Through My Eyes. Again
Copyright© 2019 by Iskander
Chapter 7
Mid - late April 1963
I had breakfast with my mother who sent me off with an admonition not to overstay my welcome at Lili’s house. I packed Ring of Bright Water and Tarka the Otter into my duffel bag. It was a typical English spring day with a stiff breeze and showers about. I heard my mother’s rhyme in my head: March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers. She had lots of these – including one for all the kings and queens since William the Conqueror. I always thought it unfair it didn’t include the Saxon kings.
I paced along the street, reciting the monarch rhyme to myself, in time with my footfalls, “Willy, Willy, Harry, Steve, Harry, Dick, John, Harry three, one, two, three Neds, Richard two, Henry four, five, six then who?” After three repetitions, I arrived at Col’s house, wondering what he was making of English history. I knew little German history – apart from the bitter wars we had fought – and I always skirted around those if they came up as I didn’t want to rub his nose in the defeats Germany had suffered or the horror of the Nazi regime.
I knocked on the door as a brisk shower arrived.
Col found me sheltering under the eaves when he opened the door. “Quick, Willi, before you get soaked.”
I hung my coat up and we went into the lounge.
“Mutti’s already left for work. It’ll take about twenty minutes to walk to Lili’s house I think.”
We sat on the lounge.
“What else shall we do these holidays?” I asked.
“I was wondering about showing Lili our secret garden. What do you think?”
I thought for a moment. Lili lived far enough away so she would be there with us. “Okay.”
“I’ve seen the apple trees in the garden are blossoming. Do they have apples?”
“Oh yes. And they’re delicious when you pick them after the sun has warmed one side. There are some big cooking apples too. Bramleys, I think they’re called. They make a great baked dessert – take out the core, stuff them with raisins and sprinkle with brown sugar.”
“That sounds lovely. Do you know who owns the house? Are we allowed to take them?”
“Well, I’ve never seen anyone there and the house seems derelict from the road. I suppose someone must own it, but my mother didn’t seem worried when I gathered buckets of blackberries there. She used them to make blackberry jam, and blackberry and apple pie.”
“Okay.” He was perturbed about taking fruit from someone else’s garden and changed the subject. “What books shall we take today?”
“Well, we should take The Hobbit. It’s not worth taking a German book as Lili doesn’t speak German. I have my otter books in my duffel bag.”
“Shall we take a pack of cards?”
“Perhaps we should, to be safe – though I expect Lili will have a pack.”
Col pulled a pack from the sideboard drawer and I added them to my bag.
We chatted a bit longer and then Col peered at the clock on the mantlepiece.
“It’s time to go. Mutti left me an umbrella but we’ll need our coats too.” He smiled. “You’ll have to help me remember the umbrella when we leave.”
I rolled my eyes – I wasn’t the most dependable person with my own possessions. Col laughed and rolled his eyes back at me.
The weather cooperated for the walk to Lili’s house, although from the top of the Downs it was clear there were showers further along the coast.
Lili greeted us at the door almost bouncing with excitement. “Willi, Col. Come in. Mama is making hot chocolate for us as she thought you might like a warm drink if you got caught in a shower.” Lili’s house was on the seafront and quite large with nice furniture and tasteful decorations. It seemed Lili’s parents were quite well off – which I had already suspected from Mrs Wiśniewski’s new car.
Lili dragged us into the kitchen and Mrs Wiśniewski greeted us with steaming mugs of hot chocolate with frothed milk. I pulled our books out of my bag and showed Lili. The otter books attracted her – possibly the simple sketches of otters caught her interest. Lili bounced up to her bedroom, returning with The Chrysalids. It’s my favourite of John Wyndham’s books but I suppressed my enthusiasm and let Col ask about it.
After the discussion, we decided to read The Hobbit first and then perhaps play cards and try John Wyndham later. We spent a pleasant morning with the Tolkien shared between us on the couch. We started again from the beginning, so Lili had the complete story. After lunch, Mrs Wiśniewski pushed us out for a brisk walk onto the pier.
“Off you go, children. You need some fresh air.”
I think she wanted an hour of peace without teens under her feet. We walked all the way to the end of the pier, crossing the bridges spanning the gaps torn in the pier in 1940 so it couldn’t be used to land invasion troops.
I had reminded Col about the umbrella and we took it with us, in case. This proved a wise decision as we were caught in a shower on the way home. Three of us didn’t fit under one umbrella. Lili insisted Col should be in the middle and stay driest as it was his umbrella, so Lili and I arrived back at her house a bit moist.
We started on the Wyndham after we hung up our coats, taking it in turns to read. After a while, Mrs Wiśniewski called us into the kitchen to eat some quartered oranges. Col seemed to be enjoying Chrysalids. I was having to be careful as I loved it.
We returned to Wyndham’s vision of a post-apocalyptic Labrador, reading another chapter before Mrs Wiśniewski came and asked us how we were getting home. We had been so engrossed in the book we hadn’t noticed the occasional showers had given way to steady rain.
I shrugged. “We’ll be fine. We have Col’s umbrella.”
Lili turned to her mother. “Mama, why don’t you drive them back to Col’s house? You could chat with Frau Schmidt for a bit whilst we read.”
“Well, I suppose I could. After all, what’s the point of my own car if I don’t use it?” she said, smiling. “Come on, gather your things and let’s be off.”
We scrambled our books together and stuffed then into my duffel bag, remembering to pick up Col’s umbrella which was drying in the porch. It took less than ten minutes to get to Col’s house where we all piled out and ran through the rain to the front door and into the house as soon as Col unlocked it.
Mutti Frida was not there as it was a weekday and she was working. Col and I burst into laughter. We were not used to the holidays yet and had forgotten, thinking it was a weekend because we were not at school. We apologised to Mrs Wiśniewski and Lili drooped a bit when her mother said they should go home.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Lili asked, hopefully.
“We haven’t decided anything yet,” Col said, glancing at me.
I shrugged. “Hang out, read and play games?”
Col smiled at Lil. “Do you want to join us?”
Lili’s face lit up. “Oh. Yes, please.” She turned to her mother. “Can I, Mama?”
“Tomorrow will be fine, but don’t forget we have to go and see your aunt on Thursday, and you have your drawing class on Friday morning. Tomorrow you’ll have to walk up and back as I am volunteering at the Red Cross.”
“Okay, Mama. If I leave at nine o’clock, I’ll be here by half-past. Okay, Col?”
“Excellent, Lili. See you then.”
We watched them running back to the car through the rain and then returned to our usual places on the sofa.
“If the weather is fine tomorrow, should we show Lili our secret garden?”
What was that twinge? Jealousy or fear?
“Willi?”
I released a breath, watching Col’s face. “It’s our special place, Col.”
“I know, Willi, but isn’t Lili your friend as well, now? We should trust her enough to let her share that place with us, don’t you think?”
My old brain pushed down my young brain’s irrational fears. “Yes, Col. I should trust her.”
“Thank you, Willi.” He kept his gaze on me a moment longer and then turned away and picked up The Hobbit.
“Perhaps we should keep The Hobbit for when Lili’s here tomorrow, Col. Why don’t we read Müller’s poems as Lili can’t read German?”
“Okay, Willi.” We were drawing closer to the dark ending of the cycle of poems. I was uncertain how Col would handle that – and how I would deal his reaction.
After we’d read for a while, I stopped and focused on Col. “Um ... Col. Were you listening to the songs when they were on the radio?”
“Not really. Why?” His expression was quizzical.
“Do you think this is going to end well for the apprentice miller? Do you think he gets the girl?”
Col was pensive. “What are you trying to tell me, Willi?”
“I’m not certain how it ends. But from what I could make out from the songs when we heard them, I think the beautiful miller’s daughter takes up with the hunter, breaking the young miller’s heart...” I stopped, fixing my gaze on Col’s face.
His eyes travelled back down to the book for a moment, before returning to mine. “And?” His eyes told me I had to say it.
I swallowed. “He drowns himself in the stream. The final song is a lullaby for the dead miller, sung by the brook.”
Col sat for a moment, his eyes searching my face. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Can you see a different ending?”
Concern mounted on Col’s face and he repeated his question. “Are you going to be okay reading this?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful poetry, but we can stop ... if you want to.”
Col pulled placed the bookmark at our page and closed the book. “Willi, what are you trying to say?”
It was my turn to search his eyes. “We haven’t talked about ... what I was going to do. And soon we are going to read about the miller drowning himself...”
“Willi, I trust you. You said you would talk to me if things built up inside you and I know you would keep that promise.” He gave a brief shudder. “I don’t like this part of you, but I understand it is part of you.” He paused and then smiled. “Under the cedar tree we shared something and it has brought us closer. It seems even awful experiences can make a positive difference, in a strange way.”
I smiled back at him.
“Willi, I think literature is full of ... suicides and characters thinking about it. I want us to read and talk about it.” He stopped again, trying to crystallise an idea. “Perhaps if we do, we might end up understanding that part of you ... and perhaps it will be enough to stop you being pushed in that direction.”
We sat, staring at one another. I was amazed at the depths of Col’s perception and the care for me, shining in his eyes.
He picked up the book. “I don’t want us to be awkward about it when we come across it.” His eyes held mine. “Okay?”
I nodded.
Col’s gaze lingered for a moment before dropping to the book. “Let’s continue reading.”
We read through to the end. The brook’s lullaby was gentle and sensitive to the young miller’s anguish. When we closed the book, there were tears in both our eyes.
The following day was fine and quite mild for April and so we made sandwiches from the ham and tomatoes Mutti Frida had left for us and packed a bottle of water and some apples together with The Hobbit and introduced Lili to our secret garden. Fortunately, she was wearing jeans as I don’t think she would have climbed the tree in a skirt. We spent hours up there, passing the book between us as we read aloud, sitting on our branches and chatting about books and life as we ate our lunch. I was getting to know Lili and I enjoyed her enthusiasm, which was a contrast to Col, whose situation engendered a serious outlook. The pieces of our friendship were drawing together.
As we ate, I had a vision of Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves sitting in the pine trees surrounded by goblins and wargs. I smothered a chuckle as we hadn’t reached there yet. After we returned to Col’s house, I asked Lili about her drawing classes.
“Well, I enjoy drawing.” She smiled at Col. “It was why you found me in the Art room, though I haven’t worked out why you were there.”
“Not because I can draw,” said Col. “It was a place where I thought I could hide from the bullies for a while.”
“Please Lili, could you show us some of your drawings sometime?” I asked.
Lili’s eyes dropped, shyly. “Well, I’m learning but Mama says I have some skills and I should improve them.”
“Do you enjoy drawing?” Col asked.
“Oh, yes.” Her face lit up with enthusiasm but then became serious. “I get frustrated with myself when I can’t get down on paper what I see in my mind’s eye. Mrs Frobisher, my art teacher, says I need to work on seeing, so the picture in my head is clearer.”
“I enjoy art, but I don’t have any skills as an artist.”
Col huffed. “When do you look at art?”
“At school, in art class. Our teacher says we should all know a bit about the great painters and their paintings. She has a projector with countless slides. She’s been showing us some work by the Impressionists.”
“Oh, I love Monet’s paintings,” Lili said, sighing. “I want to visit the National Gallery in London. They have some of his paintings as well as a sculpture by Rodin.”
Col seemed a little lost.
Lili grasped her hand. “When we get back to school, Col, I’ll show you some of Monet’s pictures in the books we have in the art room. I think you’ll like them.”
Lili couldn’t join us again until later in the following week. She brought a voluminous artist’s satchel from which she produced a sketchbook and timidly showed us some of her drawings. There was one of a fluffy tabby cat caught in mid-leap.
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