The Insulators (11 page)

Gloria Adamson stood in a small room, naked, with a peculiar glow shining on her from all sides and from the ceiling. It was like having a shower without water. There was a big square of glass in one wall and she could see the children, sitting in chairs which were too big for them. George was eating a bar of chocolate, so he was happy; and Lucy had an ice lollipop in her left hand and the red water ice was smeared over all her lips and chin,
she
couldn’t be happier. Two nurses and a young, coloured doctor were with her.

No one was with Gloria.

She stood as still as she could, fidgeting a little, feeling as if she were being watched all the time. She had her arms folded in front of her, shielding her breasts. At one place on her hip there were the shimmery stretch marks on the skin which had come after she had carried George.

Suddenly, a man said as if he were inside the room: “All right, Mrs Adamson, thank you. If you’ll open the door you’ll find a dressing gown behind it. Put that on and then come through the shower room – we want to wash everything off you – wash your hair as well, if you will, and use plenty of soap. Then come through the second door.”

“Am I all right?”
she cried.

The man appeared not to hear her.

She was trembling as she did what she was told. The shower was pleasant and she soaped herself freely, then rinsed and dried, but once that was over she slid her arms into the voluminous white towelling dressing gown, and began to shiver. When she opened the second door she was in the surgery of the doctor she had seen just before coming in here, but this man was different; tall, slim, nice looking.

“You’ve got to tell me!” she cried. “Are my children all right?”

The man said reassuringly: “As far as we can judge, yes.”

“Was it gas?” she cried.

“Mrs Adamson,” the man said, “we aren’t yet sure. But it wasn’t one of the conventional gases, I can assure you of that. I am in charge, my name is Dr Palfrey, so I would be the first to know.”

“It won’t matter whether it was conventional or not if it kills me or my children,” Gloria said. Dressed in white with the collar tight about her neck and her dark hair curly and dishevelled, she looked most attractive, and her eyes glowed bright as glass. “I want to know what it was.”

“As soon as we know for certain we’ll tell you.”

“I want to know what you think it might be!”

Dr Palfrey did not answer, but a change came over him, and his expression softened. He stretched out his hand in a kind of appeal, and then said huskily, and very slowly: “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I do.”

“All right,” he said. “We think it possible that you and your children have come in contact with radioactivity. There have been traces here and there, although radiation does not appear to be everywhere in the dust. We are applying all known tests, to try to make sure, and we are using all known cleansing and decontamination methods.”

She seemed to recoil.

“There was an accident at a nuclear power station,” he told her, and that was as near the truth as anything could be. “I promise you that we are doing everything we possibly can.”

She seemed to choke.

“You mean—that green dust was radioactive?”

“Parts were. All of it could have been, but there are some most encouraging signs,” the doctor replied.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “My children.”

“We’ve done everything—” the doctor began, but she silenced him by an imperious wave of her hand, and with something more – her expression. She was not beautiful, and until this moment he had not even thought her striking-looking or attractive. She took on some quality which he hadn’t noticed before, as she said: “But there were
thousands.”

“Thousands of what?” he asked, as if puzzled.

“People,” she said.

“You mean in Leofric Square?”

“Everywhere – everywhere the green dust fell.”

“I know,” the doctor said.

“Who’s helping
them?”

Dr Palfrey moved towards her with a hand outstretched, and this time she did not back away. His face was very close to hers now, she saw the delicacy of his features, sensed his understanding and compassion. He did not actually touch her as he said: “They are going through the cleansing stations as fast as we can get them through: civil defence is really in action. And the streets and houses are being washed with a newly discovered decontaminating agent as fast as it can be done. Meanwhile, you are being a great help, Mrs Adamson.”

“But
I
can’t help them!” she cried.

“Yes you can,” insisted the doctor, and for the first time she felt that she had seen and heard him before. “We are checking your skin – your blood, your saliva, your urine, everything which might indicate whether you have been contaminated. Every modern test has been applied both to you and your children. If you and your children are free from contamination then everyone else is free from it. And once the people know that, it will be a great help, because there is much fear and despair abroad.”

She put out her hand, in turn, and touched his gloved hand. He did not shrink away, for fear of contagion; he seemed completely at ease, and so put her at her ease.

“But how will that help?” She wanted to know.

“I want you to go on television,” Palfrey said quietly. “I want you to be interviewed and I want you to be photographed undergoing all the tests you’ve already done, and others in addition. And I want to tell everybody in England that you are—”

“A guinea pig,” she exclaimed.

Palfrey laughed: “In a way. You’ll be wonderful for their morale if you will just be yourself.”

“I expect I’ll be terribly self-conscious,” she remarked.

“Will it help to know that you’ve been televised since you stepped into the ambulance?” asked Palfrey. “What we’ve just said is on tape and can be broadcast with the picture.”

She threw up her hands, and exclaimed: “
You devil!”

Palfrey laughed again, and asked mildly: “May we show the pictures?”

“But I was in the altogether!”

“And a very nice altogether, too,” rejoined Palfrey. “Mrs Adamson, what we need is someone to behave naturally, like you do, to show fear at times but not to be terrified or hysterical. The country has suffered what might be a devastating blow and if the worst comes to the worst – well, few of us will live much longer. But there are some encouraging signs. You and your children came through the skin test very well – there are no signs of radiation damage. And the geiger counter – do you know what a geiger counter is?”

“Of course I do,” she retorted. “Do you think I’m daft?”

Palfrey chuckled. “If you’re daft, the rest of the world is absolutely crazy! I—” there was a faint buzzing sound behind him, and although he didn’t look round, he stood up. “Just stay there and watch and listen, please,” he said, and went to the door and then pressed a button.

A man said: “We’ve found Jimmy Adamson, Sap.”

“What did he say?” gasped Gloria.

“Is he with you, Stefan?” asked Palfrey.

“No, but he’s on the telephone.”

“Have you put him in the picture?”

“Yes. He would like to talk to his wife.”

“Put him through to me, first,” Palfrey asked, and he beckoned with his free hand to Gloria, who came hurrying, tripped over the loose belt of the towelling robe, fell, and grabbed at Palfrey to save herself. In that moment she seemed to be clinging to a lover.

A man said: “This is Jim Adamson,” in a strong north-country accent.

“Jimmy!” cried Gloria.

“Mr Adamson,” Palfrey said, easing her away from him. “Your wife has undergone a number of examinations including one in which she was bathed, while completely unclad, in a ray which is a new and very stringent test for radioactive contamination of the skin. We would like to broadcast the pictures on television because we think they will show all other people who might be affected that every conceivable check has been made. If they can be positively assured by morning that all the tests have proved negative, they will be greatly reassured.”

There was a short pause before the man spoke again.

“Why did you have to choose my wife, can you tell me that?”

“She was available at exactly the time a Civil Defence unit in Coventry was ready to make the tests. May we go ahead?” Palfrey’s left arm was bent, the telephone in his hand, the other arm was round Gloria’s shoulder, restraining her from grabbing the telephone. “May we—”

“I want to talk to her myself,” Jimmy Adamson declared.

“She’s standing by me,” Palfrey said, and let her go at last.

The odd thing was that when she had the telephone in her hand she was very quiet, and when at last she said: “It’s me, Jimmy,” her voice was hardly audible. But Adamson’s was brisk and clear.

“Do you know what they want to do, lass?”

“Yes, dear,” she answered.

“Don’t let them make you do it if you don’t want to,” he said.

“What about whether
you
mind?” she asked.

“You do what you think you should,” he said, in that forthright north-country voice. “If any of the lads at work make any cracks I’ll smack their heads together.”

Gloria gave a funny little laugh. Her husband said hoarsely: “Goodbye, lass,” and rang off. Gloria put the receiver down slowly, and Palfrey saw the tears in her eyes: in those moments a pleasant-faced but ordinary-looking woman became quite beautiful. Soon, out of the tears and the passing beauty came a bubbling little laugh, and words came bubbling, too.

“I don’t know what my Dad would have said, or Mum, for that matter.” Then she put her hands out to Palfrey. “You will look after my children, won’t you?”

“As well as I possibly can,” Palfrey promised.

She gripped his hands, looked into his face for a few seconds, and then asked: “Why do I seem to know you, doctor? Where have I seen you before?”

“You’ve seen my photographs in the newspapers, you’ve seen me on television at times of crisis, only a few months ago when there was a great scare about women going barren—”

“Oh,
now
I know!” she cried, her eyes lighting up. “And there are some books about you. You’re—
Dr Palfrey!”

“That’s right,” Palfrey said.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Gloria Adamson. “It’s like mixing with the crowned heads!”

And she looked happy – although her whole body might be impregnated with radioactive dust, and before long she might die.

On the television screens of the nation that night she looked sad, wistful, scared perhaps, but always composed. When the pictures of her bathed in pale light were shown, she looked quite lovely; woman, as idealised by man; the body beautiful.

Stefan Andromovitch watched, so did Joyce Morgan, so did nearly every man and woman and child in Great Britain. Only in a few of the main centres was there any life in the streets, even the heart of London, in Piccadilly, Leicester Square and Soho, seemed deserted. Waiters, chefs and kitchen staff, stood or sat by the empty tables, watching the screen.

In the great houses of the land, people watched.

In the big apartments and the houses of the rich, people dropped everything and watched.

In the slum areas and the crowded places where the workers lived, everyone watched. And across Europe millions joined the watchers as the drama was played out, for it was relayed by Eurovision, while across the Atlantic millions watched as it was relayed by Telstar. In addition to these countless millions, hundreds of millions more listened to the simultaneous radio broadcast. Great crowds gathered in India and Pakistan, in Africa, in Russia and in China, as a commentator translated. The peoples of the whole world knew what was taking place; knew of the green dust and the horror it could mean; knew that all mankind was facing a common danger.

Palfrey, who was commentating on television, linking up the various aspects of the situation, sensed what was happening. Gloria Adamson was transformed from being a simple wife and mother, into the hope of the world, representing the hopes not only of women but of man. The curious thing was that although most of the pictures had been taken when she was not aware of the significance of what she was doing, she was touched with some quality which carried into the homes and the hearts and the hopes of people.

And Palfrey explained what had happened and how they, the authorities, had selected Gloria as the focal point of the investigation, now and again he explained in non-clinical language the nature of the tests. And he kept saying one thing in many different ways.

“If Mrs Adamson is proved to be free of any effects of radioactivity, then we can be reasonably sure that we all are . . .

“We are of course carrying out hundreds of similar tests, we shall not be guided simply by this one . . .”

There would be shots of nuclear research stations, of laboratories where radioactive dust was harnessed and used to create nuclear energy, of scientists at work – as Philip Carr had worked so often, handling the deadly substance through thick windows, wearing every kind of protection needed; and there were other pictures, showing the great green clouds in the sky, showing the dust drifting downwards until it covered the fields and the rooftops and the streets and the people.

“We have to face the fact that if this dust, which is lying thick over a huge swathe cut through the agricultural and industrial heart of England, is radioactive then we the people, everyone touched by the dust, is in grave danger. The ultimate situation could be worse even than that in Hiroshima, when the first atomic blast was so decisive in the war in the Far East. At the moment, no tests show that it is except in very occasional places near the source of the explosion. We cannot be absolutely sure that the radioactivity will not spread; that there is no latent radioactive dust in the green.”

There would be pictures of men in protective clothing collecting small quantities of the green dust, of it being conveyed to research laboratories, of the use of the geiger counters.