A House in Order (7 page)
Authors: Nigel Dennis
I got some consolation that night because it struck me that
MACKENZIE
was too late to interfere. If I got marching orders from the agronomist I would never see the camp again: the whole world would be different. I told myself that it was reasonable to hope that in a month, or a fortnight, or a week, or tomorrow, the interpreter might come down the verandah steps and tell me to get ready for a journey, because surely that had been the whole point of his long questioning the other day: my transfer was only a matter of time. And once I began to feel that this was so, all my dreaming began again and went on for hours – a mixture of reasonable things and absurd ones, as day-dreaming is. A sort of military cart came for my pots: I superintended the packing with my usual care. I was put on a train; I saw the camp turn out of sight; I had said good-bye to the ‘student of character’ and he had paid me a dry compliment: the young officer had grinned and waved. I saw myself in the long passage of a huge building and a well-kept door with Department of Wartime Agronomy inscribed, and then for whole minutes on end I fancied the agronomist himself, talking to me in the language of plants, and always with that grave, intelligent manner he had had when he came to the greenhouse. Some of the other things I pictured made me think myself foolish even while I was picturing them, but they gave me so much happiness that I couldn’t stop: I saw streams and trees and wonderful fields of corn, and myself in the middle talking expertly about everything, and some wonderful way being found by me of raising food-production: I still lived as a prisoner, but in a country house where there was no war, and my guards were really servants: I looked up from my meals at a countryside more quiet and beautiful than can be imagined – though I
did
imagine it, over and over, adding touches to it all the time. When I had had enough of this happy end, I went back to the beginning and started again, with the interpreter coming down the verandah steps, my transfer papers in his hand, and when my commonsense interrupted and I knew that all these visions were invented, I was still not disappointed, because even if I subtracted every one of them there still remained a solid chance that before long I’d leave here and start a completely different life in a completely different world. ‘There is no need to look at the camp when you wake up in the morning,’ I told myself before I went to sleep. ‘The camp has nothing to do with what is going to happen.’
But I spent all the next week like a fool, making everything worse for myself. When I woke in the morning, the first thing I saw was the word
MACKENZIE
, and I soon had a picture of him invented in my mind – a man the opposite of all the things I was myself. The word
ORDERS
that he had sent me made me even more frightened than I felt of him: what orders could he send me but ones that would ruin me? Whenever my thoughts asked this question – and they did every morning in
exactly the same way – I would think back on all I’d gone through and all I’d managed to pull out of the wreck without a soul’s help, and I would look at the neatness of the greenhouse and think of the state I’d found it in and what I’d achieved – and each time I had these thoughts I got enraged to think that
MACKENZIE
should claim a right on me – what did
he
know, tucked up with 800 friends, what life had been for me and how I had saved myself? But I knew from his message that he knew very well and I felt that that made his behaviour even more wicked: by what right did he ask me to go further when he knew to a T how far I had gone already? When I felt my teeth beginning to chatter with anger and fright, at this point, my mind always turned the same way, soothing me with assurances – that no
MACKENZIE
had any rights on me, that he was only a prisoner himself, that this was all my own life and nobody else’s, that if I went on my own way, sensibly and with dignity and calm, I would be safe from
MAC
KENZIE
and need have nothing to do with him. Working things out this way always gave me an hour or so of relief – the sort one feels when a problem that has seemed horrible and perplexing turns out to be one that only asks a little coolness and commonsense. At those moments of relief,
MACKENZIE’S
face almost faded away from my mind, and even the word
ORDERS
didn’t matter. I did my chores with a peaceful feeling and took pride in my household arrangements: sometimes when I looked at the order and even the charm of my achievements, particularly now that my cuttings were beginning to look like plants and the whole staging taking on the look of a healthy little green forest, I felt that nothing could touch me if I followed life as it was following me. But the trouble was – every day the same – that this happy hour was like a dream and I always woke up from it. Suddenly it would all fall to pieces: the word
ORDERS
would jump into my mind again and frighten the breath out of me, and I would feel
MACKENZIE’S
eyes on my back and suddenly go through all my old horrors – being called before the Colonel, watching the escort come up with their rifles, my glasses folded away, my face all beaten and red with blood. Then, after shivering and shaking and trying to drive away these pictures, I would think of my only hope, the agronomist, and pull myself round by praying to him and putting his face in
MACKENZIE’S
place, like believing in something because you must. ‘He
must
come, he
must
save me, he’s my only hope, I shall be dead otherwise’, my mind insisted, and I kept seeing his grave, kind, intelligent face and the sober way he walked, only smiling politely at the Colonel’s fatuous jokes, always serious about his interests, always knowing that war is not forever and that we live by growing things. As I said, my train of thought was exactly the same every day, beginning with terror of
MACKENZIE
, enjoying one hour’s dream and then collapsing into the worst fear of all, and it always ended with this hysteria of being saved by the agronomist and carried away into a safe, peaceful place. By the time I went to sleep, tomorrow was always a day when
MACKENZIE
was too late and the interpreter came down the verandah steps in the early sunshine, carrying an envelope in his hand.
The Colonel was the first to come down the verandah steps next morning. He passed without a glance at me and, followed by the adjutant, got into a military car on the gravel road and was driven away. In the next hour or so, nearly all the officers I knew came down the path
and left by the road as if assigned to an exercise somewhere: it was not until about 11 o’clock that my week’s dream came true and I saw the interpreter come down the steps and turn towards me. He closed the door when he was inside, and looking me up and down, as if inspecting me with a view to something, he said in a flat, correct voice:
‘The Camp Commandant has reported your detention here to the Commissioner of Prisoners of War. A Deputy chosen by the Commissioner will arrive here shortly to take your deposition. The Colonel has told me to tell you that he has confidence in your ability to answer the Deputy’s questions.’
As he opened the door, he added: ‘The Deputy may ask you whether anybody here had any conversation with you about his visit. If so, you may repeat what I have just said.’
Half an hour later, a squad led by a corporal arrived at my door in a pompous military way, and with stamping, barking, and turning, took me up the verandah steps and into the usual room. The Deputy, who looked like a stout officer in the Salvation Army, and wore a black-checked band round his cap instead of a red one, looked up as soon as I came in and spoke immediately to his own interpreter, who asked, before I was even at attention:
Q
: Have you not been issued the regulation razor?
A
: No, sir.
Q
: How long have you had that beard?
A
: Since I came.
There was a silence. My own interpreter, who was to have brought me such happy news, sat alone at one end of the table: the rest was taken up by the Deputy and
three assistants. Not a sound came from any other part of the house, as if the whole lot of them had run away.
After pushing certain papers forwards and backwards and glancing occasionally at me, the Deputy turned to his interpreter again:
Q
: Do you know why you are here for questioning?
A
: No, sir.
Q
: Did any officer, prior to the Deputy’s arrival, forewarn you that this would occur?
A
: The interpreter told me this morning.
Q
:
That
officer, do you mean? What did he tell you?
A
: That the Deputy Commissioner was coming and that the Colonel trusted me to answer all questions honestly.
Q
: Anything else?
A
: No, sir.
Q
: Give me your full attention. I am going to read the Commissioner’s authority under the Protection and Privileges of Prisoners Ordinance:
‘It shall be authorized to the Commissioner or his Deputy to take physical possession of, and carry wheresoever he will, any prisoner whom he deems to have been threatened, subdued to silence, unduly cajoled or improperly affected in speech and deposition by those in immediate physical possession of said prisoner.’
Do you understand these words?
A
: Some of them, sir.
Q
: They mean that if your answers make the Deputy suspect that you feel threatened by your present captors, or in any sort of danger, he has the authority to order your immediate removal. Do you understand?
A
: I do.
Q
: Now, will you kindly give the Deputy your answer once more to his question: what forewarnings were you given of the Deputy’s arrival?
A
: That the Deputy was coming soon and the Colonel knew I would answer properly.
Q
: ‘Properly’? What did you understand by this word?
A
: Pardon, I have said it wrong, sir. ‘Answer honestly’, I should have said.
Q
: The Deputy takes note of the discrepancy. Have you more to say or to correct?
A
: No, sir.
The Deputy then turned back to his papers and began to question me, beginning with who I was, what my work had been, and all the things I had answered a hundred times already. His questions got very slow and careful when he got to where I had run down the road and been stopped by the dead soldier.
Q
: Did you notice anything about this soldier’s uniform that was different …?
Q
: You say he asked advice in the dark of other soldiers. Did you notice their uniforms – if they were similar to his …?
Q
: It was your impression that he received no assistance from anyone …?
Q
: Are you prepared to repeat that you sat in full view on your chair for a full day and were observed by nobody …?
Q
: One guard, you say, had a bruised eye, and the face of the other was inflamed. It was your conclusion that they had been beaten …?
Q
: … Marched away by a squad of riflemen. How soon after did you hear the shots …?
Q
: Have you seen this so-called ‘young officer’ since the day he returned your glasses …?
On what occasions, please …?
Q
: The Deputy asks me to remind you that your life is in no danger and your safety assured. Will you bear that in mind when answering his questions? …
Q
: It was your conclusion, then, that the Prison Commandant had asked the Colonel for you to be handed over …?
Q
: You are a competent person where such matters are concerned. To what temperature, approximately, did your prison fall during the winter …?
Q
: Two blankets, yes. Any form of greatcoat …?
My own interpreter never said one word through all this and though he looked at me from time to time his eyes were perfectly round and empty. At one o’clock sharp, the Deputy laid down his pencil and rose from his chair, and I was marched out and given food in the ante-room. Sharp at two, my questioning started again:
Q
: Your sole work, then, has been in this greenhouse, apart from one hour a day recently in the garden?
A
: Yes, sir.
Q
: Under whose direction have you worked?
A
: None, sir.
Q
: No officer has spoken to you about what you should do, what you should grow, and so on?
A
: No, sir.
Q
: So what
have
you grown?
A
: A large variety of plants, sir.
Q
: Edible plants?
A
: No, sir.
Q
: I see. And nobody has made any suggestions to you or participated in your efforts in any way?
A
: Only the agronomist, sir.
Q
: Oh. Who is the agronomist?
Here, my own interpreter uncrossed his legs and spoke for the first time in a quiet voice. The Deputy listened to him as shortly as possible and turned back to me.
Q
: This agronomist – did he talk to you?
A
: Only to ask if I would take a cutting for him.
Q
: A cutting of what?
A
: My Malta house-leek. He saw it was unique.
Q
: This leek is edible?
A
: Oh, no, sir.
Q
: Oh. And are you now engaged in making him such a cutting?
A
: I have four leaf-cuttings, sir, that I hope will do well.
Q
: I see. Now, will you tell me something quite simply and frankly – has it not struck you as very extraordinary that you, a prisoner of war, should be passing your days in such a manner?
A
: I hoped, sir, it might lead to more useful work.
Q
: What has occurred to make you think that?
A
: Oh, nothing has occurred, sir.
Q
: Nothing?
A
: No, sir.
My interpreter now uncrossed his legs for the second time and, putting both hands behind his head, stared up at the ceiling. The Deputy, noticing the movement, turned his eyes to look, but there was nothing to see but what he saw. A mouse crossed the room at this moment, but my heart started beating so fast that I have no idea where it came from or where it went, and all the others were looking elsewhere.
The Deputy, not looking satisfied but still like someone
who has got a lot of what he wants, now pushed his papers forward and rose to his feet. He spoke quietly to his interpreter, who said to me:
‘The Deputy will now proceed to an inspection of your greenhouse.’
But at this, my interpreter sat up straight and, with the faintest shake of his head, spoke respectfully to the Deputy, who got stiffer and stiffer as he listened. He answered my interpreter in just the same quiet voice, as if each recognized the other’s dignity in front of a prisoner, and my interpreter responded in the same way, though his face got paler.
The mouse came into the room and re-crossed it on exactly the same track as before. Everybody saw it this time, but nobody chose to do anything.
At last, the Deputy’s interpreter received his instructions and said to me:
‘The Deputy thanks you for your information. Owing to the absence of a senior officer, he will not proceed immediately to inspection of your premises, but will take the earliest opportunity to see that this is done.’
My interpreter then gave the Deputy a very polite bow and left the room, on which the other interpreter said to me:
Q
: Have you any complaints? Because now is the time.
A
: No, sir.
Q
: No complaints?
A
: None, sir.
When they had put away their papers they all went out, and my squad took me back to the greenhouse. I saw
the Deputy and his assistants driven down to the camp, where the big gate was opened for them.
Before dark, all the officers were back in the house, the Colonel first, the others soon after him, in twos and threes. Last in was my young friend, cheerful as ever, with a wink as he ran past. But he was hardly in the house when he ran out again and called up my guards, who took me out and up the verandah to the usual room. Here I found the Colonel alone with my interpreter; but the Colonel spoke directly to me now, as if there was no point in pretending any more that he couldn’t. He said:
‘Well, my friend, you are growing braver every day. I hear that you were a model of honesty with the Deputy in all matters concerning me, but used your wits nicely in matters concerning you. This is not the sort of courage I admire, but I mustn’t say anything sharp to you, because you are now under the protection of the Prison Commissioner, who is eager to pick a bone with me for having sport with his Commandant. ‘You were brave enough to lie to the Deputy and say you had no reason to suppose that my horticultural friend hoped to take you off my hands. You lied because you knew that if you told the Deputy the truth, he would interfere. So, there is still a fair chance that in a few days you will find your ungrateful self carried off to the Garden of Eden: it is simply a matter of whether the Horticultural arm can grab you quicker than the Commissioner.
‘Kindly listen now to what I have to tell you. My horticultural friend has no need of you. He wants to help me. The Commissioner has no interest in you. He wants to punish me for playing jokes on the Commandant. So bear in mind, my friend, that you are only
an accident in this tug-of-war – someone who began as a personal joke and has grown into a general nuisance. All the power that remains to me is to shoot you out of hand in an emergency. After what you have done today, I would be glad to use that power – and it will be I who will decide, please remember, whether there is an emergency. That is all. Thank you and good evening.’
Next morning when the young officer passed, he gave not one look in my direction, nor was there a sign of a grin on his face. Later, I saw my interpreter come down the path with another officer, and he, too, seemed so grave that I felt sure the whole lot of them had heard by now what I had betrayed to the Deputy and were discussing what excuse they could find for wiping me out. The oafish guard, my brainless admirer, never sneaked one glance through my glass walls today and just returned his face to the brutality it had had in the days when he was ready to cut my throat. All the motions I saw, as my dreams disappeared and my panic grew, led to a new dream that I didn’t doubt at all – of six riflemen assembling behind the house, the young officer handing out an issue of ammunition, the coming to fetch me and the taking off of my glasses, even some uniformed carpenter planing a coffin. I stood picturing this without having the nerve so much as to move, the sun pouring through the glass and the sweat running down me like streams down the side of a bath, until I got so weak with my sweating that I couldn’t stand and got first into my chair and then onto my blankets in the cooler shed. Some would choose to be murdered, I suppose, with their head covered and eyes closed, but I had to see whatever horror was going to come and I lay staring out along the greenhouse path, seeing the guard’s legs pass slowly up and down. He put an end to this by coming suddenly to my door and getting me onto my feet with one growl and a wave: pointing at all my plants, he gave me to understand that I was not expected to spend the war stretched at my ease in the shade. The mumblings and growlings that came from his throat needed no interpreter: I knew they were the imbecile phrases that all blockheads learn from their dads and spout out whenever they can – that life is a struggle and toil a duty, that though the sun be hot only the lazy sleep, that we should all do nothing if we could, that it is not by dreams we grow the prize marrow. These were the only words this stupid ploughman ever spoke to me – and made me hate him because they showed he had lost all his respect for me. Not that I minded that much now, because I was beginning to realize something much more dreadful – that unless the agronomist came and took me away, I must escape to
MACKENZIE
before
MACKENZIE
managed to get to me.
