was anxious but not really worried. “He’s gone off abroad somewhere,” she said. “Healways wanted to. And not a word of thanks to me after he’d stopped here dozens of times.”
Charlie Newman told the police his brother-in-law was missing, but they weren’t willing to look for him. They told him they never judged a young man of twenty-five, of sound mind and in good health, to be missing. All the chances were that he had gone off of his own accord. Charlie said he had some girl and “shacked” up with her, an expression his wife admonished him for using in front of the child. But Lewis had a secret, he had seen something he hadn’t understood and had made a promise to himself that he would tell no one. He never did speak of it to anyone until thirty years later when he told Jo.
He was a child. He knew something about babies being born because Norman Batchelor had told them all about his own birth on the kitchen table, about his mother having a pain and pushing him out. But Lewis knew nothing about how Norman got inside Mrs. Batchelor. For years he had never thought about what he had seen in the air-raid shelter.
“I’ve read a book about that,” said Jo. “Or like that. The Go-Between . And there’s a film. There’s a boy that sees a couple having—well, intercourse, only he doesn’t know what it is.”
“Like me.”
“What did you see?”
He had gone down into the air-raid shelter one afternoon to fetch a book he had left down there. It must have been the summer holidays because he wasn’t at school. An air-raid warning the night before had lasted only a short time, but they didn’t know that it would before it began, and he had taken the book down with him. The shelter should have been in darkness, but through the grille in the door he could see a candle burning. He opened the door a couple of inches and saw two people on the bottom bunk, a woman on her back and a man on top of her, moving up and down, but not hurting her. The man was Uncle James. Lewis couldn’t see thewoman’s face and thought they hadn’t seen him. He retreated up the steps, feeling strange, mystified, yet aware that he had seen something he shouldn’t have seen. And heard something he shouldn’t have heard, a kind of sighing gasp from the woman. Though not a cry of pain.
If anyone had asked him how he felt, he’d have said “upset.” He was too old to cry but he felt like crying, though he couldn’t have said why. Jo wanted to know why they were there. A bit ridiculous, wasn’t it, making love in an air-raid shelter in the middle of the afternoon?
“People had nowhere to go then. This was the 1940s.” Jo was younger than he, young enough to have missed that time when the only people allowed to make love were married couples. “They couldn’t go to a hotel. They were quite likely to be asked for their marriage certificate.”
“Did you ever find out who the woman was?”
“I was only a child, Jo. I wasn’t interested in that. I didn’t want to think about it. All I remember about her was that she was wearing stockings and had ginger hair—well, red hair. I think now that James wanted to see the tunnels because he had an idea they might be a substitute meeting place for himself and the woman. When he saw them, of course he knew that couldn’t be. Maybe after giving it a try-out he knew the shelter couldn’t be either.”
“So he and the woman decided to go away together?”
“I suppose so. That’s what the police must have thought when they refused to look for James.”
“What was the book you went down there to fetch?”
Lewis laughed. It was a long, long time since reverting to what he had seen in the shelter had upset him. “Probably The Count of Monte Cristo . It was about then that I read it for the first time.”
8
A BOUT A YEAR after Vivien’s death, Michael gave up his car. He had only had a car to take her about in it, she and her wheelchair. He seldom used it without her as a
Charlie Newman told the police his brother-in-law was missing, but they weren’t willing to look for him. They told him they never judged a young man of twenty-five, of sound mind and in good health, to be missing. All the chances were that he had gone off of his own accord. Charlie said he had some girl and “shacked” up with her, an expression his wife admonished him for using in front of the child. But Lewis had a secret, he had seen something he hadn’t understood and had made a promise to himself that he would tell no one. He never did speak of it to anyone until thirty years later when he told Jo.
He was a child. He knew something about babies being born because Norman Batchelor had told them all about his own birth on the kitchen table, about his mother having a pain and pushing him out. But Lewis knew nothing about how Norman got inside Mrs. Batchelor. For years he had never thought about what he had seen in the air-raid shelter.
“I’ve read a book about that,” said Jo. “Or like that. The Go-Between . And there’s a film. There’s a boy that sees a couple having—well, intercourse, only he doesn’t know what it is.”
“Like me.”
“What did you see?”
He had gone down into the air-raid shelter one afternoon to fetch a book he had left down there. It must have been the summer holidays because he wasn’t at school. An air-raid warning the night before had lasted only a short time, but they didn’t know that it would before it began, and he had taken the book down with him. The shelter should have been in darkness, but through the grille in the door he could see a candle burning. He opened the door a couple of inches and saw two people on the bottom bunk, a woman on her back and a man on top of her, moving up and down, but not hurting her. The man was Uncle James. Lewis couldn’t see thewoman’s face and thought they hadn’t seen him. He retreated up the steps, feeling strange, mystified, yet aware that he had seen something he shouldn’t have seen. And heard something he shouldn’t have heard, a kind of sighing gasp from the woman. Though not a cry of pain.
If anyone had asked him how he felt, he’d have said “upset.” He was too old to cry but he felt like crying, though he couldn’t have said why. Jo wanted to know why they were there. A bit ridiculous, wasn’t it, making love in an air-raid shelter in the middle of the afternoon?
“People had nowhere to go then. This was the 1940s.” Jo was younger than he, young enough to have missed that time when the only people allowed to make love were married couples. “They couldn’t go to a hotel. They were quite likely to be asked for their marriage certificate.”
“Did you ever find out who the woman was?”
“I was only a child, Jo. I wasn’t interested in that. I didn’t want to think about it. All I remember about her was that she was wearing stockings and had ginger hair—well, red hair. I think now that James wanted to see the tunnels because he had an idea they might be a substitute meeting place for himself and the woman. When he saw them, of course he knew that couldn’t be. Maybe after giving it a try-out he knew the shelter couldn’t be either.”
“So he and the woman decided to go away together?”
“I suppose so. That’s what the police must have thought when they refused to look for James.”
“What was the book you went down there to fetch?”
Lewis laughed. It was a long, long time since reverting to what he had seen in the shelter had upset him. “Probably The Count of Monte Cristo . It was about then that I read it for the first time.”
8
A BOUT A YEAR after Vivien’s death, Michael gave up his car. He had only had a car to take her about in it, she and her wheelchair. He seldom used it without her as a
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