Chapter 10

November 22nd – 24th 1963

We entered the smoky end of November. The smell of coal fires hung in the cold air, thickening the fogs and suffusing the month’s miserable drizzles. I worried about JFK’s assassination. I knew it happened towards the end of the month in Dallas, but I couldn’t remember the date.

Was it going to happen in this world? What would it mean if it didn’t happen?

At home, I scoured the newspapers for information, but I had long realised I could do nothing about it. Col sensed that something was bothering me. When she tried speaking to me, I passed it off as my usual family angst, but she knew me better than that by now. This created a tension between us that made us both twitchy.

Arriving at Col’s house, it felt as though I had sand scattered under my brain – a constant itch I could not scratch, leaving me irritable. When Col kissed me, my response was half-hearted. Col pulled back, eyes narrowing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked with a touch of annoyance.

Col dropped her hands from my shoulders. “Like what?” Her voice echoed the snippiness in mine.

“Like you’re judging me.”

Col closed her eyes. She breathed out and I saw the tension flow out of her. She opened her eyes and slid a hand across my cheek. “Willi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so unfeeling.” She started unbuttoning my coat. “I know something’s bothering you and that’s making me uneasy. It got away from me.” She pulled my satchel off my arm and hung it on the hall stand as I removed my coat.

I clamped down on my teenage brain. “I’m sorry, Col. I should be better at controlling things by now.”

Col guided me to the table where we sat and did our homework. “Can you tell me what the problem is – you’ve been getting more and more irritable over the last week.” She sat me on a chair and swivelled to sit on my lap. “Is something going on with your father?”

I hadn’t been able to tell her the truth about me – that I was a mix of young Will and an old Will from somewhere ... different. That truth was so strange, I worried it might drive her away from me. I still hadn’t found the courage to do it. “No...” my voice petered out. I hated this deception.

Col reached her arms around me, hugging me and then leant back, smiling at me. “Well, let’s see if I can distract you with our homework.” I received a playful kiss, then she retrieved our school bags from the hall. After an hour of work on her maths and our French homework, I relaxed. Part of that was because of the satisfaction I now felt from concentrated study – but due to Col’s soothing presence most of all.

After tea, we were settling down on the sofa to snuggle and read some more Under Milk Wood when the music Mutti Frida was listening to was interrupted.

“News has just come in that President Kennedy has been shot. There’s no news yet of his condition. It happened as the president was riding with his wife in an open car through the streets of Dallas, Texas. Several shots rang out and the president collapsed into the arms of his wife. One eyewitness said he saw blood on the President’s head. The Governor of Texas, Mr John Connally, who was with him, was also shot down. The president was rushed to hospital, where there’s still no word of his condition.”

Even though I was expecting this, it was a shock. Mutti Frida gasped and tears rolled down her face.

Col threw off the blankets and stood at her mother’s side in a moment. “Mutti. Mutti. Was ist los? What’s wrong?”

I disentangled myself from the blankets Col had scattered and stood at Mutti Frida’s other side.

After a while Mutti Frida sat up, reaching arms round the two of us. “He was a great man. I had such hope after his Berlin speech.”

She must mean his Ich bin ein Berliner speech when he planted himself on the side of the encircled half-city of West Berlin and all western Europe.

“Hope?” asked Col.

“That one day East Germany would be free, the Party and Stasi broken and we could go home.”

I ached to comfort her with the knowledge that in twenty-five years it would happen – at least in my world. But all I could do was hug her.

We huddled over Mutti Frida for a minute until she stood up. “I think we all need a cup of hot chocolate.” She busied herself in the kitchen whilst we sat at the table. In the background, the BBC was playing sombre music.

When the hot chocolate was ready, Mutti Frida sighed and chased us back to the sofa and helped tuck the blankets around us. “Life goes on, children. Read your book.”

We sipped our hot chocolate and read more of Under Milkwood, but the zest had gone out of our reading and we stopped. We remained there, listening to the music and holding hands under the blanket.

After about an hour, another announcement came on the Radio.

“The latest news from America is that President Kennedy has only been slightly injured and is recovering in hospital, but the bullets meant for him have injured the president’s wife. She is undergoing surgery and we wait for further announcements.”

An electric jolt ran through me. JFK was alive.

My stomach heaved at the shock and I tore myself out of the blankets, reaching the toilet in time to deposit the hot chocolate and my tea. The solidity of the world I was in had been wrenched from beneath my feet.

I grasped the bowl and vomited again as realities swirled around me. I half-heard Col’s anguished cry. “Willi.” before the world greyed out to darkness.

“No.” I tried to sit up.

A gruff male voice came from above me. “All right, young’un. Settle down.”

My eyes tried to understand the strange, swaying environment and the thumping pain in my head.

“You’re in an ambulance on the way to the ‘ospital, son. Seems like you ‘ad a nasty turn and fell, giving your ‘ead a proper crack. ‘Spect you’ll need stitches.” The ambulance attendant glanced down at a clipboard.

“It’s Will, innit?”

Nodding seemed to be a bad idea, what with the pain in my head and fluttering in my stomach. “Yes.” I whispered.

“Lie there, Will. Tell me if you’re gonna be sick again.” My stomach twinged as I recognised the acrid taste of vomit in my mouth.

“Could I have a drink of water, please?”

“Hmm – only a sip, now and spit it out into this bowl.” He held a bottle out, containing a straw, which he brought to my lips. A small suck brought the sweet, cleansing taste of water. I swirled it round my mouth and swallowed. Before I could suck in more, the straw was withdrawn.

“Oi – I said to spit it out. You’re not supposed to be drinkin’ nuffin ‘til the doctor’s seen ya.”

I let the motion of the ambulance sway me around.

JFK was alive.

This was a massive change from my world. Again, my reality slipped and flowed. The ambulance man must have been watching as he had a bowl beside me as I retched several times.

“See, I told ya not to swallow that water,” he said, wiping my face with a moist cloth.

I lay there, trying not to think– but my collapse must have been scary for Col and Mutti Frida.

“How are the people I was with?” I asked.

“Them Germans?” Distaste filled his voice – he was of an age to have experienced the war and all that entailed.

“Yes.”

“Dunno,” he said, “but the woman said she’d tried to phone your mum, but there was no one there.” His eyes narrowed. “What you doin’, ‘angin’ around with them Jerries?”

The continued swaying of the ambulance was not helping with settling my stomach. I ignored the question.

“Hey. Don’t you go to sleep on me. We’re nearly there.” He picked up my wrist to take my pulse.

The ambulance came to a halt and the rear doors opened. With great efficiency, they pulled out my stretcher and wheeled me through doors marked “Emergency”. A strong aroma of surgical spirit and disinfectant assaulted my nostrils.

A pair of nurses helped transfer me to a curtained bed and I lay there, eyes closed, glad not to be moving.

Outside, the ambulance man spoke to the nurse, “‘E was with a pair of damn Jerries an’ ‘ad a turn, fell over and cracked ‘is head on the toilet.”

“Germans – is he German, then? Does he speak English?”

“Oh, ‘e’s English all right, ‘is name’s Will. ‘E was speaking to me fine in the van. Accordin’ to the German woman, ‘is mum’s at work. She couldn’t get ‘old of ‘er, so she rang the ambulance.”

A moment later, a nurse bustled through the curtains and placed a bucket by my bed.

“How are we feeling?”

I opened my eyes. “Woozy.”

“Well, there’s a bucket if you feel sick again. We’re going to examine that head of yours in a minute when the doctor gets here. You lie still for the moment.” After a few minutes, the doctor arrived. They unwrapped the bandage on my head, mused over the significant bump and gash and decided the latter needed a few stitches. The doctor applied them under a local anaesthetic.

“But I am his friend’s mother.” Mutti Frida’s voice came through the curtains. “He was at my house when the accident happened. I wish to see him.” A door closed, shutting off the conversation.

The curtain rustled, and Col stood beside me, grabbing my hand. “Oh, Willi. When I saw you lying on the floor in the toilet with blood all over the floor, I thought you were dead. What happened?” She kept her voice low to avoid alerting the staff.

“I don’t know. I must have fainted.”

“You hit your head on the base of the toilet. There was blood everywhere. Oh, Willi. I thought you were dead, but Mutti bandaged it. We tried to call your mother, but there was no reply, so we called the ambulance.” That all seemed to come out in a single breath and her hand squeezed mine, hard.

“Please, don’t break my hand.”

“Sorry.” She relaxed the squeezing but didn’t let go. “I’ve been so scared.” She leaned down to kiss me but pulled back when she caught the whiff of vomit still on my breath.

“Ugh – you need to have a drink and clean your teeth,” she whispered, smiling to take the sting out of her words.

A nurse came in with a clipboard. She gave Col a sideways glance. “Are you supposed to be in here?”

“Sh ... Col’s my best friend. Please let him stay with me. I feel safer.” I gave the nurse my best puppy eyes, hoping she hadn’t noticed my near slip.

“Hmmm.” She saw Col’s hand still holding mine. “I need to take your pulse.” She stared at me.

I offered her my other hand.

She flounced round the bed, produced a thermometer, stuck it under my tongue and took my pulse, writing up the results on a clipboard.

At that moment, my mother arrived.

The nurse raised her head, annoyed at the continued intrusions into her domain. “And who are you?” she asked, irritation flaring in her voice.

My mother was not someone to be trifled with in a medical environment. “I am Dr Johnstone,” she said, then her voice softened. “This is my son. Please tell me what is happening.”

The nurse deflated. “He had a turn and fell, hitting his head. He has three stitches and the doctor is worried about a concussion.”

My mother picked up my chart and examined it, then addressed the nurse. “Please let Dr...” She glanced back down at the clipboard. “ ... Dr Fredericks know I am here so I can talk with him.”

The nurse remained there, unsure of what to do.

“Now, please nurse.” My mother’s voice was curt, used to lesser medical staff doing her bidding without question.

The nurse left and my mother turned to Col.

“What happened, Col?” she asked, in a much more friendly voice.

I jumped in. “Col had nothing to do with it. It was an accident. I felt ill and fainted.”

My mother sat on the side of the bed, opposite Col. She stared at her hand, which was still holding mine, then picked up my other one. “It’s all right, Will, rest easy. I want to work out why you fainted so suddenly.”

“Col, can you tell me what you were doing when this happened?”

“We’d had tea and were sitting reading when the news came on that President Kennedy had been shot. We read some more and then the news came he had only been injured, but his wife was in surgery.”

“What time did you have tea?”

“About six o’clock, I think. We all had the same – Gemütlichkeit – sort of a beef stew with noodles.”

My mother was worried about food poisoning.

She leaned forward. “You feel fine?”

“Yes, Frau Doctor Johnstone.”

“Thank you, Col.” My mother patted Col’s hand. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s here somewhere. They wouldn’t let us in the ambulance, so we walked round here. She was trying to get in to see Willi, but they wouldn’t let her.”

A half-smile played on my mother’s lips. “You slipped in here when no-one was watching?”

Col said nothing, but looked embarrassed.

“It’s all right, Col.” She leaned across and patted her hand again. “You stay here while I find Dr Fredericks and your mother.”

I was still feeling woozy and had a splitting headache, so I lay with my eyes closed. The bed shifted as Col lay down beside me.

Col whispered in my ear, “Well, we’re in bed together, but it’s not quite what I was expecting.”

I squeezed her hand. “Wicked girl.” I whispered back with a smile. We lay together in silence.

After a while, the curtain swished back. The doctor and my mother came in, with Mutti Frida and the nurse behind them. My mother frowned at Col lying beside me. She sat up but kept hold of my hand.

“How are we feeling?” The doctor asked.

“My head hurts.”

He gave a wry smile. “I’m sure it does. Seeing as you have a doctor in the house,” he said, glancing across at my mother, “I think we can let you go home.” Having delivered his verdict, he swept out.

“All right, Will, let’s get you out of here.” She gave Mutti Frida a quick smile. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“Thank you, Frau Doctor, but only to your house. We can walk from there.”

Supported between Mutti Frida and my mother, they walked me out to the car. I lay in the back with my head in Col’s lap. At home, they walked me up to bed.

Col and Mutti Frida said goodnight and set off for home as soon as I was upstairs. My mother fussed around me for a while, leaving me in peace with the bedroom door open so I could call for help.

I lay there, confused by what was happening. The pain in my head thudding with each heartbeat did not help. The world I knew was not this world and no idea what might happen now. JFK’s survival would affect politics in the US, but he strode the world’s stage.

What would this do to the balance of power in the world?

The painkillers worked and my head calmed down enough so I could fade into sleep.

I woke to find my mother leaning over me, a hand on my forehead, morning light pushing through the curtains. “How are you feeling, Will?”

“Sore – and thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

She was back in a minute with a glass, which she put on my bedside table. “Here, let me help you sit up a bit.”

I levered myself up and my mother fluffed up my pillow and put a second one behind me. “How’s that?”

I smiled at her and reached for the water.

“Remember, don’t drink it all at once.”

I had several sips and put it down.

My mother sat, studying me, the cogs turning in her mind as she tried to summon the right words. “What’s happening with you, Will?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, searching my face. “About a year ago, something happened and you ... changed.” She stared into my eyes for several seconds, then her eyes dropped. “I know that things here at home needed to change and I’m so sorry I did nothing until that night with your father. But you aren’t that boy I knew anymore – and it feels like you are...” She stopped, searching my face for the right word. “ ... hiding yourself from me.”

I held her gaze, saying nothing.

“I don’t know who you are now.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Sometimes you are so mature I have trouble believing it. But...” She frowned. “ ... I don’t understand you.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Your fainting spell last night doesn’t seem to have any physical cause. My talk with Col last night suggested that it was a shock reaction.” She paused again, in puzzlement. “But why would President Kennedy’s survival shock you? I could understand it if you had that reaction to the shooting – but to him being alive? It’s almost as if you expected him to be dead.”

I couldn’t answer. My mother was an intelligent woman and she was picking at the fabric close to a thread that she might untangle and follow. I was pretty sure, though, that what had happened to me was so inexplicable that even if her sharp mind led her to it, she wouldn’t be able to accept it.

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70 year old Will wakes in 1962 crouched beside a railway track about to suicide...

Through my Eyes. Again.

Robert Hart

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Robert Hart

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