by Robert Edric
Mercer imagined that there was someone somewhere keeping a watch on the prisoners, but neither Mathias nor the others were aware of anyone. They were all still waiting, Mathias said, and he wondered if this new degree of freedom was not some kind of test.
‘To see who runs?’ Mercer said.
‘Perhaps.’ He was unwilling to say more.
Then Mathias confessed that he had seen Jacob earlier that same day. It was true that Bail was finally being evicted, he said, and that the new owners of the yard were eager to clear it and begin their own building there.
They sat on the concrete platform of the new Station. Rusted mesh rose all around them.
From the moment of his arrival, Mercer had sensed that there was something else Mathias was avoiding telling him. He asked him where he thought Jacob might now go.
‘The same place we all go,’ Mathias said. ‘You, him, me, Bail, Lynch – nowhere.’
‘You’re—’ Mercer began.
‘I’m what,’ Mathias said sharply. ‘I’m overreacting? Is that what you want to say? I should just accept the inevitable, however unacceptable it might be?’ He shook his head and then rubbed his face. He had been working, and dirt and cement dust still coated his back and arms. He ran a hand through his hair and the dust rose there, too.
‘Have you heard anything specific?’ Mercer asked him.
Mathias shook his head. ‘Three days ago, Roland absconded.’
‘Absconded?’
‘He couldn’t bear the thought of not going home for at least another six months and so he took matters into his own hands.’
‘Where will he have gone?’
‘He caught a train to London. He was found in the docks there asking about ships leaving soon for the continent. Someone reported him to the Authorities and he was arrested. He believed he had bought himself a berth on a ship to Bremerhaven. He was sitting in a dockside bar, drunk, toasting his good fortune while he waited, and no doubt showing everyone photographs of his children and grandchildren.’
‘And speaking in German.’
Mathias laughed. ‘What else?’
‘Has he been brought back here?’
‘Last night. He wept all night. I sat with him and found out everything that had happened. So, you see, we must all live with the dramas and tragedies of our small and pathetic endings. What did we imagine would happen – that the war would end and that the world would tilt back on to its proper axis and slow down sufficiently after all those years for us all to bury our dead, build again our homes and resume our old lives?’
‘What will happen to him now?’ Mercer said. Mathias shrugged. ‘Contrary to all his own gloomy predictions, not much, I imagine. Who knows, he might even have made himself even less desirable by his escape attempt; perhaps they’ll send him home sooner rather than later just to be rid of him. One of the Military Policemen who brought him back to us said he was lucky not to be put into prison for what he’d done. It was probably an empty threat, but it made us think. There were a dozen others among us who might have tried the same.’
‘But not now?’
Mathias shook his head. ‘No, not now.’ Mercer studied the foundations around them.
‘Are you happy with the work?’ Mathias asked him.
‘I would have appreciated more time. Everything’s done that needs to be done. How about the airfield?’
‘Someone is coming soon for the remains of the aircraft.’ Mathias shielded his eyes to look to where the last of the silver fuselages lay piled in the distance.
‘Will you go to see if Jacob is still there?’ Mercer said.
‘Of course. But don’t imagine that he himself is not fully aware of what is now about to happen. In all likelihood, he will have a far better grasp of the situation than Bail himself.’
‘You think he’s known all along that it would come to this?’
‘I think he will have known everything. I imagine all this is just another well-planned part of his strategy of withdrawal.’
The remark surprised Mercer and he asked Mathias what he meant by it.
‘Don’t you see it?’ Mathias said. ‘Did you think he was going to live like this for ever, in a cold and comfortless room above a warehouse in a scrap-yard, pretending that his pathetic pieces of glass and the forge in which they were made was all he needed, all that fed and sustained him? You and I, I imagine, at least we see the dim light of the future glowing distantly ahead of us. All Jacob sees is that same dim light being slowly extinguished behind him. And when it is finally out—’ He clapped his hands together.
‘What?’ Mercer said, already knowing what Mathias would say.
‘Then the darkness around him will be complete and he will be invisible at its centre.’
‘But someone will know him, who he is, what he does, what he has endured.’
‘Who? You? Me? Bail? Who?’
‘There must be organizations that—’
Mathias smiled. ‘This new world is full of those organizations. It was an organization that took him away from the camp, another organization that brought him here; it was an organization that told him how many of his family had perished, another organization that pretended to know where the remains of his sister were buried, yet another that pretended to him that there was some individual humanity and understanding in the cold, stark details of her death. Everywhere you look, there is an organization. With Bail, at least, living that same isolated and scavenging life, Jacob was briefly beyond the reach of all those organizations.’
‘And now he is once again exposed?’
‘To their pity, their sympathy, their false hope, yes. All these confused and fading trails all over the Earth. Look around you, here, the airfield, the Levels, the town, everywhere you look. Like ghosts wandering through some half-known world. What difference is there between Jacob and Roland when neither of them has what lies ahead of him within his grasp – one man because he sees nothing ahead of him through that growing darkness, and the other because he sees it all too clearly, and sees, too, how rapidly it recedes ahead of his own exhausted stumbling?’
Mercer understood that he was talking about himself. He considered what he might now say to console the man, but nothing came.
It’s men, Mary had said, but he knew it was everyone.
‘How will you get back to town?’ Mercer asked him.
‘Walk.’
‘You’re welcome to stay.’
‘Roland will be expecting me. I am his only ally. The others think he has ruined things for the rest of us and many of them have turned against him.’
‘Do you think some of them were about to do what he did?’ He was asking the question directly of Mathias, and Mathias understood this.
‘Perhaps. Almost certainly. But only in the belief they were doing nothing wrong, thinking only that it was their right so long after the war’s end. Why should anyone care any longer? We were each of us beaten men on the day we stuck up our hands. What threat are we now to anyone?’
There was no honest or straightforward answer to any of these questions, and anything Mercer said would have been an evasion.
‘I ought to go,’ Mathias said finally, and he rose from beside Mercer and held out his hand. ‘It has been a great pleasure knowing you,’ he said, and Mercer knew then that he intended this as their final parting, that, despite his denials, he possessed a plan for his own disappearance.
There was nothing Mercer could say. He watched as Mathias walked back towards the airfield. It would be dark in an hour, more than enough darkness for them all.
He watched him cross to the bed of broken concrete, then leave this to follow the line of the recently ploughed land.
Mercer rose and walked the perimeter of the raised foundations, and it was as he completed this circuit that he heard someone calling to him, and he looked to where the distant Mathias, now alongside the few remaining buildings, was shouting and waving to him with both hands.
A second figure now stoo
d beside him, and Mercer’s first impression was that this was either Roland, who had waited behind for Mathias upon the departure of the others, or that it was Lynch, returning from the town. Whoever it was, Mathias was still calling for him, and Mercer started running towards him.
Only as he reached the end of the runway did he pause to look again. It now appeared to him that the two men were fighting, locked together in a single figure, and he resumed his running.
He was slowed by the freshly ploughed earth, and so he returned to the edge of the broken runway to make better progress, feeling the slabs rock and shift beneath him, leaping from one to another and hearing them slide away behind him. It was only then, as he crossed this final distance to the buildings, that he saw that it was neither Roland nor Lynch with Mathias, but Jacob, and that, rather than fighting, Mathias was struggling to hold him upright.
Leaving the planes, Mercer finally joined them.
It was immediately clear to him that Jacob was barely conscious and that he possessed no strength. He took one of the man’s arms over his own shoulders and helped Mathias drag him to a balk of timber, where they were able to lower him into a sitting position with his back propped against a standing post.
‘Hold him,’ Mathias told Mercer. He ran into a nearby building and emerged with a can of water, which he held to Jacob’s lips and poured. Jacob swallowed little of what he was given, and most of the water ran over his chin and his chest, leaving a spreading stain. He could not sit unsupported and his head continually fell forward. Mathias fetched more water, but again Jacob was able to swallow only a little of it.
Mercer took out his handkerchief, soaked it and wiped Jacob’s brow. Whatever it was he was suffering from had clearly worsened since he had last seen him several days earlier.
‘What’s he doing here, so far, in this condition?’ he said to Mathias.
‘He said Bail was raging at the men picking over his yard. He carried that.’ He motioned to the sack of his belongings that Jacob had brought with him to the airfield. It was inconceivable to both of them that he had come so far in such a weakened condition.
‘Was he looking for you?’ Mercer asked. Coming across the open countryside, the airfield lay between Bail’s and the tower.
‘If that’s what you prefer to believe,’ Mathias said.
Beside them, Jacob gave a choking cough and slumped forward. They held him upright. Mathias rubbed his back as he went on coughing. Saliva fell in thick strings from Jacob’s mouth, and Mercer wiped this away.
‘I think Lynch was there, too,’ Mathias said, his voice low. ‘He said “Lynch”, that’s all.’
‘And so he ran,’ Mercer said.
‘I imagine he was more or less ready to leave, not to witness or to add to Bail’s final humiliation.’
‘Lynch’s arrival can’t have helped the situation,’ Mercer said.
‘If he was there. You can’t blame the man for everything.’
Jacob’s coughing subsided and he mumbled something neither of them properly heard. He indicated the can, and this time when Mathias held it to his lips, he was able to drink from it. After that, his exhaustion was complete, and he fell back between them, his eyes closed, his breathing short and laboured.
‘We can carry him to the tower,’ Mercer suggested.
‘Or I could make him a bed here,’ Mathias said, indicating the brick shell close by. ‘I’ll stay with him.’
Mercer looked at the building. Most of its roof was missing and its floor was overgrown with nettles. He insisted they carry Jacob to the tower.
They waited several minutes longer and then explained to Jacob what they were about to attempt. He made no response to this, convincing Mercer further that he needed to be taken indoors and to a proper bed.
They lifted the barely conscious man and worked out how best to carry him.
Mathias retrieved the sack, and they started to walk. They avoided both the ploughed earth and the broken runway, and went instead along the rim of a bank which curved away from the tower before turning back towards it alongside the road.
It was by then almost dark. The sun had gone, but the horizon was still brightened by it.
It took them an hour to walk along the bank and come close to the tower. They rested every few minutes and spoke reassuringly to Jacob. Sweat continued to form over his face. Both men felt the bones in his arms and in the fingers of the hands they held.
Mercer told Mathias to cross the open ground close to the dunes and to come to the tower out of sight of the houses, where, despite the darkness, someone might see them and come to investigate. In all likelihood, he said, Lynch would already have returned, and would now be anxious to make his presence felt, angry that Jacob had earlier eluded him. Mathias considered this unlikely, but said nothing.
They finally arrived close to the tower and Mercer went ahead alone and unlocked the door. Only when he was certain they were not being watched did he return to help carry Jacob over the remaining short distance.
Once inside, and with the door bolted behind them, both men rested. Jacob sat where they had lowered him. He remained barely conscious, less aware than ever of what was happening to him, or where he now was. He continued to mumble, increasingly agitated by whatever he was saying or by the lack of response to his words, and still they could understand little of what he said.
It would have been impossible to manhandle Jacob up the stairs into the room above without causing him even more pain, and so Mercer brought down his thin mattress and several blankets and they made a bed for him on the floor where he sat. Mathias took off his shoes, beneath which his feet were bare and dirty and bruised.
Waiting beside Jacob until he was asleep, and his breathing more regular, Mercer and Mathias then went upstairs and sat at the table. Still unwilling to attract attention to their presence, Mercer lit no lanterns and they sat together in the darkness.
‘I can do this alone if you need to go,’ Mercer said. He stood a bottle and glasses on the table.
Mathias acknowledged the opportunity he was being offered, and shook his head.
‘First thing in the morning, I’ll get a doctor,’ Mercer said.
Mathias looked at his watch.
An hour later, when the darkness was complete, and during which time Jacob had remained asleep and his breathing grown calmer, Mathias insisted on taking one of the chairs into the room below and sleeping beside him. ‘I’ll keep watch over him,’ he said.
Mercer offered to share the responsibility, but Mathias refused, promising to wake him if anything happened.
39
Mercer woke with a start several hours later, taking a moment to remember what had happened during the previous day and night. It was three in the morning and the moon cast its cold glow all around him.
Something had woken him, and as he lay in the silence the sound of someone crying rose up to him from below.
He went down to the lower room.
Mathias was on his knees beside the makeshift bed with Jacob’s head resting on his thigh, one hand pressed to Jacob’s cheek and the other stroking the hair from his brow. He looked up at Mercer’s appearance and put a finger to his lips.
Mercer went closer and crouched beside him.
‘He started crying in his sleep,’ Mathias whispered.
Here, too, the room was illuminated only by the light of the moon.
‘What can I do?’ Mercer said.
Mathias indicated where the blankets had fallen from Jacob’s legs, and Mercer retrieved these and laid them over him.
Jacob, meanwhile, continued to sob; his breathing slowed and then erupted without rhythm.
‘Is he dreaming, do you think?’ Mercer asked Mathias.
‘I think this happens most nights. I stayed at Bail’s once, and the same thing happened then. Bail told me he had seen Jacob wide awake and wandering among his piles of scrap at all hours of the night. I was afraid he might choke.’ He spoke without taking his eyes from Jacob’s face,
his fingers now caressing the side of Jacob’s mouth and chin.
‘He ought to be in hospital,’ Mercer said.
‘You can tell him that a thousand times, but it won’t put him there. He’s beyond all that. And it’s beyond us to intervene. The simple and unavoidable fact is, he has taken his life back into his own hands and he will never again relinquish a single moment of it.’ He held up his hand for Mercer to see the dark hairs which lay threaded between his fingers.
A louder gasp than usual silenced them both and they sat without speaking until the convulsion subsided and Jacob lay still again.
Eventually, Mathias lowered Jacob’s head back to his pillow, turning it so that he might rest on something dry. He picked the last of the hairs from his fingers and threw them down. He rose slowly, rubbed his legs to free them of cramp, and then he and Mercer went to the far side of the room, where they sat beside the window and smoked.
‘He told me once that he’d saved a lock of Anna’s hair,’ Mathias said. ‘He even showed it to me. He wouldn’t let it out of his grasp. He said it was his most precious possession. More precious even than his glass. A month later, he said he’d burned it in his kiln. I thought at first that this was something symbolic for him – that the burning hair might pattern or colour or become in some way imprinted on a piece of his glass – but he only laughed when I suggested this to him and told me it was none of those things. Then he confessed to me that it had not been Anna’s hair he had saved, merely some he had cut from another corpse which in some way resembled Anna – I imagine there were plenty to choose from – and which bore the same colour hair. He’d tried to convince himself that it was her hair, but then, all those months later, he saw what a hopeless and undermining lie he was trying to sustain. He said he was a cripple walking with the aid of rotten, crumbling sticks.’
‘He wasn’t with her when she died,’ Mercer said.
