visitors, when door opens. No knockin’ or nowt, mind. And in comes this young lass. How can I put it to you, Miss Sarah? Even in her uniform you could tell she had what you might call…” he stretched for the word “… an athletic disposition.”
He wriggled his eyebrows and Sarah giggled. Sawyers was a gifted mimic with an elastic pink face that seemed to store any number of dramatic expressions; a generation earlier he might have been in music hall.
“So she’s standin’ there, smilin’, carryin’ this tray of cakes. And me standin’ at ironin’ board all knobble knees and shirttails. So she’s beckonin’ to me, sort of suggestin’ like we might have tea together, as gals do. And the more I’m shakin’ me head at her, the more she’s wavin’ at me. I had to stand on me principles very firm, I did, very firm, Miss Sarah.”
“A man of iron, you are, Sawyers.”
“And blow me down if ten minutes later an electrician doesn’t burst in. No knockin’. No hello, no how’s-your-father— nowt. Miserable face he had, all saggy, like an ’and-me-down sweater. But big shoulders, b-i-i-ig.” Sawyers spread his hands extravagantly to indicate the girth, and his eyes bulged with amazement. “And he had a screwdriver the size of a bayonet stickin’ from his bag, God’s truth, he did. So he ignores me and starts fiddlin’ wi’ the plug. You know, the one we broke wi’ the bedside lamp? Has his back to me so’s I can see nowt of what he’s doin’. So I shouts at him, but he don’t flinch, let alone turn. So I shouts some more, and he just gets on wi’ job even faster. It were clear he weren’t going to move. Brazen he were, Miss Sarah, bra-a-azen. And I guessed he must be one of those YMCA characters.”
“NKVD.”
“Probably one of them buggers, too. So I’m standin’ there practically in me altogether wonderin’ what on earth I can do.
I can’t let him go fixin’ what Mr. Churchill took such care to smash. So I takes me courage in me hands, so to speak, and I cross to the door. And I’m closing it, like. Very quiet. Very quiet. And that were the first time he takes any notice of me. So then I cross the room and I’m kneelin’ down right besides him.”
“What—in your. . . ?”
“Me altogether, that’s right, miss. And all of a sudden he’s got eyes like an owl, he has. Strugglin’ to take everythin’ in. Should’ve seen him, Miss Sarah. Eyes rollin’ all over the place. He looked at me, shirt buttons strainin’, me legs all uncovered and pink, then he looks over to closed door. That’s when I give him one of me smiles.”
“One of those Brighton-seafront smiles, eh?”
“Oh, miss!”
“And what did he say?”
“Dunno. He were runnin’ away too fast for me to hear.”
She burst into laughter, hugging herself with pleasure. She wanted to hug him, too, but he was a servant and that would be going too far. Yet he was the most devoted of creatures, almost superhuman in his loyalty to her father, and in her view that allowed him the little mysteries of his private life. Suddenly, however, her expression changed. Little creases of concern gathered round her eyes. “But what would you have done, Sawyers, if. . . if he had. . . ” She trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.
It was the turn of Sawyers to give himself a hug of English pleasure.
❖ ❖ ❖
Nowak. From Piorun. It was a small community nestling in the fold of a broad, winding river, and set back from the major routes on which the armies of invasion had marched throughout many centuries. It had often been overlooked, much to its good fortune. Everything in Piorun was on a small scale: modest houses, narrow doors, straw roofs, gardens separated by low fences over which the women would lean and gossip, keeping an eye on the children. Few owned more than a single horse or cow, and most of those who did had had them confiscated. There was little industry: the people found a living largely in the
He wriggled his eyebrows and Sarah giggled. Sawyers was a gifted mimic with an elastic pink face that seemed to store any number of dramatic expressions; a generation earlier he might have been in music hall.
“So she’s standin’ there, smilin’, carryin’ this tray of cakes. And me standin’ at ironin’ board all knobble knees and shirttails. So she’s beckonin’ to me, sort of suggestin’ like we might have tea together, as gals do. And the more I’m shakin’ me head at her, the more she’s wavin’ at me. I had to stand on me principles very firm, I did, very firm, Miss Sarah.”
“A man of iron, you are, Sawyers.”
“And blow me down if ten minutes later an electrician doesn’t burst in. No knockin’. No hello, no how’s-your-father— nowt. Miserable face he had, all saggy, like an ’and-me-down sweater. But big shoulders, b-i-i-ig.” Sawyers spread his hands extravagantly to indicate the girth, and his eyes bulged with amazement. “And he had a screwdriver the size of a bayonet stickin’ from his bag, God’s truth, he did. So he ignores me and starts fiddlin’ wi’ the plug. You know, the one we broke wi’ the bedside lamp? Has his back to me so’s I can see nowt of what he’s doin’. So I shouts at him, but he don’t flinch, let alone turn. So I shouts some more, and he just gets on wi’ job even faster. It were clear he weren’t going to move. Brazen he were, Miss Sarah, bra-a-azen. And I guessed he must be one of those YMCA characters.”
“NKVD.”
“Probably one of them buggers, too. So I’m standin’ there practically in me altogether wonderin’ what on earth I can do.
I can’t let him go fixin’ what Mr. Churchill took such care to smash. So I takes me courage in me hands, so to speak, and I cross to the door. And I’m closing it, like. Very quiet. Very quiet. And that were the first time he takes any notice of me. So then I cross the room and I’m kneelin’ down right besides him.”
“What—in your. . . ?”
“Me altogether, that’s right, miss. And all of a sudden he’s got eyes like an owl, he has. Strugglin’ to take everythin’ in. Should’ve seen him, Miss Sarah. Eyes rollin’ all over the place. He looked at me, shirt buttons strainin’, me legs all uncovered and pink, then he looks over to closed door. That’s when I give him one of me smiles.”
“One of those Brighton-seafront smiles, eh?”
“Oh, miss!”
“And what did he say?”
“Dunno. He were runnin’ away too fast for me to hear.”
She burst into laughter, hugging herself with pleasure. She wanted to hug him, too, but he was a servant and that would be going too far. Yet he was the most devoted of creatures, almost superhuman in his loyalty to her father, and in her view that allowed him the little mysteries of his private life. Suddenly, however, her expression changed. Little creases of concern gathered round her eyes. “But what would you have done, Sawyers, if. . . if he had. . . ” She trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.
It was the turn of Sawyers to give himself a hug of English pleasure.
❖ ❖ ❖
Nowak. From Piorun. It was a small community nestling in the fold of a broad, winding river, and set back from the major routes on which the armies of invasion had marched throughout many centuries. It had often been overlooked, much to its good fortune. Everything in Piorun was on a small scale: modest houses, narrow doors, straw roofs, gardens separated by low fences over which the women would lean and gossip, keeping an eye on the children. Few owned more than a single horse or cow, and most of those who did had had them confiscated. There was little industry: the people found a living largely in the
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