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. My mother’s rhyme filled my head:
March winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers.
She had lots of these – including the one for all the kings and queens since William the Conqueror. I thought it unfair that it didn’t include the Saxon kings.
I paced along the street, reciting the monarch rhyme, 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?”
What Col was making of English history?
I knew very little of German history – apart from the bitter wars we had fought this century. I 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 that was the Nazi regime.
A brisk shower arrived as I knocked on the door. 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 sat in the lounge.
“Mutti’s already left for work. It will take about twenty minutes to walk to Lili’s house. She told me we were not to arrive early.”
“What else shall we do these holidays?” I asked.
“I was wondering about showing Lili our secret garden. What do you think?”
Lili lived far enough away so she would only be there when we asked her. “Okay.”
“I’ve seen the apple trees in the garden are blossoming. Do they have fruit?”
“Oh yes. And they’re delicious when you pick them after the sun has warmed one side, leaving the other cool.”
“I’ve never tried that.”
“There are some big cooking apples, too. Bramleys, I think they’re called. They make a delicious 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? Is it alright 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 last year when I gathered buckets of blackberries there. She used them to make blackberry jam, and blackberry and apple pie.”
“Okay.” Taking fruit out of a garden we didn’t own worried him. “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, too.”
“Good idea. 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 mantelpiece.
“It’s time to go. Mutti left me an umbrella, but we’ll need our coats, too.” Col gave me a serious look. “You’ll have to help me remember the umbrella when we leave.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t the most reliable person, even with my own possessions. Col laughed and rolled his eyes back at me.
The weather cooperated for the walk to Lili’s house. From the top of Mickleburgh hill, we saw showers further down the coast to the west.
Lili greeted us at the door, almost bouncing with excitement. “Willi, Col. Come in. Mama is making hot chocolate for us. She thought you might like a warm drink if you got caught in a shower.” Lili’s large house was on the seafront, with nice furniture and tasteful decorations. It seemed Lili’s parents were 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 – the simple sketches of otters caught her interest. Lili bounced up and disappeared to her bedroom, returning with The Chrysalids. That was my favourite of John Wyndham’s books and I had to contain my enthusiasm and let Col ask the questions.
After some discussion, we read The Hobbit first and would 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. She became as enthralled as we were. After lunch, Mrs. Wiśniewski pushed us out for a brisk walk onto the pier.
“Off you go, children. You need some fresh air.”
I had the impression that she wanted an hour of peace without teens around her feet. We walked out along the pier, crossing the bridges that were built to cover the gaps made during World War II to prevent invasion.
I had reminded Col about the umbrella and we took it with us, in case. This proved a wise decision, as a shower caught us 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. Lili and I arrived back at her house moist, as the wind made control of the umbrella difficult.
We started on the Wyndham after we hung up our coats, taking it in turns to read a few paragraphs. After a while, Mrs. Wiśniewski called us into the kitchen to eat some quartered oranges. Col was enjoying Chrysalids. I had to be careful as I loved it and had read the book several times during my old life.
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 that we hadn’t noticed that 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 some more.”
“Well, I suppose I could. After all, what’s the point of my car if I don’t use it?” she said, smiling. “Come on, gather your things and let’s be off.”
We scrambled together our books and stuffed them into my duffel bag, remembering to pick up Col’s umbrella which was drying in the porch. Mrs. Wiśniewski reversed her car out of the garage behind the house and Col and I got into the back, with Lili in the front. 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, of course, 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. “We’re going to hang out, read and play games.”
Col smiled at Lil. “Care to join us?”
Lili’s face lit up. “Oh. Yes, please.” She turned to her mother. “Is that all right, Mama?”
“That will be fine tomorrow, but don’t forget we have to see your aunt on Thursday, and you have your drawing class on Friday morning. Tomorrow, though, 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. Is that okay, Col?”
“That’s fine, Lili. See you then.”
We watched them running back to the car through the rain and then returned to our usual position on the sofa.
“If the weather is fine tomorrow, should we show Lili our secret garden?”
The idea stirred something. What was it – jealousy, or fear?
“Willi?”
I watched her face. “It’s our special place, Col.”
“I know, Willi, but isn’t Lili your friend 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. “You’re right, Col. I should trust her.”
Col’s eyes showed something that I couldn’t identify, nothing bad, unsettling perhaps, but ... different. “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 that for when Lili’s here tomorrow, Col. Why don’t we read more of Müller’s poems, as Lili can’t read German?”
Col smiled and I saw another flicker of something in his eyes. “That’s a good idea, 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 with 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 young miller? Do you think he gets the girl?”
Col’s expression was pensive. “What are you trying to tell me, Willi?”
“Until we read the last few poems, I’m uncertain how it ends. 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?” I saw in his eyes that he knew, but needed me to say it.
“He drowns himself in the stream. The brook sings the last song – I think it’s a lullaby for the dead miller.”
Col sat for a moment, his eyes searching my face. “Are you going to be okay if that’s what happens?”
“Can you see a different ending? I don’t think I can.”
I saw the concern mounting in Col’s face and he repeated his question. “Are you going to be okay reading this? Do you want to stop?”
“No, it’s beautiful poetry, but we can stop if you want to.”
Col pulled the bookmark from the book, placed it on 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 nearly did that day. And now we are going to read about the young miller drowning himself...”
Col sat in silence for several seconds, his eyes questing in mine. “Willi, I trust you. You said you would talk to me if things got too much for you. I know you would keep that promise.” He gave a brief shudder. “I don’t like that this is part of you, but I understand it is.” He paused, deep in thought. “That day under the cedar tree, we shared something that has brought us much closer. Even awful experiences, when shared, can make a positive difference, in a strange way.”
I smiled back at him.
“Willi, I think that literature is full of ... suicides and characters thinking about it. I want us to read and talk about it if it’s part of you.” He stopped again, trying to crystallise an idea. “Perhaps if we do that, we might end up understanding that part of you ... and perhaps that will be enough to stop you being pushed in that direction.”
We sat, staring at one another. The depths of Col’s perceptions amazed me and his care for me shone in his eyes.
Col 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 carry on 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, both of us had tears in our eyes.
The following day was fine and quite mild for April. We made sandwiches from the ham and tomatoes Mutti Frida had left for us, 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 several 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 enjoyed her enthusiasm. She was a contrast to Col, whose situation engendered a more serious outlook and the dark thoughts which swirled inside me. I could almost feel the jig-saw pieces of our friendship drawing together.
As we ate, I saw Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves sitting in the pine trees surrounded by goblins and wargs. I had to smother a chuckle as we were mimicking them – without the wargs and goblins, of course, but we hadn’t reached that part of the book yet.
After we returned to Col’s house, I asked Lili about her drawing classes.
“Well, I enjoy drawing.” She smiled at Col. “That was why you found me in the Art room that day, though I haven’t worked out why you were there.”
“Not because I am any good at art,” said Col. “It was a place I thought I could hide from the bullies for a while.”
“Please Lili, could you show us some of your drawings sometime?” I asked.
“Alright. I’m learning, but Mama says I have some skills and I should work on improving them.”
“Do you enjoy drawing?” Col asked.
“Oh, yes.” Her face lit up, 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 more on seeing so the picture in my head is clearer.”
“I enjoy art, but I don’t think I have any skills as an artist.”
Col scoffed. “When do you look at art?”
“At school, in art class. Our teacher says we should all know something 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 sighed. “I want to go to London one day and visit the National Gallery. They have a few of his paintings and a sculpture by Rodin.”
Col seemed a little lost.
“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 and she pulled out a sketchbook and showed us some of her drawings. There were several of a fluffy tabby cat that caught my eye, one in mid-leap.
“That’s excellent, Lili. You captured that in your mind’s eye very well.”
Lili blushed. “Thank you, Willi. I had to encourage Rupert to jump quite a few times to fix the picture in my head.” She paused for a second, glancing down at the drawing. “Mrs. Frobisher says that now I am seeing more, I need to stop trying to be a camera and show myself in my drawings.” She looked down at her sketchbook. “There’s always something more.”
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