Through My Eyes. Again
Copyright© 2019 by Iskander
Chapter 2
Mid-October – Early December 1962
My eyes flicked open and I sighed when I found I was still in my childhood bedroom.
How had I survived the continuous tension of my life here?
At least my father would have left for London and so I wouldn’t have to face him. My young brain got me ready for school and after breakfast, I walked up the road to catch a number seven bus. Passing a pair of new houses, I realised the wall Col had been sitting on was the garden wall of my Colin’s home. I stopped across from what had been my Col’s house. A young man came to the front door, accompanied by a woman with a toddler on her hip. The man gave the woman a kiss, patted the toddler on the head, got in the car and drove off. It was not my Col’s family.
A great sense of loss descended on me: my Col, my childhood friend, didn’t exist in this world. The woman across the road examined me with curious eyes and I turned and walked on. Though this new Col was not my closest friend from before, he was kind, and that meant something.
At school, the bullies were there as expected, but I ignored their taunts. I pulled out my book and read. One of the leaders, a tousled, blond boy started shoving me. I pushed back firmly but the bell went. The glare we shared indicated unfinished business.
Schoolwork was trivially easy, given the level of education I carried in my old brain and I tore through it. By the end of the first lesson, Mr Maple, my Maths teacher, was eyeing me speculatively. He had chided me about showing all the proper working as I skipped over calculation steps but gave each of my solutions a tick as he walked round checking them.
Next period in French as I completed an oral translation, Mr Partington nodded. “Excellent, Johnstone.” Puzzlement apparent in his voice ... I had forgotten my twelve-year-old self was still a novice.
I needed to be careful about showing my knowledge and intellectual skills – assuming I was marooned in this world.
On the number seven (hooray) bus trip home, I worried at my situation. If I were stuck here, I needed to find out about this world, but there was no Internet, Google or Wikipedia. My parents still had a newspaper delivered each day. I had never read this in my previous childhood and I’d need to be careful if I started now.
I still hoped this was some incredibly complicated dream. But doesn’t your life pass before your eyes as you die? Was it happening to me? For a minute my mind worried at this possibility.
Would I be reliving such a subtly different world?
It made no sense.
If I was stuck here, I needed to act appropriately or there could be big problems. Fortunately, I had all the experience of my ‘old’ brain to make it work. I almost miss my stop thinking about this and rushed to the exit as the doors closed.
“Pay attention, young ‘un.” The driver’s voice was surly as he recycled the doors.
I walked down the road, giving what had been Col’s house in my old life another scan. But nothing seemed out of place, except there was the wrong family inside. I walked past my house and turned into Sea View Road, before knocking on Col’s door.
“Willi, welcome. Come in.” Frau Schmidt smiled.
Col helped me hang up my coat and we went into the kitchen.
“Do you have schoolwork to finish, Willi?”
“Yes, Frau Schmidt.”
“Sit at the table and you can do it there. I will help Col, but he will do the same work and you will learn the German and Col, the English.”
I worked on my Maths problems. Frau Schmidt gave Col a pencil and paper and insisted he did the same work. To my delight, I was able to help Col, once I understood the way he wrote some numbers. I was also learning the German needed for the work as Frau Schmidt explained to Col what he had to do.
Once we had finished, Frau Schmidt provided us both with a slice of cake and a glass of milk – and the double-sided language lesson continued.
This set the course of my days as autumn slid into winter. I continued to avoid my father, keeping out of trouble. But a beating lay somewhere in my future. This certainty slunk along beside me, a dark companion. My mother was eyeing me somewhat speculatively. She was an intelligent woman and knew there was something about me but couldn’t put her finger on it. I hoped she would pass it off as puberty and growing up.
Each day, I smuggled the previous day’s newspaper up to my room. I’d discovered this was easy to do as the old newspapers went on to a stack beside the kitchen door and I could slip the top one into my school bag as I passed, returning it later. The reporting was restrained compared to 2020. Each day I would spend half an hour or so going through the paper, comparing events with my memory. Part of my problem was I hadn’t been into world events and politics until later in my teens. The reports were largely new to my old brain. I didn’t even remember the Mariner two flyby of Venus, which surprised me when it happened in December. My addiction to space must have developed later than I thought.
I worried about finding something important. My greatest fear was the world would descend into nuclear madness, although there was precious little I could do about it. Life went on, even if my inner life was strange by any normal standards.
An explanation of what had happened – was happening – eluded me. I was in a different world, but Col and Frau Schmidt being in this world could be significant in geopolitical terms as they had defected to the west. None of this had happened in my world where Col was English.
Most afternoons I went to Col’s house after school where we sat at the table doing my homework with him. Frau Schmidt would listen to music and act as translator and guide as our language knowledge deepened. I tried hard not to ‘learn’ too fast, but as we approached Christmas, Frau Schmidt commented to my mother on my ‘remarkable language ability’ when they met in the High Street. Col’s English was improving rapidly, although he still spoke with a noticeable German accent.
We were sitting at the table, homework finished one day, chatting.
“Willi, how about we meet in town after school tomorrow? There’s something I want to show you.”
“Okay.”
Col smiled, excited at my agreement. “Where shall we meet?”
“How about in the library? Whoever gets there first can stay warm and dry while they wait.”
The next day I caught a number six bus and went on into the town and then walked to the library. I found Col and greeted him in German. The young librarian at the desk heard me and sniffed, sharply.
“I wonder what her problem is?” I asked Col, still speaking German.
Col sighed, speaking English. “Willi, many people suffered in the war and blame the Germans. Mutti and I have talked about it and I can see it happening when people realise I am German.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, but I am German, Willi.” His shoulders slumped in resignation.
I changed the subject. “Come on, what is it you want to show me?”
Col’s face lit with a smile. “Oh, wait until you see this. It’s the most...” He stopped, before giving away his surprise. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the street. We almost ran to a car showroom where Col stopped and pointed. There, lit by angled spotlights, crouched the sleekest sports car; I hadn’t seen one for decades: a Jaguar E-type coupé, resplendent in British racing green and glistening chrome.
“Wow.” I breathed.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” said Col, sighing. “Do you think we could go in?”
They wouldn’t want a pair of schoolboys putting their fingers all over their gleaming centrepiece, but I grabbed Col’s hand and we walked over to the car. Everyone must have been busy as we weren’t noticed. We walked around this vision of automobile pulchritude, staring at our faces reflected and distorted in the chrome and deeply polished paintwork. We peered over the driver’s window at the tan leather upholstery and polished walnut dashboard.
“You like this car, do you?” A rumbling voice almost propelled us over the car in fright. We swivelled to find a huge bear of a man standing watching us with a crooked smile: a scar ran diagonally from his right eye to pull at the corner of his mouth.
I swallowed. “We haven’t touched it, sir. We were just admiring it.”
He looked us over and we must have passed inspection. “Carry on boys.” He leant past us and opened the driver’s door. “Would you like to sit in her?”
I pushed Col forward, speaking English. “Go on, Col, it’s your car.”
Col’s gaze was devouring the gleaming vision.
“Go on, get in, but don’t touch anything.” His voice rumbled inside me. Col’s eyes widened with uncertainty.
“Go on, dummy,” I said, with a smile, the German sliding from me without thinking. Col frowned at me but climbed into the car. I caught a sour glance from the salesman.
Col reached out and put his hands on the steering wheel and then grabbed them back into his lap, recalling the salesman’s admonition.
“You can hold the wheel,” the man laughed.
Col’s face was all question. I nodded and he put his hands back on the wheel, almost reverently, his gaze roving over the interior.
“You can sit in her, too,” the rumbling voice told me, and I caught a hint of a foreign accent.
I shook my head. “I’m not interested in cars. I prefer planes.”
A strange yearning passed across his face, then he turned back to Col, pointing out a feature.
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