

  They all began to sniff extravagantly, with deep inhalings and exhalings.

  – I don’t smell anything, Mrs. Eastman.

  – You do get funny odours on the river sometimes, Mrs. Eastman.

  – It’s not that kind of odour at all, she said, drawing closer to Timothy.

  – Perhaps it’s my hair oil, he said. It has bay rum in it.

  – So that’s what it is, she laughed. I didn’t know British boys were such dandies, Timothy.

  They all burst into uproarious laughter, strident with released tension. Mrs. Eastman went away with the pleased air of a successful humorist. When she was out of earshot they burst into further hilarity, the girls convulsed with giggles, the boys doubled up, shaking their heads, punching each other, eyes watering, gasping and wheezing. Only Timothy kept his poise, smiling, accepting their tributes.

  – Say, that was pretty cool, one of the boys said, when relative calm had returned. Howja think of it, just like that? The hair-oil bit?

  – I dunno, it just came into my head, he said. The barber I go to in London, he has a bottle of Bay Rum hair oil on the counter. I always thought it was a funny thing to put on your hair. It sort of stuck in my mind.

  – You don’t really use it, then? Gloria asked him.

  – Good Lord, no.

  – That was real neat, though, to think of saying it.

  While he was savouring this delicious compliment, more lights on the deck suddenly came on, casting golden reflections on the water. Oohs and Aahs of admiration were heard, but from the little group at the stern only suppressed groans.

  – That’s Ma Eastman trying to flush us out.

  – Come on, boys and girls, I want to see everyone dancing! they heard her cry from the distance.

  – Huh! Who wants to dance with her staring at you all the time?

  – And the records are such crap.

  – I reckon she bought them for her own sixteenth birthday.

  – We can fix the lights, anyway, Ray said.

  – Whaddya gonna do, Ray?

  – Wait and see. He winked and moved off.

  – What did he say? a girl asked.

  – He’s gonna fix the lights.

  – He’s crazy. Ray’s crazy.

  – He’s had too much rum.

  – Too much hair oil.

  They sniggered and nudged each other, elated and expectant. Whatever Ray was going to do, Timothy hoped it would occupy him for some time. His departure had evened up the numbers and left Timothy in conversational possession of Gloria. But this advantage was short-lived.

  – I want everybody on the floor for a mixer! Come on, boys and girls.

  – Oh, no! Gloria groaned.

  – What’s a mixer?

  – Oh, its a corny kind of dance where you all walk around in two circles until the music stops and then you dance with the person who’s opposite.

  – I can’t dance, said Timothy, seeing a desperate choice looming up, between making a fool of himself on the dance floor and losing Gloria for ever.

  – Don’t let it worry you – neither can half the kids here.

  Major Eastman appeared, grinning jovially.

  – Come on, now, everybody! On the dance deck – Captain’s orders.

  – I can’t dance, said Timothy.

  – Well, now’s the time to learn, young man, said the Major, herding them towards the centre of the boat.

  They were halfway up the stairs that led to the dancing deck when the lights went out and the music from the loudspeakers died with a groan. There were several screams, whoops, whistles, and some laughter; then a buzz of voices, above which Major Eastman’s was raised in tones of military authority.

  – O.K., hold it, everybody. Don’t panic! Don’t move. Stay right where you are. We’ll have this sorted out in just a moment.

  A few matches and cigarette lighters flickered briefly in the darkness. A girl’s voice said sharply, Cut that out! and a titter ran through the close-packed crowd. Timothy, standing on the stairs below Gloria, was aware of her skirt brushing his face.

  – I’m losing my balance, she said, swaying back.

  – Hold on to me, he said.

  – Thanks.

  He would happily have stayed there for the remainder of the voyage, with Gloria’s faintly perfumed, rustling silks enveloping him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder; but almost immediately the lights went on again, the record groaned into life and speeded up. A few couples were discovered clasped together, and there were whistles and catcalls as they hastily separated. Timothy wondered whether Gloria would have been willing to take the same advantage of the darkness. He rather thought she would have been.

  Major Eastman bustled up behind them.

  – Right, he said, panting a little, it seems that some joker threw the main lighting s
witch. If I catch him, he’ll be court-martialled. There was a perceptible edge of anger to his joviality.

  – Who says it was a he? someone murmured, and those who heard giggled. Timothy sensed mutiny in the air. The extinguishing of the lights had touched some nerve of rebellion in the young guests. They were flushed and excited, grimacing at each other, unco-operative as Major and Mrs. Eastman organized them into two large circles on the dancing deck, the girls inside and the boys outside. Gloria, facing Timothy, smiled.

  – Relax, it won’t hurt.

  – I don’t know what to do, he said, I haven’t the faintest idea.

  – Oh, just kind of move around to the rhythm. She shuffled her feet and swayed her hips under the red skirt.

  Major Eastman stepped into the centre of the inner ring.

  – Everybody ready? You all know the drill. Boys walk clockwise, girls anticlockwise. When the music stops the person opposite you is your partner for the next dance. O.K?

  – I hope you’re opposite me, he said.

  – I guess the odds are against it, she said, with a smile.

  – It’s like roulette, he said miserably.

  Major Eastman began a countdown:

  – Five, four, three, two, one, ZERO!

  There was a popping explosion and the lights went out again. Cheers and groans rent the sky. Timothy felt bodies colliding against him as Major Eastman pushed his way roughly to the stairhead, swearing under his breath. Timothy groped forward and touched a soft, smooth arm.

  – Is that you, Gloria?

  – Timothy?

  She suddenly staggered against him.

  – Hey, quit pushing! she cried to some invisible person. Sorry, she said to Timothy.

  – It’s all right.

  – It’s kind of scary, all these people in the dark.

  A sudden movement in the crowd sent them staggering again, but he held on to her arm. Somewhere Mrs. Eastman could be heard begging people to stay where they were, the lights would be fixed any moment. There was hysteria in her voice. From the bridge came guttural shouts in German.

  – Shall we get off this deck? Timothy suggested.

  – How can we find our way? I can’t see a thing.

  – Just hold on to me.

  With his free hand he groped for the rail, then followed it round till he came to the stairhead.