Listening Valley (10 page)

A woman was carried in. She had been rescued from beneath a pile of fallen masonry and was covered with gray dust. She clutched Tonia's arm and cried, “Have you seen a little boy? A little boy with curly hair.”

“Put her here,” said Dr. Strachey. “Give me the hypodermic. I can't do anything at all…”

“Have you seen a little boy?” she asked, gazing up into Tonia's face. “Have you…seen a little…boy with…curly hair.”

“You're all in,” said the doctor, looking at Tonia suddenly. “Go and make some tea.”

“I'm all right.”

“Go and make some tea. It'll do us all good.”

“Tea!” exclaimed the sister, who happened to be passing. “You'll find everything in the office.”

Tonia found a big urn in the office. There were some packets of tea on the table and a few cans of condensed milk.

The sister had followed her. “Have you got everything?” she asked. “I'll send a boy to help you. I saw a boy somewhere.” She turned away, and then she hesitated and looked at Tonia in a bewildered sort of way. “Who are you?” she said.

“Who am I?” repeated Tonia stupidly.

“What's your name, I mean.”

“Mrs. Norman.”

“I suppose you belong to Lady Green's first-aid post.”

“I don't belong anywhere,” said Tonia.

The sister appeared quite satisfied with this extraordinary statement. She said, “I see. Well, you'll find a can opener in the drawer. Don't cut your fingers…”

“Don't cut my fingers!”

“Tin makes a very nasty cut,” said the sister, and she disappeared.

Tonia laughed hysterically. It seemed so funny.
She
mustn't cut her
fingers…

The boy appeared. He looked about thirteen years old; his hands and face were absolutely black and his clothes were in ribbons, but he smiled at Tonia quite cheerfully and asked what he was supposed to do.

“I wish we had some more tea,” said Tonia. “There isn't much here—and there's no sugar at all. Where could we get some, I wonder.”

“I know where there's a grocer,” he replied and vanished.

All this time the guns had been banging furiously and bombs had been bursting all around, but Tonia had been too busy to notice them. She noticed them now, for she had nothing to do until the water boiled. She opened the door that led into the street and looked out. The sky was red. Houses were blazing. Three bombs fell some distance away, and a huge building crumpled and fell. One moment she saw its bulk, dark against the crimson sky, and the next moment it wavered unsteadily and, quite slowly, fell apart, crumbling, toppling, crashing with a noise like thunder. It isn't real, said Tonia to herself. You couldn't bear it if it were real.

Nothing was real—the hurrying people, the men with hoses shouting to each other, the streets slopping with water, the blazing fires, the acrid smoke eddying in the wind. None of it was real. It was the stuff nightmares are made of.

A man lurched past and leaned against the wall. He was merely a dark bulky shadow against the inferno. “The city is done for,” he said in a hoarse voice. “All gone… St. Clement Dane's is like a furnace. I've just come from there. I'm trying to get home.”

“You had better take shelter.”

“My wife is having a baby.”

“If you wait I'll give you a cup of tea.”

“Tea!” exclaimed the man, and he laughed.

“I know, but I've nothing else.”

He accepted a cup of tea and drank it standing there. He drank it quickly and handed back the cup. “How much?” he said.

“How much?” asked Tonia in surprise.

“How much money for the tea?”

“Oh—nothing,” said Tonia. She watched him lurch away down the street. It seemed odd to think of money.

There were cups in the cupboard—all sorts of cups, most of them cracked or without handles. Tonia put them on a tray, filled them with tea and condensed milk, and carried them into the garage. The doctor and the nurses drank thirstily, for the acrid smoke that filled the air was parching to the throat. Some of the patients wanted it too and held up their hands for a cup.

“Don't give it to anyone without permission,” said the sister. “Yes, that woman can have some. Leave the tray there and make some more. Put plenty of sugar in it.”

The boy was in the office when Tonia went back. He had a sack full of packets of tea and sugar and cookies; he emptied it onto the table.

“How clever of you!” Tonia said. “I was afraid the shop wouldn't be open.”

“It wasn't exactly open,” said the boy. “I mean, it was…smashed open. Nobody was there so I just took the things.” He gazed up at her as he spoke, his eyes very blue in his blackened face. “I just took them,” he repeated. “I mean, nobody was there so I couldn't pay. Do you think it was all right? I didn't quite know what to do, you see. The walls were down. There was stuff lying about all over the place, tea and butter and bacon and everything all mixed up. It was horrible.”

“I know, but it isn't real,” said Tonia hastily.

He nodded. “We're dreaming, aren't we?” he said. “It's a pretty horrible dream. I shan't forget that shop in a hurry, you know.”

“You soon forget dreams,” she told him.

He was sorting out the packets now. “That's tea,” he said. “I only took the whole packets, not the loose stuff. There might have been glass in it. The packets are sure to be all right, don't you think? Shall I fill up the urn with water?”

They worked away together, and while they worked the boy continued to talk. Tonia encouraged him to talk, for it was better for him and she found his talk soothing. “My name's Page,” he said. “I'm at Eton, but of course this is the holidays. I'm fourteen—at least nearly. Dad and I were at the movies and Dad was called away—he's a doctor, you see—and he told me to go home, but I couldn't go home because the streets were all blocked. I tried,
really.
I don't quite know what happened… There was a fire. I got my hands a bit dirty… Do you think Dad will be angry? I did try to go home. I'm being useful, aren't I?”

“I couldn't possibly have managed without you.”

“That's all right, then. I can tell Dad that.”

The noise was frightful now. Bombs seemed to be crashing all around. The whole building rocked as if by an earthquake, and the lights swung backward and forward from the roof.

“It will be fun if the lights go out,” said Page gravely. “As a matter of fact, I don't know why they haven't. I've got a flashlight, but it would be a bit difficult, wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” said Tonia. She saw that he was a little frightened—and no wonder. For her part, she was almost sick with fright, but fright seemed to be affecting them in opposite ways, for Page was talking hard and she was almost incapable of answering.

“My brother's in the Guards,” said Page, just a trifle unsteadily. “There's nobody like the Guards.”

“I know,” said Tonia.

“Nobody,” repeated Page. “I expect if my brother was here he'd laugh like anything… This would be
nothing
to him, you know.”

“Let's put in the tea now,” said Tonia.

“I'm used to making tea,” declared Page. “I do it at Eton, you see.”

A nurse looked in at the door and said, “Are you getting on all right? Is it nearly ready?”

“Almost,” replied Page. “The water was
absolutely
boiling.”

There was a terrific crash. The light flickered, went out for a moment, and then came on again.

“There's something…queer about this,” said Page. “It's—it's awfully queer, isn't it? I've never done anything like this before, have you?”

“No, never.”

“I don't suppose there ever
was
anything like this before, except…d'you think Pompeii was like this?”

Tonia had not thought of Pompeii. “Perhaps, but not so noisy,” she said, trying to speak in a natural voice.

“
That
was God, of course,” said Page, as he took up a tray full of cups and led the way into the garage.

He was right, thought Tonia. Pompeii was God's vengeance and this was man's…

Quite suddenly the raid was over. The guns ceased firing and the sirens began to give the signal ALL CLEAR, taking it up all over the London area. “Whoo-eeee…” screeched the siren, and then another answered from a distance, “Whoo-eeee…” and the next moment they were all blowing, screeching like a chorus of fiends.

The night had seemed so long that Tonia felt it had lasted for weeks, so long that she had ceased wondering when it would end. Now that it was over she felt shaky at the knees and very, very cold. She leaned against the wall and tried to feel glad that she was alive, but somehow it did not seem to matter.

Page found her standing there. He had washed his face and hands, and she saw for the first time what he really looked like. His chubby face was very pale and there were dark shadows around his eyes. He ought not to have been here, thought Tonia in sudden dismay. He ought to be somewhere safe. He ought to be playing with toys…

“Good-bye,” said Page. “I've got to go home now. It's been—it's been fun, hasn't it?” His lips were trembling a little as he spoke and he looked so young that Tonia wanted to kiss him.

They shook hands gravely.

“You've been splendid,” Tonia said.

“Well, so have you,” replied Page.

All this time the garage had been emptying. Patients were being carried out and put into ambulances, the walking wounded left with their friends, but there was a row of mattresses along the inner wall whose occupants were destined neither for the hospital nor home.

The nurses were clearing up as best they could. They were haggard and drawn, their eyes bloodshot and sunk in their sockets, their clothes stained and bedraggled.

“I'm finished now,” declared Dr. Strachey. “Nothing more I can do, and there may be another show tonight. I'm going home—if I've got a home left. Anyone going my way? What about you?” he added, looking at Tonia as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“I'm going to Wintringham Square.”

“I'll see you home if you like. Where's your coat?”

It was the last, but not the least, of all the odd things that had happened on that extraordinary night that Tonia had no coat and hat, nor had she the remotest idea when she had lost these garments. It did not matter, of course, but the mystery intrigued her.

“You
must
have a coat,” declared the doctor. “You'll catch a chill. One of the nurses will find you a coat.”

One of the nurses found a man's raincoat and wrapped it around her and tied a piece of bandage around her waist. “That will keep you warm, anyhow,” said the nurse.

“All ready?” said Dr. Strachey. He opened the door and they went out together into the street.

It was broad daylight now. The fires were still blazing; tongues of flame were shooting out of the windows of a warehouse not more than a hundred yards away. There was a raw bitter smell in the air, a smell that caught your throat, and the streets were full of smoke and dust that drifted hither and thither and settled in the water underfoot. There were fire engines and hoses everywhere and crowds of people hurrying to and fro. Some of them had children in their arms; some were carrying furniture, which they had rescued from their burning homes. Furniture was piled up in the streets. Every now and then an ambulance drove by, and the muddy water sprayed from beneath its wheels. When you looked up at the houses, you saw the gaping windows with jagged pieces of glass, broken glass everywhere. It crunched and crackled beneath people's feet as they dug frantically among the ruins, while others stood by and watched them.

The darkness had been horrible but in daylight the scene was even worse. It was a desolate scene, an abomination of desolation. You could see the shattered houses, some of them cut in half as if with a knife, the rooms open to view and still full of domestic furniture. You could see the tumbled masonry, the blackened ruins that still smoked, the tottering walls, stark and naked in the light of day. And worst of all, you could see people's faces mirroring fatigue, horror, hopeless misery—faces set like stone or grimed with dirt and tears.

Dr. Strachey and Tonia walked along without saying very much, for they were beyond words. They went up one street and down another; some of the streets were closed because of the fires, or because of an unexploded bomb, or simply because they were blocked by masonry; but at last they arrived at Wintringham Square and found it still standing.

“It seems all right,” said Dr. Strachey in surprise.

Tonia was surprised too. It was extraordinary to find that her home had escaped destruction.

They went upstairs together and opened the door of the flat, and Tonia ran in and called to Robert. She looked all over the flat, but Robert was not there, and his bed had not been slept in.

Dr. Strachey was waiting in the hall. He was leaning against the table, his face ghastly.

“You must have a drink,” said Tonia. “My husband…but I don't know where he is!”

“He'll turn up all right,” said Dr. Strachey in a flat voice. “I could do with a drink, really.”

They went into the dining room and Tonia poured out some whisky. She said, “This is…war.”

“It's war,” he replied. “Worse than the trenches…such a horrible mixture of everyday life and fantastic horror…don't worry about your husband too much. I expect he's gone out to look for you.”

“Poor Robert!”

“Lucky Robert to come home and find you safe.”

“But I can't wait here—”

“Don't be silly,” he replied. “You can't possibly search all London. The best thing you can do is to go to bed.” He gave her two small pink pills and went away.

Tonia could not go to bed. How could she, when she didn't know where Robert was? She did not know if he was alive. She sat down on the sofa and thought about it and wondered what to do.

Tonia's head felt heavy. She rested it on a cushion and suddenly…she began to sink…down…down, down, deep down to the bottom of the sea. The fishes were swimming about all around her, looking at her. The water was green and cool and translucent. She looked up and saw a ceiling above her head, a yellowish white ceiling with a stain on it like the man in the moon. “The man in the moon came down too soon,” said Lou. “Come on, Tonia, I'll take care of you…” Tonia rose and drifted out onto the landing and down the stairs with her fingertips resting on the banisters. The hall door was open and she drifted out…she was dancing now, dancing with Robert; the band was playing “The Blue Danube.” A woman clutched her arm and cried, “Have you seen a little boy, a little boy with curly hair…with curly hair…with curly hair…” Now Robert had vanished and she was trying to find him; she was searching among the blackened ruins of a church—it was St. Clement Dane's. She could not find him. “Robert!” she cried. “Robert…Robert!”