“He’s called Andrew, Mum. I don’t like you to call him Andy. I hate it when people use stupid short forms of names, it’s an American thing.”
“Well, I am American, and besides it’s done in this country, too.”
“Okay, okay, Mum. To answer your question, yes we’re all right.”
“Have you settled in by now? I always said it was a mistake to move away from your family. You could have built up a life for yourself in York, or even back here.”
“But George couldn’t. As you know, his expertise lies in airport management, the logistics of airports. Can’t you see that Gatwick is much more interesting than the provincial little airport of Newcastle?”
“I only mean it would be nice to have you nearer.”
“Thanks, Mum. Now, what I was going to ask you is your recipe for your delicious apple pie. Can you write it down and let me have it? I’d like to attempt one for Andrew’s birthday.”
“I’ll see what I can do for you. I’ll have to think about it so I can write it down. You know, it’s all just automatic. When I make one it just comes natural...”
“I see. But I’d really be very glad.”
“All right then, my darling.”
“Is everything okay? Dad okay?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He seems to have some sort of problem with one of his German acquaintances. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“Has it got to do with his old friend in Stuttgart? You know, the one he said was high up in German politics?”
“Oh no. Don’t you know? You must have been at university when it happened, so you didn’t get the story at the time.”
“What story? Tell me.”
“Well, what happened to his friend. He was denounced, I think it was about eight years ago. He lost his position, and he was accused of being an old Nazi. It was even in the English papers, quite a big scandal.”
“I’m sorry, I must have missed it. But how did it affect Dad?”
“I don’t know all of it, and your father doesn’t like to talk about it. But I think he felt he was losing his support in Germany.”
Nora realized that her mother didn’t know much, so she decided to abandon the subject. She added a few general remarks and soon rang off.
She made herself a cup of tea. She allowed herself another half hour of peace and quiet before she was going to pick up Andrew from Lucy, her next-door neighbour who often helped to look after the little boy when Nora had to go out.
Over her tea, she tried to concentrate on what she remembered about her father and his involvement with Germany. Before she left school, back in Newcastle, she’d often had a chat with him and he’d told her more than he would her mother. But once she’d left for university she no longer had the opportunity. Meanwhile, her father visited Germany several times, always on business, and Nora herself spent four months in Hamburg to improve her German - just as she spent a few months in Montpellier for her French - before she took her degree in modern languages at York University. Her father’s connection with Germany had somehow drifted into the background of her mind. Now she remembered her eager interest in her father’s past in Germany which she’d kept when she was a young teenager, but which she’d lost years ago.
So, he had some problems now, if she could believe her mother. What problems could those be? If his old friend, the Stuttgart politician, could no longer be of any help for him, then what? What did Dad need any support for? Didn’t he just do his business in Germany? Nora decided to ask him when she saw him next time. He said he would come down to London in February. They would be able to meet up either in London or at Gatwick. Yes, she would ask him then.
The rest of her day was filled with household chores and playing sessions with little Andrew. At half-past five, George came home.
“Hello, my darling,” he shouted from the hall. “Have you heard the news? A terrible catastrophe! The Space Shuttle exploded.”
They turned on the television and watched the six o’clock news. They were speechless when they saw the pictures of the explosion in the blue American morning sky. They felt pity for the families of the astronauts who were watching it all from the ground and who first believed it was some spectacular special effect, like fireworks on the 4th of July.
“Wasn’t there a teacher on board? A teacher who was going to report to the American school children from space?”
“This is like the Titanic,” George said.
“Not really,” Nora remarked. “There were many more innocent passengers on the Titanic who perished in the cold ocean, and these are only eight astronauts who knew the risks.”
“I don’t mean in terms of numbers, but in its symbolic significance,” he insisted. “Look at the names. The Titans were mythological creatures who challenged the ancient gods, and this space shuttle was also called Challenger. So, as far as I can see, in both cases it was Humanity who was challenging Nature, and Nature checked Humanity in its attempt. It was a warning for Humanity who was in danger of overreaching itself, its potential.”
“I can see what you mean. But the religious innuendo goes too far for my taste.”
They watched more programmes that dealt with the Challenger explosion. The various TV stations brought discussions with experts, historical overviews of space travel, repeated pictures of the explosion and even, for the sentimental touch, replays of interviews they had made with the astronauts before the fateful day, especially interviews with that teacher. Nora and George watched the entire evening, having a cold supper on their laps in front of the TV. In between programmes Nora rushed upstairs to give little Andrew his supper and put him to bed. Fortunately, the child was so tired that he fell asleep immediately and his mother could return to the screen without having missed very much.
From that day onward, Nora kept the Challenger accident in her mind in a strange nexus with her position in life. Even years afterwards, she would remember the date not only as the day of the Challenger explosion but also of the start to her new life, even the beginning of her responsible adult existence. It was strange but true that such a watershed feeling hadn’t overcome her at the moment of little Andrew’s birth, but only now, so relatively late in her life. What had gone before now appeared as a mere extension of her childhood, whereas her days after that date belonged to her real life. She was an adult human being, a wife, a mother and a professional translator of literature. It didn’t bother her personal categorising mind that she had to reach almost her 28th birthday to attain this level.
Once the weather thawed, Nora felt more elated about her newly found role. She often went for walks with Andrew in his buggy. Sometimes, she left him with Lucy and went for a longer walk by herself. Like this, she could think more clearly.
Her walks took her out of Horsham, along narrow bridle-paths towards the expansive fields of Christ’s Hospital. The relative tranquillity of the green fields with their red brick buildings in the distance and the consciousness of the proximity of such an ancient institution of education and learning both had a soothing effect on her. Here, at last, she could review her situation in life. Every day she walked across the green fields, sometimes closer to the anachronistic brick-buildings, sometimes more through the open countryside, sometimes near the railway-line close-by.
On one occasion she happened to come very close to one end of the main row of brick-buildings. She saw a group of pupils in their terribly uncomfortable and old-fashioned black - she believed she’d read somewhere that they called it blue - uniform with their yellow knee-socks. A middle-aged man with NHS glasses, black hair with a few grey streaks and a flushed face wearing a gown of sorts - probably a house-master - was calling out to the pupils, who turned back to where they’d come from. The seemingly blind obedience of the pupils and the distant incomprehensibility
of the house-master’s orders somehow reminded her of Jacques Tati and the tourists at the French railway station in Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot, and this helped her to see everything with a touch of humour. It was like watching a ballet performance without music, a well-planned and carefully-rehearsed dumb-show.
Time and her walks eventually helped her to regain some degree of balance. Up till now, she realized, she had always kept the image of her father as a moral authority. Whatever she did she measured against his principles, or what she believed to be his principles. But now, at last, she found that she could cope quite well without that self-alleged anchor in her childhood. Now, at last, she had emancipated herself from her parents, especially from her father. As for her mother, Nora had long given up taking her seriously.
On another occasion, she came across a pair of pupils who had obviously escaped from their prescribed territory and the stern house-master’s watchful eye. They were a boy and a girl, probably about fifteen or sixteen years old. They appeared so absorbed in their secretive togetherness that they were completely unaware of Nora’s proximity. She stopped in her walk and stepped behind the concealing branches of a bush because she did not want to disturb them. As she stood behind the bush she felt she had to hold her breath, fully aware of the importance of this moment for these young people. They were behind one of the regular brick-buildings, on the back side where nobody could see them - except Nora.
As if by mutual consent they began to embrace, and their shy kisses began tentatively, but gradually gained in confidence and energy. The boy pushed the girl against the brick wall and ran his hands up and down her sides, while the girl stroked the back of the boy’s head, and their heads moved from side to side in the growing passion of their kisses. They looked ridiculous since their outdated school-uniforms clashed with their actions. They looked like a pair of medieval dignitaries engaged in a forbidden ritual. Nora found herself wondering what could possibly be the fun of caressing each other through those extremely uncomfortable thick coats. And when the boy pushed his right knee between the girl’s legs and she lifted her left leg slightly to make room for his urgent desire the yellowness of their socks nearly produced a snort of suppressed laughter from Nora.
The young couple continued kissing in much the same way as they had begun, and Nora accustomed herself to the fact that they would probably be going on like this for quite a while, perhaps for hours or until they might be found out by the house-master. So she decided to withdraw quietly. She trod very carefully as she walked away in the opposite direction, so as not to disturb the youthful lovers. As she glanced back from a distance of some fifty yards or so, she thought the girl might be looking at her without really seeing her, looking through her, as it were, or looking right into her soul. The young girl’s eyes, in a dream-like trance induced by the passion of kissing, entered Nora’s soul and hit her right at the centre of a sensitive spot.
It occurred to her that she had been about the same age as that girl when she’d kissed a boy for the first time in her life. While she felt a lot older and wiser now, at the same time she found herself envying the younger girl’s experience, the passionate kissing. Nora had seen kissing scenes and even the occasional sex scene in French films - though never explicitly - but she had never felt as she felt now. Somehow, that girl’s passion touched her and made her yearn for her lost childhood.
Thus, Nora entered her adult life and began to regret the loss of her childhood all within a few weeks, the heavily significant weeks following the Challenger catastrophe.
* * *
The meeting with her father took place at Gatwick Airport at the end of February. They had arranged to have lunch at Garfunkel’s in the South Terminal.
“And how’s my little grandson?” Dad began, once they sat down at the table and got the business of ordering their food behind them.
“He’s great. He’s learning new words every day. It’s fantastic to see his amazing development.”
They talked about various insignificant things before Nora zoomed in on the topic that was so important for her. “Do you still go to Germany regularly?” she wanted to know.
“Not as much as I used to,” her father answered.
“You know, I used to take a very keen interest in modern history, so I often wanted to ask you more about your time in Nazi Germany. But I’ve lost that interest over the past few years.”
“There wasn’t such a lot to tell anyway.”
“Well, I often wondered. And now Mum tells me that you had some problems when you were in Germany the last time. What happened?”
The father busied himself with the food, which had just arrived on the table between them, before he answered.
“You see, I was wrong to rely on my old acquaintance Hans. Once he fell from grace in seventy-eight, I realized I hadn’t played my cards very well.”
“Why did you need your friend anyway?”
The father couldn’t help a slight twitch in his shoulder. “I believed he could protect me from bad rumours. But as it turned out, he couldn’t.”
“Why did you think you needed such protection?”
“Oh, my dear girl! Back in the old days, under the Nazi régime, we all did certain things that we weren’t really proud of after the War.”
“Yes. On a small scale, I can understand that. It must have been difficult or even dangerous to oppose the system openly. The only option was probably emigration.”
“That wasn’t an option for me and my family.”
They were silent for a while, enjoying their hamburgers and chips, brooding over what had been said. At last Nora took it up again.
“So what difficulties are you having now?”
“I don’t know if there’ll be any difficulties, but there’s that awful fellow who’s pursuing me. He seems to have tracked me down, and now he’s trying to blame me for things I’d never done.”
“Do you know the man personally?”
“Well, yes. He used to be a sort of friend when we were children, his name is Wolfgang.”
“How did he track you down? Did you visit your home town?”
“Oh no, he must have gone to great lengths. You see, I’d changed my name after the War. It used to be Wolff, with one o and two fs, one of the German forms of the name, and when I was in Switzerland I found that the people hated the Germans, so I changed it to the English form, Woolf. But that didn’t prevent him from finding me. One day, in Leipzig, as I was checking into my hotel, he suddenly stood in front of me. I was so shocked.”
“What did he say?”
“First, he just stood there, smiling in an arrogant and cheeky way, as if he was some great criminal who’d just found his victim. I recognized him immediately. He’d always been an unpleasant bully, and the War hadn’t changed him, obviously.”
“What did he want from you? What did he have against you?”
The father hesitated before he answered, “That is a complicated affair. Let’s not talk about it.”
Nora could feel that the topic was unpleasant for him, so she decided to let it be for the time. She didn’t ask any more questions. They remained silent for a short while, eating up their plates of chips and looking down. Nora wondered if she should let sleeping dogs lie and just forget the subject. What did it concern her? Why should she have a right to know what terrible things her father experienced during the War?
Soon they took up their conversations again, but now they talked about Andrew and about her new job.
“I’m very proud of you, my girl,” he smiled. “It was a good thing to learn all those languages. And do you remember how glad I was when you took up Latin at school? Latin is the basis for your linguistic skills.”
“Of course, I remember, Dad. And yes, I admit Latin helped me a great deal, especially in grammar, but also in the vocabulary of the various language
s, you know the etymology...”
“Oh, the big words my girl uses...”
They both laughed. All the former tension about the past and the bully Wolfgang was forgotten.
Nora didn’t think of the touchy subject of her father’s role in the past again for several weeks. She was too busy with her child, her work and her general situation in life. She still didn’t feel at home in Horsham, and she still had to catch up a great deal with her sister and her old friends Debbie and Janet.
Margaret had married an American academic called Doug while Nora was still at university. He was a very bright sociologist from some American small town. They had met at university in London, got married in Newcastle and immediately moved back to the States. These days, they lived in Boston and had two children. Nora and Margaret often wrote letters to each other, sometimes they even telephoned, but that was quite expensive.
Debbie had studied history of art in London. Now she had a job with the Tate Gallery, and she lived on her own in a small flat in Hampstead. But recently, it appeared, she had started on a new relationship with a young artist called Vladimir. Nora was very curious about him. She had still not met him personally. She sincerely hoped this would be a steady thing for her good friend. Debbie had gone through a series of relationships, none of which lasted for more than a few months. Debbie herself believed that was because of her figure. She often complained to Nora that men didn’t find her attractive, with her plump body, her fat bottom, her wide hips, her huge breasts, her thick arms and legs and her ugly face. Nora had to contradict her then. She felt she had to rebuild her friend’s self-confidence. For Nora, Debbie looked, well, perhaps a little on the full side, but really very attractive. She was sure there had to be hundreds of men who would find her extremely good-looking, especially when she was wearing one of her artier outfits.
And then there was Janet. As long as Nora still lived up north they had kept a regular contact, at their respective homes in Gosforth and Jesmond. Later, when Nora was at York University and Janet managed to combine a catering course at some college in Hull with her role as a single mother, their contact became less regular, but they still kept it up. Now, Janet was in Bristol, where she could live with a cousin of hers called Linda, who was also a single mother and had offered to look after both children, her own girl Joanna and Janet’s boy Bob. The happy arrangement was that while Linda was looking after the children and all the domestic chores, Janet would bring in the money. She didn’t make a lot, but it was enough for their little household and even allowed for a few extras. The only drawback, Janet told Nora on the telephone, were her long hours. Working in catering, she often had to cover events in the evening, which meant she could only see her boy in the morning. But she was hoping for better times. Bob was twelve, and he was a lovely boy, devoted to his mother, and he often helped his “Auntie Linda”, Janet’s friend and flatmate.
White Lies Page 17
