Once Upon a Time There Was a Traveller

by Kate Pullinger

  George played her a treat, got some crisps from her when the coach stopped, and when she heard we were going to the cathedral she offered to show us the way. Normally we pick up a taxi from the bus station: we’ve tried different things, but that’s the simplest. The problem is people are so bad at giving directions. I know exactly how far I walk in five minutes, I can count how many roads we cross, know my left from my right even; but I can’t see that school the guy points to, where we should turn, or aim for the spire ‘you can’t miss it really’. Well really, I can.

  Anyway we arrived in Coventry, and Irene offered to walk us there. She said she’d take us past the ruins, which was nice of her, but showed how far she missed the point. She had George by the arm – she’d obviously decided we weren’t quite as blind as him and could manage with each other – which was fine by me. Pete was trying to trip me with his stick, which is his level of amusement most days. So I whacked him on the leg with mine and after that he stopped.

  Cathedrals were Pete’s idea. He said they’d give us something to aim for, a sense of purpose. Not a religious purpose, but a list of places we were going, and he reckoned if we could understand them, get the point of it all, then we’d be that much better at understanding the natives. So far it all seemed pretty pointless to me, but he was right – having a list, places we were going to – it helped. None of us had what might be called a job, or not one worth having. At school if you had an idea, something you wanted to be, the answer was always the same: nothing was possible. Anyway, I couldn’t get on with Braille and my exams didn’t go so well – so all they could offer were work placements with firms who had to have you to fulfil some percentage they were set. Pete worked in his aunt’s shop but he could usually get days off. George – he was still planning on going back to college, finishing his degree. I didn’t reckon he’d ever go back though, not after five years.

  Anyway Coventry was the one Pete had picked this time: a modern cathedral, he told us, standing beside the ruins of the old, where the German bombs had fallen.

  Irene made a lot of noise as she walked – a sort of bustle, like she’d got plastic bags hanging under her skirt, and her footsteps sounded decisive. Our sticks swept and tapped and our shoes scuffed the edges of the paving slabs. The traffic was a few streets away. There were voices all around; every few steps someone said ‘sorry’ as they moved out of our way.

  ‘Nearly there now,’ said Irene. ‘There are the ruins – we could walk through that way?’

  ‘No, straight to the cathedral, please, Irene,’ George told her.

  There were fewer people now and I was getting excited. It was nothing really, but we were nearly there and it had been easy this time. There was a flight of steps – too narrow, and they seemed to slope away to the left. Not designed with us in mind. Then we were in the entrance, and Irene, a bit breathless now, said she had to go.

  ‘We can manage from here all right, thanks,’ Pete told her. George was pretending to sulk, and hardly even said good-bye. He was expecting her to stick around for a while, but I liked it better that way. Just us and the cathedral.

  We went in, pushing the heavy glass door open. Pete led the way. The smell got me first – outside it was just that general city smell of dust and cars and damp; but inside the air seemed cared for: cleaned, waxed, scented with lemons and floor cleaner. Then the sound was different, the world shut out as the door swung slowly closed behind us. Our sticks echoed, the sound going way up above my head. The other voices seemed small, swallowed up by the distance. I tried to imagine it – if we joined hands and spread ourselves wide would we reach the walls? And above our heads too – how many Georges, standing on my shoulders, to reach the roof?

  And that’s Pete’s idea – to have us understand the scale. The first time, he got us a model of the place, St Alban’s Abbey that was. One of their guides saw what Pete was doing, trying to have us understand the shape of the building by feeling the model, so he came over and tried to help. It was quite interesting, about the blocks of stone and the years it took, and he had us feel some of the carving on the pillars and on the pews. I couldn’t understand how the walls stayed up – how this huge roof he kept telling us about didn’t just push the walls over. So he took me outside, this guide, and introduced me face to face to my first buttress. I could feel the angle of it, and it made sense now I knew there were all these props round the place. Like people leaning against each other. Like fingers spread when you’re doing press ups.

  He was okay that guy but most can’t leave us alone, not once they realise we’re all blind. No native to take our hands, unless George has beguiled someone. They take us to the designated area for a bit of touching stone. Trying to ‘see’ with your fingers – it’s all bumps and lumps. Does it really look like a flower? It’s not how a flower feels to me: a vegetable softness, spoiling and falling apart in my hands.

  Why shouldn’t the blind lead the blind? Who else can understand? Trying to speak to us in colours and distances. Thirty miles is time to me – the bus, the speed of my feet: my father’s car taking me back there, back to George and Pete, back to being one of us.

  But I’m forgetting Coventry. We’re still there, by the door, our shoes sliding on the marble floor; my stick bumping over the edges, where the pieces join. George wanted to sit down. He was still in a mood. There were rows of seats in front of us. Not solid wooden pews but a line of chairs, and when George tried to move one to feel its seat as he sat, he knocked it over. He didn’t know what he’d done – just legs there where there should be a seat, and he was getting cross, swearing at it. Pete tried to help him, but I was laughing already. I know George. He was getting physical with it now, trying to twist the chair back to what it should be, and I could hear him shoving it and swearing, pushing, and Pete saying – ‘No, like this’ – and then a great glorious crash as he sent the whole line of chairs falling forwards, and I could hear where the ceiling was now – how high it was, how high the sound of those chairs fell back at me.

  They were sympathetic, of course, understanding George’s frustration; how he could not see that the chairs were joined. We were assigned a guide, to help us ‘make the most of the cathedral’. To keep us out of trouble.

  George never lets us stay free for long. He calls attention to us. Maybe I’ll have to start going on my own. Maybe just me and Pete. Or someone like that girl they got to show us round, someone like Annette.

  She shook our hands one by one. She seemed younger than us and at home there. She told us her father worked in the cathedral, a clergyman. Not the bishop, I guessed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘not him!’ She laughed, as if I was deliberately being funny, as if I too knew the bishop – and I felt I did, a little.

  She took us to the main attractions. George was subdued, and I had taken over as interpreter, lead alien. I could hear him and Pete muttering as they followed. It’s what he wanted – a fuss made, but it was me she liked.

  She had flat shoes on and a skirt, and something, I thought, swinging round her neck, moving against the material of her shirt. I followed the flap of her feet across the stone floor. I did as she told me and ran my hand around the stone of the font. Rough surface, obligatory bumps, and smoothed inside where the water went. Damp, rough, smooth. That’s stone for you.

  We stood in front of Sutherland’s ‘Great Tapestry of the Christ’. Her voice told me it’s not so great. We walked by the stained glass windows – and I could feel how narrow the slits were in the stone. She told me there were colours on my face. I could feel the sunlight coming through the glass. She said we were all standing in the colour; it fell in stripes on the floor by our feet. She didn’t try to explain it to us – but I knew anyway. I know light emanates like heat; I know how it passes through and takes that colour with it. I have been told of refraction and waves.

  I followed her down the steps into colder places. George and Pete were talking somewhere behind me, but she was telling me about the pictures we passed – about the fish i
n the glass – ‘here,’ she told me – ‘here.’ Her fingers traced the shape with mine. The glass was flat and smooth. I told her I could feel the shape of the fish under my hand. She laughed at me – the sound of her like cream in my mouth. I wanted to touch her face, feel how her mouth moved when she laughed.

  We went on down the stairs, my hand on her arm. The others followed knowing nothing of the fish. I wanted to walk on away from them, but she was responsible for all of us. ‘Hi’ she said to them as they caught us up, so I said ‘Hi’ too, so they would know it was us waiting there. I knew Pete and George were waiting for me to do something stupid, to say something rude to her. That’s usually the game I play. They would be waiting all day.

  We went along the corridor, and she slowed and then coughed. We all stopped. She should just have said. We didn’t know what we were waiting for. Someone came out.

  He said: ‘You looking for the Gents?’ and I realised what had happened. ‘Thanks,’ I said, and took George’s arm. Pete followed us in.

  It’s a distinctive smell, however clean. There was no one in there except us, but it’s always a bit awkward getting the geography right. I usually opt for a cubicle; give myself a space I can manage. I told the others to wait for me, and thought about what I should say to them.

  I knew it was mad – that we were too far from home. However much I thought I liked Annette there was no way I would see her again. But you know what they say – carpe diem.

  I was washing my hands. Pete said ‘watch it’, but I had already heard George at the next basin. I jumped back before the spout of water hit me.

  ‘Bugger off, George!’

  He was laughing, and I knew he’d be wet himself. Another of his great jokes. You get a splash of water down your front and it’s like – well, you know how it looks.

  ‘Tell him to lay off, Pete. I want to talk to you.’

  We calmed George down – I had his head, and Pete had his legs. We got him quiet.

  ‘I want you both to lose yourselves when we get out of here. Whatever she suggests, say you’re bored with it – go out to those ruins or something.’

  ‘We could say we want to touch some more stone,’ said Pete, helpfully.

  ‘Why?’ said George. I let go.

  ‘He likes her.’ said Pete. ‘He likes Annette.’

  ‘The girl outside?’

  ‘She’s waiting. Come on, guys, do me a favour.’

  ‘There’s really no point —’ Pete said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Okay,’ said George, ‘that can be your challenge for today. Get a date with Annette. And Pete’s can be to sort out supper.’

  Pete said, ‘What’s yours then?’

  ‘I’ll get us home.’

  We went back out and turned towards the stairs. Annette was in the hallway waiting for us. She said we could visit the crypt next, and I nudged Pete. He said he wanted to go outside, and George said he’d go with Pete.

  ‘Do you all want to go now?’ she said. I thought she sounded disappointed. I told her I wanted to see the crypt. ‘Okay, good.’

  She wanted us to make an arrangement to meet up – there was a café.

  We agreed to meet in an hour. They went off, back up the stairs.

  ‘Will they be okay?’

  ‘They’ll be fine. We usually do this on our own.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s really nice of you to take me round. I’m sure I usually miss the most important things.’

  I have to say she was pretty useless at first. She kept making the usual mistakes then apologising. I don’t think she had ever really thought about what it was like being blind. Mind you, I’ve not got much of an idea what it’s like to be sighted. I have no idea, for example, what you mean by a horizon. It’s a concept too far for me. I think I get the sky – thunder puts a kind of roof on the world. Like those chairs falling.

  I should have guessed the crypt was modern like the rest of the building. There was some sort of audio presentation about the cathedral. I didn’t fancy it – though that’s what I would have done with George and Pete. She took me back upstairs a different way.

  After a bit it didn’t matter where we were. I asked her what it was like being the daughter of a clergyman and she asked about my family. I said I was a bit tired, could we sit somewhere? She took me to a side seat, our backs against a window, our knees touching. We chatted. I remember thinking how different she was to the other girls I knew. I thought how odd it must be to be brought up with all this religion around you. It must make you seem older than you really are, more serious. She said she thought we were brave. I said it was just life and you had to get on with it. She asked, ‘Why cathedrals?’ and I said they had a special feeling about them. It seemed rude to say that it was just a list of cities, somewhere to go.

  It was like talking beside water, the way other voices carried across the space, the echoes around us. It was quite distracting. I had to focus on her quiet voice, the way she shaped her vowels. The plum stone she balanced on her tongue as she talked. Her hair was long – it brushed against my face when she stood up. I caught a strand in my mouth. I nearly asked her then – can we meet again? I was sure she would tell me she had a boyfriend and that I lived too far away. But everyone comes to London sometimes, don’t they? And Barnet is almost London. I could have taken the bus in, met her in Covent Garden. I know bits of the city quite well.

  She told me the time was up – that we should meet the others. I was running out of time. The café was back in the crypt.

  ‘Can we go past the fish?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Show me where it is again.’

  ‘Right here.’

  Annette – can we meet sometime? But the words wouldn’t come.

  She could see George and Pete at a table in the café and one of the staff bringing their drinks. Maybe word had got around and they had heard what George could accomplish with a tray. Maybe they always carried the tray for their customers. We joined them – they offered us a drink, some cake. She went to get another cup.

  ‘Any luck, mate?’ Pete asked.

  ‘I haven’t asked her yet.’

  ‘Blown it,’ said George, slurping his tea.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said, though I knew I had.

  We should have heard her coming, but there was someone collecting cups from the table next to us, rattling them and pushing a noisy trolley.

  I said ‘I’ve just got to find a way to say it. Like – “Wanna fuck, sweetheart?”’

  The others laughed. I laughed too. Then I heard her feet moving away. I knew those shoes by now. George was still laughing. The trolley moved on to the next table. I stirred my tea and waited to see if she would come back.

  I asked how they had got on. Pete had enjoyed the ruins. Much more his idea of what a cathedral should be.

  ‘Until it started pissing down and we realised there was no roof,’ said George.

  ‘I knew there wasn’t a roof,’ said Pete, and George laughed at him. We were back to being us, larking about. I felt at home.

  When Annette came back we had finished our tea. ‘Sorry I abandoned you, I met a friend.’ I thought she’d been crying. I wanted to tell her it was just a joke, but I didn’t want to admit I knew she had heard me.

  ‘That’s okay. We can manage on our own,’ George told her.

  ‘Right. I better go back to the desk then – in case anyone else needs a guide.’ She was talking to them, not to me, but they didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Our time’s up is it?’ he said, nudging me.

  Pete said, ‘It would help if you could show us back upstairs.’

  ‘Okay. All set then?’

  ‘What about your tea?’ I asked then.

  ‘No, that’s fine. I don’t usually stop at this time.’ She was spurning me. We walked back along the corridor; she was asking Pete what they had seen. He was nice to her, but she was embarrassed. He fell back beside George so I was with her again.r />
  I said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s easy to say the wrong thing. He won’t mind.’

  We came to the stairs. I wasn’t using my stick – it seemed too obvious somehow with her beside me. I could manage without if I was careful – but I was a bit distracted right then and I tripped on the first step. She offered her arm. I put my hand through and slipped it down to hers. She let me hold her hand. I said it then as we were going up past our fish. I said it quietly so only Pete and George could hear.

  ‘Can we meet up sometime?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Just for a drink I mean, a chat?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I knew it. You have a boyfriend.’