Boys and Girls Come Out to Play (46 page)

“He refused to come.”

“I am not surprised.” The Representative screwed an imaginary neck with two fists, and bellowed pleasantly: “I hope he has a death by torture; but I fear not,
au
revoir
,” and he moved off toward the sign of H. “If you see Mr. Divver …” Morgan shouted after him. But the Representative was lost in the crowd.

The station-hotel was the customary grimy and cumbersome structure. He pushed into a soiled lobby that was a madhouse of reckless, shouting people weaving around heaps of personal baggage. He found a vacant foot of window-ledge and sat there to catch his breath, his head spinning with the noise, his brain picking up odd and ends like a magpie:—he thought of the clamorous horror of it all, of his lost suitcases, of Mr. Hovich’s uncle, of the nuns and children, and of such airy things as the inscrutability of the Incomprehensible and the puffs of white steam that had preceded the whistles of the train. His knees were batted back and forth by the pushing mob, his ears sang, his empty, nervous stomach accompanied his ears with rumbles and trills. At last he pulled himself together and decided to find Divver: I have to tell him I’m safe;
that’s my last duty; and then back to a sane world where I can put myself together again. With calm intelligence he wrote Divver’s name and nationality in block letters on a slip of paper, set his jaw and fought his way to the desk, where the clerk, amid his own screams and those of a hundred questioners, at last scrawled Divver’s room number on the slip. That’s much better, Morgan thought, storming his way to the stairs like a veteran boarding-party; I am at last making use of my brain.

The noise of the lobby dropped away, he found Divver’s room in a threadbare corridor, and walked in.

The rest of the world might be entering chaos, but there was only peace and order in this bare room. And, for once, Divver seemed to be in tune with his surroundings: he was reading calmly in a chair, looking as serene as if he and the Forces had at last reached a happy, conclusive agreement. He arose pleasantly and greeted Morgan; they shook hands and sat down. “Wow, what a din outside!” said Morgan. “Have some
schnapps
and bread?” said Divver, “I don’t have anything else.” “I didn’t bring a
damn
thing out of Mell with me,” said Morgan, relaxing, “not a thing: yours or mine.” “Who cares?” said Divver, laying out a bottle and a roll of bread; and indeed there was something idyllic about having only the clothes one stood up in, and plenty of money.

“You can guess what happened to me,” Divver said: “it took me half the night to find the doctor, and then, after persuading him to come along, the police stopped us on the main road and made me take him back.”

“Well, that’s all to the good. I saw Larry for a moment this morning and he was in perfect health.”

“Just what I thought. I worried a certain amount about
you,
but not too much, to tell you the truth; I felt you would manage O.K.”

“Made the train by the skin of my teeth, as a matter of fact.
Just give me five minutes to ease up and I’ll move on to the consulate.”

But Divver was obviously in no hurry to get rid of Morgan any more. “Take your time, don’t kill yourself,” he said nonchalantly: “
I
am enlisting in the Polish Army.”

“Oh yes?” said Morgan; and althought the idea gave him a certain shock, it soon seemed like a perfectly reasonable one; perhaps the only one under the circumstances.

“In fact I have already done so,” said Divver: “I was directed to a plain-clothes recruiting-sergeant, who typed out an application form and told me to sit tight until I was called. It only cost ten dollars—he said that was to cover a foreign volunteer’s special uniform. Of course, there may not actually
be
a Polish army right here, but some sort of a National Guard would do me just as well.” “Of course it would,” said Morgan, “but I hope you’ll look out for yourself.” “You bet I will,” said Divver, “I never felt freer and safer than after I gave my passport away this morning. I guess there were periods this summer when you thought I had become a raving idiot.” “I was too tied up in my own woes to care very much, Max.” “Well, it’s all over now, and I can’t for the life of me understand how I ever got mixed up with that old phoney. Did his wife come back? No? I guessed she wouldn’t. Did he weep on your shoulder?” “No, I can’t say he did. He seemed to have picked up his old toughness.” “What did he have to say?” “Oh, you know—angry ravings about everyone.” “About me?” “Some, yes.” “Well; what?” “Oh, that he’d make you sorry for walking out on him, and so on.” “And how did he plan to do that, may I ask?” “Well, I took for granted that he meant to revenge himself by staying in Mell to work for the Nazis.”

Divver’s mouth fell open: he caught Morgan by the shoulders, shook him, and yelled: “Is that a joke? Are you crazy?”

“No: don’t you think that’s what he meant?”

“Do I think so! What in hell gave you
that
idea?”

“But Max, you know his type.”

“Type hell: did he
say
he was going to stay and work?”

“No, but he swore to make the Poles pay, as well as you and the ministry.”

“And what did
you
say?”

“Why, I don’t think I said anything: I was too surprised: I mean I wasn’t too surprised. I always took for granted that he was that kind of man.”

“
What
kind of man? You don’t imagine that I would ever have had dealings with a Nazi, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then prove what you are saying.”

“Why, I always took for granted that a man who behaves like him is a dictator. And he’s done very well for himself in Europe, so I think he would work for
anyone
rather than go back. If you must know, I once heard
her
say that he would.”

“Her?”

“His wife.”

“When did
she
ever say anything like that?”

“What does that matter? I heard her say it one day, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“Yes, but I don’t believe
he’d
do it … Yes, by God, I do believe he’d do it … By God: it’s just what he
is
doing. Over my dead body!”

He ran to the door and down the stairs, Morgan after him. Next moment, Divver was clawing his way through the mob in the lobby; Morgan caught up with him on the sidewalk unlocking the door of the ministry car. “Where are you going, Max?” he cried. “To Mell, of course,” said Divver. “Should
I come?” “I would hope you would insist on coming,” said Divver.

*

The car, freshly ornamented by Mr. Hovich that very morning with impressive governmental insignia, passed out of the city without hindrance. In half an hour they turned off the main road and Morgan, with the distaste of a man stepping back into a wet bathing suit, felt the discarded town’s grey streets closing in on his body. Divver began to drive very slowly, the car’s engine fell into a faint hum. “We don’t want to announce our arrival or he’ll take a powder,” Divver said.

He parked the car in the lee of the cathedral, took off his jacket and threw it over the hood. Then he led the way to the hotel, hugging the house-fronts and walking as quietly as possible. “He may try to get tough,” Divver said in a whisper, as they sneaked up the very edge of the marble steps, “so let me go first.”

“What will we
do
with him when we find him?”

“Oh, I don’t know for sure; break his neck maybe,” said Divver.

As they tiptoed up the stairs, Morgan’s heart began to thump with excitement; but when he saw the old corridors and numbered rooms, he was filled with the grouchy disconsolation of anti-climax: I have had a bellyful of this layout, he thought, his stomach sinking with resentment. “You stand at the drawing-room door,” whispered Divver, as they approached the suite, “and
hold
the 
knob
tight
in case he tries to get out there. I shall enter by the bedroom.”

Morgan gripped the knob. Divver padded on down the passage. Outside the bedroom he stopped, drew breath ferociously, and then suddenly hurled himself througth the door.

At once the suite sounded as if elephants were playing in it: the curtains whipped, doors crashed open and shut, crockery
smashed to the floor. Then there was a pause, a hoarse whisper—and Morgan felt the knob turning in his fist.

He resisted with all his might, grappling the shiny brass: he shouted: “Here, Max! Hi! got him!”

The knob turned violently under his fingers; the door opened, and Divver’s face appeared in the slit, saying hoarsely: “Shut up, for Christ’s sake; it’s only me. You’ll scare him out of the damn country.”

Much ashamed, he followed Divver back into the drawing-room. They closed the doors and sat down. “The little bastard has got away,” said Divver: “but what’s all this?”

The suite was in perfect order, but in the centre of the drawing-room was a big cabin trunk bearing a piece of paper with the words: “NEUTRAL PROPERTY AMERICAN CITIZEN.” “Well, I be ——!” said Divver, glaring at the paper: “the nerve of the little skunk!”

“What do we do now?” Morgan asked, hoping faintly that they would return to the car and peacefully drive away again. “It’s possible that he’s just gone out to the john,” said Divver, narrowing his eyes like a detective. “But he’s got his
private
john right here, Max.” “True, true; a sound point,” said Divver: “well then, he may have gone down to the bar, or somewhere. We had best stick around quietly for a hour or so and see if he comes back. I’ll stay in this room. You go sit behind the bedroom door.” “And hold the knob?” “Don’t be a dope. How’s he going to get in if you won’t let him?” “Oh, sure, excuse me.” “And stay alert,” said Divver.

Morgan took the uncomfortable gold chair on which he had once hung his evening clothes, pulled it behind the door and sat on it. The engineer’s bed was as it had been a few hours ago, except for more ash on the undersheet and no occupant in the blue pyjamas. He lit a cigarette and sat puffing gloomily, a bored warden of democracy. “No smoking,” said Divver’s voice, “he may smell.” Morgan dropped the cigarette on the
red carpet and watched it burn its way into the heart of a rose before he moodily smeared it out. You will probably never be a sane man again, he said to himself.

Fortunately, Divver’s patience ran out before an hour was up. “Let’s get moving,” he said, “we’re probably just wasting valuable time—more of what I wasted all this summer. We might find the little bastard in the bar; he’s a great boozer. Come on.” Divver was looking more outraged than ever: he said: “I’ll find him if I have to tear the whole place apart”; and he stalked quietly down the passage, Morgan following like the tail on a mad dog.

In the bar, Divver exclaimed “Ah-ha!” and pointed to a fancy bottle of cordial, standing out with an empty jigger beside it. “I’ll bet he’s been here and that this was the only thing left to drink.” He pushed through the wicket gate and ran his finger over the bottles: they teetered and fell to the floor with a crash. “—— it!” said Divver, wincing, “but that’s what it is, I’m positive. Now, let’s see—what sort of place would that sort of a man be likely to go on to from here? Where would he wait to receive his Nazi friends?”

“He might hide in the cathedral,” said Morgan, picturing the car outside it and hoping that seeing the car might distract Divver from searching.

“Sanctuary, huh? Yes, a likely choice,” said Divver, nodding grimly. “O.K. let’s go—and
quietly
. Fortunately, once it gets dark we won’t have to sneak around like Indians.”

“How long do you think we should search?”

“Until we find the little creep. He’s not likely to have left town on foot.”

“Do we search the
whole
town?”

“If necessary.”

As they came out, the clock hands touched the hour of four. The figures appeared on their roundabout; God struck the Devil three clanging strokes and then suddenly desisted, his
club poised; the two green images stood in the sun stock-still, waiting to be wound up again. The big hands of the clock continued into the minutes as usual, with strict, peremptory jerks. “What a hideout!” said Divver.

They stepped through a side door and stared into the huge dark body of the church, its twelve little domes swelling around the topless central cupola.

But the engineer was not in the pews, or the side chapels, or the seats of the choir. The further they searched the more fanatically exacting Divver became, raising the lids of cushioned seats to peer into hollows that could scarcely have contained a child, descending into the vaults with a huge wax candle, climbing the narrow stairs to the belfry, where the swollen spring of the chimes tinkled loosely on its pivot. He opened each little side-door into each of the tiniest retreats, his energy mounting with each disappointment. At the end of a long stone passageway, he opened an arched door, peered through and said: “Here’s one jaloppy they never thought to take,” and Morgan saw faded hoops of flowers over the rear-end of the old green car, and, beyond, the metal door which divided the garage from the square. This view of a familiar thing from an unexpected point-of-view gave him quite a shock. “I’m just about done in,” he said, looking hopefully at Divver.

But Divver’s face reminded him of his own when, seized by terror, he had almost lost its cause in unquenchable determination to follow an exact method. Divver seemed almost to have forgotten what he was looking for and to be searching for the sake of search alone. “It will be dark in half an hour,” he said, “and then we’ll comb the cafés, one by one.”

They proceeded to do so, Morgan pausing to cram his empty stomach with stale rolls. As the hours passed, a complete exhaustion overcame him; he followed along without seeing anything but Divver’s advancing back, noticing only that Divver
gradually dropped every attempt to be silent, until finally he was pounding on doors with his fists, and shouting. “I’m through,” he told Divver: “I’ll go on searching in the morning if you insist, but I
have
to sleep now.” “There’s a couch in the lobby,” said Divver, disappearing down the stairs of a cellar: “we’ll meet there.” Morgan stumbled away over the square and up the hotel steps—and there indeed was a big leather couch, to which he staggered with outstretched arms, blind, deaf and dumb.