A TIME OF WAR

by MARY HOCKING

  Chapter Nine

  June went out in flames in the west country. There were no arguments about open windows in Cabin 8; they even slept with the door open at night. In the morning when she returned from night duty, Kerren lay in her bunk and felt the warm air move across her body; there was a smell of dry grass and blown seeds that made her sneeze. She and Robin saw a lot of each other when they were off duty. Peter was at Lee on a refresher course and Kerren only saw him on the occasions when they managed to meet in Salisbury. Con’s unit was engaged on mysterious exercises. Kerren talked to Robin about Peter as they lay in the long grass at the edge of the wood; she was finding out about him all the time now.

  `His father died when he was quite young. He told me he could remember coming in from the garden on the day of the funeral and hearing his aunt tell his mother to pull herself together for the boy’s sake. They were talking in the kitchen and he was standing in the hall. I could see him there, Robin, as clearly as though I had stepped into his past. I could see him standing with one hand clutching the banister rail, smelling of earth and sweat and a small boy’s fear. I wanted to hug him and comfort him.’

  Robin, lying close to the ground, feeling the breeze rippling up her spine, asked sleepily:

  `What happened to his mother?’

  `She died a year later. He was brought up by an uncle and aunt who didn’t like children. He’s never belonged anywhere; he’s never had a chance to become a complete person.’ She looked across the fields, thinking how, when the war was over, she would make a place for him and he would become whole.

  Robin dug her fingers into the mossy ground and thought that real happiness would be to lie like this always, close to the earth, no conflict, no people. Deep in her heart she did not believe in personal relationships. Nevertheless, she encouraged Kerren to talk because she wanted to know how far she had gone with Peter.

  `He’s very passionate,’ Kerren said. `Sometimes I get frightened and I wonder if things will be all right. I don’t think I’m cold or anything like that, but . . .’

  So they had not slept together yet. Robin was relieved. She was not sure how far she wanted to go with Con and she did not want Kerren to join the silent community of understanding, leaving her on the outside.

  Since she was uncertain of herself she held back from situations which might precipitate too sudden a change in her relationship with Con. Nevertheless, she felt that some development was to be expected now that she had known him over a month. She searched around for a way out and finally suggested to Kerren that they should make a foursome for a week-end. When Kerren not very enthusiastically agreed, she put it to Con that `Kerren and Peter would like us to have a week-end with them. Could you bear it?’ Con wrote back saying he was agreeable, but was not sure that he could get leave. `Which gets us nowhere,’ Robin fumed. Kerren, who was tiresomely happy and optimistic these days, said that it didn’t matter because the war would be over soon anyway. Robin scotched that idea.

  `Personally, I think it’s hotting up. I had a letter from Cissie Mead today – she’s doing her met. officer’s course at Greenwich and she says they have these doodlebugs over all the time. They sound horrid. I suppose the next war will start with doodlebugs and work its way up to something even more unpleasant.’

  `I shouldn’t want to be a met. officer,’ Kerren said. `Hunter has been miserable all through this gorgeous weather because he forecast that that depression over Iceland would move in.’

  The good weather held and Con found that he could manage to get away for a week-end. Then it proved impossible for Kerren and Robin to get leave at the same time. In the end they arranged to meet for a meal in Starcombe. The whole thing had lost its point by this time as far as Robin was concerned. And Starcombe, its main street running along the spine of a hill, was not an ideal meeting place.

  `It’s like climbing Everest,’ Robin grumbled as she and Kerren pushed their bikes up a side-street.

  `But when you get there it’s like being on top of the world.’

  They were to meet at the Fox and Hounds at the end of the main road; a rather dilapidated place popular with service people. `It’s not the food they go for, it’s the fields at the back,’ Robin had complained when Kerren told her where Peter had booked. There seemed to be something in this, the doors were open and couples were coming and going as Kerren and Robin put their bikes against the wall. The windows were open, too; they could hear men’s voices and the shrill laughter of girls. Robin held back at the last moment.

  `I wonder if there’s a toilet or some place where we can smarten up.’

  `You look fine – all breathless and windswept.’

  Kerren knew that Robin always tried to delay her entry into a crowd, so she turned and walked towards the saloon bar. Robin caught her up, grumbling nervously.

  `Suppose they’re not here yet.’

  Nothing could be worse than that . . . except their being here. She always dreaded her first sight of Con, her mind went blank and she did not know what to say. Kerren opened the door. A group of R.A.F. officers was standing near by; one or two heads turned, eyes examined the girls briefly, found nothing to their taste and turned away.

  Robin looked bored; her eyes flicked round the crowded room, not resting on any one face for long. In this way she could pretend that she had not seen Con and so gain a moment to compose herself. Kerren made no pretence. As soon as she saw Peter and Con she fought her way to them, words bubbling in her throat, greetings, explanations, questions, all held together on a continuous thread of laughter. Robin had time, after all. Her voice was clear and struck just the right note when she said:

  `Well, now that we’re all met, do we know one another? Con, you remember meeting Kerren at the party.’

  They bought drinks and settled themselves in a corner near the dining-room. It was a small, dingy room, low-ceilinged; the noise was deafening. Near by some army officers were singing one of those interminable songs that the army found so hilarious. Peter set up in opposition with a tale about landing on a carrier in a thick mist off the Shetlands. He told stories well in the off-hand fashion of the long-service pilot. Kerren gazed at him, her eyes travelling wonderingly over the contours of his scarred face. Con sat quietly contemplating his beer. One of the army officers was watching Robin. A compact, nut-brown man with a bulb-shaped head covered with close-cropped brown hair; crisp moustache, eyes bright and hard. Robin crossed her legs and thought that it was nice to be appreciated. The nut-brown major gave her a rakish smile, just to show that he didn’t miss a trick. Peter finished:

  `So I said, “Here’s to the good old `Victorious!’ ” and he said, “Only one thing wrong with that, old boy – this is `Illustrious’.” Robin said to Con, `Your turn now.’

  He grinned. `Would you like to hear how I won the war in the desert, in Burma, or the Pacific? You have your choice.’

  She looked at Peter. Kerren was teasing him about showing off; he was a little on the defensive and beneath the insolently raised eyebrows, the eyes were anxious. Robin said to Con:

  `Why don’t you get a commission?’

  `Why should I?’

  `You’re more mature.’ She indicated Peter with a quick, dismissive gesture of her hand. `You have natural authority.’

  `Then I don’t need unnatural authority.’

  `But don’t you want responsibility?’

  `Not that kind.’

  `Achievement, then.’

  `Depends what you want to achieve.’ He finished his beer and put the glass down on the floor. `A man can’t try for too many things, otherwise he misses out on the things that matter.’ He clasped his hands behind his head and leant against the wall; the attitude was relaxed, but the mouth was hard and uncompliant. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned, no use asking what were the things that mattered.

  The nut-brown major was standing near by talking about Alex, to a flight lieutenant. The flight lieutenant was very lively in an agitated way; his whole
body jerked when he talked and his face muscles twitched violently. Beer slopped from the glass he held in his hand. He laughed a lot, but the laughter was ragged: one felt that at any moment he might pick a quarrel. Peter had stopped telling tales, he was sitting with his arm round Kerren’s shoulders; his fingers moved ceaselessly. Robin thought there was something disgusting about those impatient fingers expressing need so nakedly. She turned quickly to Con.

  `What did you do before the war?’

  `Lived.’

  `But how?’

  `Like most folk; slept, ate, breathed – that’s particularly important, breathing . . .’

  `You didn’t work?’

  `Oh, I get the idea! You’re asking what my job is. I’m a geologist.’

  So much for that! She looked at Kerren and Peter. Peter had his face close to Kerren’s neck and seemed to be nibbling her ear. Robin said:

  `When do we eat?’

  They laughed and she went an angry red because she had not meant to be crude.

  The dingy formality of the cramped dining-room curbed Peter’s and Kerren’s spirits. Between courses, Robin watched a Waaf officer and a squadron leader who were sitting at a table in the corner. The woman was dark, there was a frosty sparkle about her face which contrasted provocatively with the rich contralto of her voice. A whore, Robin thought, but a stylish one: the man’s charm was as tailor-made as his uniform. She looked at Con. He was talking to Peter about the Lake District.

  `I’ve always wanted to do some climbing,’ Peter said. `It must be a wonderful feeling, the land falling away . . .’

  `There’s nothing like it, nothing. . . .’

  Suddenly they were close, these two; one felt the spirit straining at its bonds, longing to be free, uncluttered. . . . Kerren came in rather quickly with talk about walks in Connemara.

  `You can’t climb in Connemara!’ Peter retorted.

  But it had worked as a distraction, and after that he was content to argue with her about Ireland. Kerren thought how fortunate she was to love a man who responded to her moods, a man who would give himself to her ungrudgingly. Robin thought: maybe Peter has his remote moments up in his plane, but Kerren will clip his wings soon enough. Con would not be so easy to handle. As she looked at his abstracted face, she felt proud, as though she had been singled out for something difficult and rather splendid – but ultimately rewarding, of course.

  The squadron leader and the Waaf officer got up from their table. As they opened the door to the bar, the flight lieutenant greeted them. `Why, if it isn’t Sheila! Having a good war, dear?’ He was several drinks further on, the laughter more uncontrolled than ever. Robin shivered. When they had finished their coffee, she said, `It’s a nice evening. Let’s go for a stroll.’ But the others wanted to drink.

  The nut-brown major was singing when they went into the bar. He sang easily and without emphasis. `And on her leg she wore a purple garter, she wore it in the springtime and in the month of May.’ He sat on a table, his hands on his knees, the muscular forearms well displayed; he was perfectly relaxed, but occasionally he would glance up, his eyes narrowed as though trying to make out some far distant object. One could imagine him riding a truck in the desert; one could feel heat pressing against the tight blue band of sky until something must break. Life in the desert had suited the major. Exhilaration was transmitted to those in the room; the faces of the men glistened as some relived their own moments of violence. The flight lieutenant was singing, too. `And if you ask her why the hell she wears it . . .’ He sang very loudly, his jaw was taut and his eyes protruded. There wasn’t much enjoyment there.

  Robin said uneasily, `I’d much sooner go out. It’s stuffy in here.’ No one took any notice. Kerren was watching the nut-brown major; something in her expression told Robin she had taken a dislike to him. `It’s a horrible evening altogether,’ Robin complained. `I’ve been bitten by gnats.’ She scratched her leg as proof.

  Con handed her a gin and orange and said, `You should go down the Amazon. You’d be eaten alive.’

  `Have you been down the Amazon?’ Kerren transferred her attention momentarily from the nut-brown major.

  `Yes.’

  `I’d like to go down the Amazon.’ She tugged Peter’s arm. `Wouldn’t you like to go down the Amazon?’

  `You’re spilling my beer.’

  The major was talking now. `The Wops are cowards. Give me a German any day. You know where you are with the Germans.’ Several of his friends nodded knowingly and one of them lit a cigarette. The major said, `I remember one night in Alex . . .’

  Kerren said, `I bet he hasn’t been down the Amazon.’

  `Her name was Joyce,’ the major said. `A pretty little girl – but not when we found her down in the Arab quarter. The man who killed her was a Wop deserter. We didn’t know that then. Six Wogs died that night. But we met up with the Wops a little later. . . .’

  `Did you kill six of them, too?’

  The major looked across the room at Kerren. One or two of his friends turned to look, too. It was as though a line had been drawn across the centre of the floor. From his side of the line, Con said coolly:

  `Don’t mind us. We’re just doing a little arithmetic.’

  The major said, `Tell me if you have any trouble.’

  Robin picked up her sling bag and looked towards the door. Peter and the flight lieutenant eyed each other.

  `Perhaps she asked to be killed,’ Kerren said.

  The major laughed. `Perhaps she did. But when a white woman is killed in an Arab quarter a gesture has to be made.’

  `A rather expensive gesture?’

  `Perhaps, girlie, perhaps. But it safeguards all the wide-eyed little innocents like you who come to these places. . . .’

  The flight lieutenant shouted, `Out for a bloody good time and all hell let loose!’

  The Waaf officer protested, `Jimmy, darling!’ in a throbbing contralto. Peter got up and the flight lieutenant repeated, almost joyously, `All hell let loose!’ He and Peter hurtled together. The barman scuttled out of the door at the back of the bar. The squadron leader pushed his way forward, urged on by the Waaf officer who was looking concerned, in a disdainful, civilized manner. The major put a hand on the squadron leader’s shoulder.

  `Let them fight it out.’

  `Someone will get hurt.’

  `The children must learn.’ The major was contemptuous, very much the professional soldier. The squadron leader smiled uncertainly and looked back at the Waaf officer who turned her sculptured head away.

  Peter and the flight lieutenant were writhing on the floor. Kerren, trying to push her way to them, cried desperately, `They’ll kill each other!’ But Robin, looking at the thrashing limbs, had the impression of a creature in labour, striving for communion. `Why don’t you do something!’ she said fiercely to Con.

  He was looking round the room, his face calm, his expression more remote than ever: if he was counting the odds, she could have saved him the trouble. Kerren was trying to fight her way past the major who was holding her back. `Take it easy, girlie! The arithmetic’s all right this time; one against one.’ She spat at him. Con said to Robin, `Get her into that toilet at the back there. Then climb out of the window.’ He spoke as though there was no doubt at all that she could do this. The very imperiousness of it carried her to Kerren’s side; she reached out a hand, inserted fingers beneath Kerren’s collar and jerked her back, almost throttling her. Over Kerren’s shoulder, she said to the major, `I’ll take care of this.’ He relaxed his attention long enough to say gallantly, `I’m sorry you’ve been involved in this.’ Con had picked up a chair. As Robin and Kerren reached the door of the toilet the lights went out. Leaning against the wash-basin, gulping for breath, Kerren said, `A fine friend you are!’

  `It was your fight,’ Robin said crisply. `You’re lucky to have friends to get you out of it.’

  `I’m going back for Peter.’

  She opened the door on a dark chaos of bodies. Robin pulled her
away.

  `Con will have Peter by now. All we have to do is scramble through here and meet them outside.’

  She was very sure of this. Con had worked out his strategy, and he was capable of carrying it through – in this respect, at least, she had learnt a lot about him tonight. But the window was small and it took them some time to wriggle through it. Robin was not feeling quite so confident when her feet touched the ground on the other side. There was an overgrown garden ahead, fields beyond. Nothing stirred. She made a tentative movement and Kerren hissed at her to be quiet. Kerren stood with her head on one side, listening; she looked, Robin thought, like a small, urgent animal. Con came across the grass quietly, but Kerren heard and ran towards him.

  `Peter?’

  `Down beyond the hedge. We’ll have a rest while they sort themselves out in there.’

  Peter was crouched against the hedge, his head in his hands. Robin thought that he should be ashamed of himself; she hoped that Kerren would convey this to him. But Kerren knelt and put her arms around him and whispered, `Oh, darling, it was all my fault, and you were so splendid!’ She didn’t say it in the triumphant, exuberant manner Robin knew so well, she said it very softly and the hands that caressed him were gentle. Tenderness in Kerren was something new. Robin turned her head away, her eyes smarting. She was glad when the last straggler staggered away from the Fox and Hounds and they could get their bikes.

  `Peter and I will take it easy,’ Kerren said.

  `There isn’t much time to take it easy!’ Robin pointed out.

  `It doesn’t matter.’

  As they cycled away from the town, Robin said to Con, `Kerren thinks Peter did that for her.’ Con did not answer and she went on, `I was watching him and that flight lieutenant, they were looking at each other and there was something horribly alike about them. They both needed that fight.’