Peacetime (35 page)

‘And did anything happen?'

‘No. Not like they imagined. And, besides, the war was soon over and all our uncertainty was at an end. The men who were alive then were men who were now going to live into old age. The Authorities were not unsympathetic to those men who lost loved ones. We had our own padres; the Red Cross still visited us; letters were still sent and, occasionally, received.'

‘And the chapel?'

‘Immediately peace was declared, it was the first of
our privileges to be returned to us. Each Sunday morning, those men who wished to worship – whatever their denomination – were escorted to the chapel. It was where most of our friends worshipped. We knew the ministers, the organists; we knew the men and women who handed out the Bibles and the hymn books, who arranged the flowers, who showed us where to sit, who took us on their outings with them, who had invited us into their homes for Sunday afternoon tea, who had allowed us to play with their children.' He paused. ‘You cannot imagine what such trust meant to us, especially to the men with families of their own, and to be deprived of all that, even for those few weeks, was a great loss to us all.'

‘It must have been a relief for you to be allowed to return to the chapel and worship again,' Mercer said.

‘Yes. We were not allowed to sit among these others, of course – that would have been too great a liberty – but we were given pews at the rear of the building and we shared their prayers and their hymns, and we listened to the kind words of the ministers, who spoke directly to us, whatever our guards told them was or was not permissible. And at the end of each service we were made to stand and wait behind until everyone else had gone. Such glances and smiles we received from most of those people moving slowly past us on their way out. I never saw people move so slowly. Some of the men beside me, especially those who
had
lost someone close to them in those final weeks, stood and wept at the kindness they received in those silent glances. Our guards were ignored and some of the departing men and women spoke briefly to us and pressed their hands into ours.

‘And then, after everyone else had gone, the minister would tell the old woman who played
the organ to play a hymn while we ourselves filed out of the building. The hymn they always played for us was the one that began “Glorious things of thee are spoken”. Do you know it?'

Mercer thought for a moment and then began to hum the tune.

‘It is also our national anthem,' Mathias said. ‘See?' He, too, hummed the first line of the hymn. ‘The minister and the organist sang at the tops of their voices to disguise what they were truly doing. Few of us understood what they sang, but that was not the point. For those few minutes while we stood and waited, and then as we left the chapel, we were being treated as men again, as men with families and with an identity; we were no longer merely prisoners, no longer punished because of what we had done or what we had once been. We were being shown a kindness, a common humanity, in which we could scarcely allow ourselves to believe, and which was far more than we could ever hope to bear in those days. I knew with that hymn, with the old man and the old woman singing it, I knew then that some of us, at least, might be forgiven for all that had been done in our name. You felt that unspoken hatred at Giessen, and I felt its equally unspoken opposite in that chapel.' His voice cracked then, and he motioned to Jacob. ‘Where do you imagine
his
redemption lies?'

Mercer looked for several minutes at the sleeping man.

‘Is that what you believe it to be – redemption?'

‘Of sorts. Perhaps. I don't know.' He rose to look through the window. He remarked on the mist and the features and boundaries it now obscured. ‘My father once told me never to confuse my dreams with my longings,' he said, sitting back beside Mercer. ‘The best
most people can expect of a dream is that it comes true, he said, and he did not yet know of any dream-come-true which had not failed in some way to disappoint the dreamer.'

‘But, surely, he himself must have dreamed of creating a perfect or unique rose,' Mercer said.

‘I daresay, but it did not stop him grafting and grafting and grafting those tens of thousands of failures and then afterwards destroying them because they all fell short of that dream.'

Mercer indicated Jacob. ‘Would they have lived together, do you think, if she'd survived?'

‘She would have been mother, sister, wife and daughter to him. Or that's what he would have made her. And that would have been their tragedy. Perhaps she would have been stronger than him, perhaps she would not have shown him sufficient gratitude, perhaps she would have resented his obsessive care of her; perhaps she would never have accepted what he now believed she owed him, what he would have demanded in repayment from her every remaining day of their lives together.'

‘A pity, then, that neither of us ever knew her,' Mercer said.

‘We know
him
,' Mathias said. ‘It's enough. Go back up. I'll make myself comfortable down here. I doubt he'll need watching any longer.'

The following morning, Mercer was woken by Mathias, who shook him and told him that the lorries were approaching along the coast road. Mercer remained clothed, and at Mathias's urging he went below to Jacob. The previous night, it had occurred to Mercer that Jacob might easily die in his delirium, and he was surprised and relieved now to see him awake and watching closely as the two men went back down to him. Jacob propped himself on his elbows to listen to what they had to say to him, and Mercer wondered if he hadn't been more aware of the night's events than either he or Mathias had imagined. He remembered all they had said in the sleeping man's presence.

Mathias explained to Jacob that the workers were coming and that it was necessary for him to climb to the room above, where he might continue to remain hidden from them and from anyone else who came to the tower.

‘He's right,' Mercer said simply when Mathias had
finished talking, and as Jacob looked to him for his opinion.

It was clear to them both that Jacob was still too weak to climb the open wooden stairs unaided, and so between them they devised a way of half-carrying, half-dragging him to the steps and then of hoisting him up these. It was a painful process for the sick man, but other than his insuppressible groans of pain at each knock and jolt, he made no objection to this manhandling. Mathias did most of the carrying, and then he pulled Jacob up through the trapdoor while Mercer climbed beneath him, his shoulders providing the platform upon which Jacob rested as Mathias hauled him from above.

When this operation was completed, and Jacob lay on the boards panting and coughing, Mercer returned below to carry up the mattress and all other signs that the two men had slept there.

Mathias laid the mattress against the wall opposite the windows and lowered Jacob onto it. When he was settled, and again covered by the blankets, Mercer took Mathias to one side.

‘I have to go out, but I'll come back as often as possible,' he said.

‘Then I'll stay,' Mathias told him. ‘Go to the airfield perimeter and then to the bunker we occupied. Tell one of the others where I am. Tell them I'm ill. Don't mention Jacob. They may not believe you, but it hardly matters, not now. Tell Roland, if you see him; he'll think of something to say.'

The noise of the lorries rose up to them. Mercer went to the window and signalled for the disembarking men to start work.

‘You'll have to keep out of sight,' he warned Mathias. The discontented workers, now so close to
their own departure, would need only the slightest excuse to disrupt their labour, and the discovery of either the German or the Jew in the tower would be considerably more than that. And whatever the workers discovered, the locals would quickly learn.

‘I know,' Mathias said.

‘What will you do if he gets worse?' He indicated Jacob, who lay on his side, watching them, and listening intently to everything they said.

‘Don't worry, I'll do what I can. I doubt he expects us to cure or save him.' He said these last words loudly and, on his bed, Jacob grinned at them.

Someone tried the door below and then knocked.

‘Go to them,' Mathias told Mercer.

Mercer went first back to Jacob, crouched beside him and told him he would return as soon as possible. He would do everything in his power, he said, to get Jacob the care and treatment he needed. Jacob closed his eyes and nodded.

Once outside, Mercer drew the men away from the tower by spreading a chart over a stack of crates and explaining to them what work now needed to be done. Someone commented on his dishevelled appearance and he told them he'd been working late. They laughed disparagingly at this and he said nothing more. There was now a feeling among them that their work there was finished, and this release, this slackening of procedure and routine was only too obvious to Mercer in everything they said and did. He thanked them for their work and commitment over the previous weeks and they stood around him in silent, suspicious assessment for several minutes before finally dispersing.

Alone, he crossed to the airfield, and went to where
the work was starting. He asked the first man he encountered if he knew where Roland was. The man searched around him and then pointed to where a solitary figure stood by the road and looked out over the sea.

Mercer went to him. He knew that Roland spoke little English.

At his approach, Roland looked up, started to swing the pickaxe he held, then recognized Mercer and stopped.

‘Mathias hat mir erzählt, was passiert ist,' Mercer said. ‘Es tut mir leid.'

Roland nodded, and said, ‘Danke.'

It was obvious to Mercer that the man would try again to return home before his release, that there was a desperation and an urgency within him that now governed his every thought. Mercer tried as best he could to explain why Mathias was not coming.

Roland looked up at the word
krank
.

‘Wie ich?' he said, tapping his temple.

‘Nein,' Mercer said. He mimed coughing and wiped his brow.

Roland said he understood and promised no one would notice Mathias's absence.

As Mercer turned to go, the German grabbed his arm and said, ‘Sag ihm, dass ich ihn sehen werde, wenn wir beide wieder zuhause sind. Sag ihm, dass er immer noch bei uns zum essen eingeladen ist. Sag ihm einfach irgendwie, dass ich bei ihm sein werde.'

Mercer understood only half of what he was being told. Something about Mathias and Roland at home together in Germany and sharing a meal. He nodded and said, ‘Natürlich,' and Roland released his arm and turned away from him. Mercer saw how unappealing this promise would appear to Mathias, and he knew by
the way Roland avoided his eyes as he spoke that he understood this too.

‘Ich hoffe, es wird alles klappen für dich,' Mercer said. ‘Viel Glück.'

‘Ja,' Roland said. ‘Good luck.'

Mercer left him and returned to the site.

After the rain, the sun was again bright and full, and its reflection on the sea and the last of the lying water dazzled him. He moved among the men and their machinery, but spoke to no one. Convinced that none of them suspected anything, he returned to the tower.

Someone had started a fire outside the houses, and he paused to look at this. He saw Daniels emerge from his home carrying two chairs, which he threw on to the blaze before returning indoors, reappearing a moment later with a small chest, which he struggled to push through the narrow doorway. This, too, he threw to the flames.

As Mercer was about to leave, Lynch, Mary and her mother emerged from their own home and went to Daniels's open door. Lynch went inside, calling for Daniels. The two men came out, Daniels carrying a roll of carpet. Lynch walked close beside him, shouting at him, and punching Daniels on his arm. Daniels seemed oblivious to the blows, concentrating instead on feeding the fire, which was by then blazing fiercely with all this new fuel. Others emerged to watch, attracted by Lynch's shouting.

It unsettled Mercer to see Daniels burning his furniture like this, but he resisted crossing the road to find out what was happening. Mary saw him watching and stood looking back at him rather than at the small and violent drama close by. Once again, Lynch followed Daniels into his home, but this time came out alone. He returned to his wife and daughter and
pushed them both ahead of him towards their own door. He stopped when he finally saw Mercer, looked from him to his wife, and then struck the woman so violently on her back that she almost fell.

Behind him, Daniels struggled out with four heavy drawers, dropping one and then kicking it ahead of him to the blaze. It was not a solidly built fire and its large, unstable pieces fell in flames around its core until it was several fires in one. No one else who stood and watched attempted to approach or to help the man, and it seemed to Mercer, who understood better than most what Daniels was now attempting, that to these others there was something fearful in the violence and the finality of his actions, in this unmistakable act of severance, and although they might again be content to stand and watch, they were careful now to keep their distance from him, afraid that his madness might be contagious and that they too might soon suffer from its touch.

As Mercer watched all this, he saw Lynch draw Mary to him and stand close behind her, his arm firmly across her chest, his hand clasping her shoulder. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, his eyes still fixed on Mercer.

Mercer wanted the girl to struggle free of him and stand apart, but she did nothing to resist him. Lynch pressed his face to the side of hers and she tilted her head to avoid his mouth – though whether to accommodate or to avoid him, Mercer could not be certain. Lynch said something to her and Mary raised her arm and waved at Mercer, who, guessing what the man had said to her, turned his back on them and walked away. Even at that distance, he could hear Lynch's forced laughter above the noise of the flames.