Conversations with Myself: Chapter 5 - The Last Glimpse

I should explain here. Pardon my abrupt pause earlier on, but my reasons were clear. I know my duty, and must not shirk from it.

Now where was I? Ah yes. Well, I had to intervene on Rose’s behalf. Thank God Richard had forgotten to place the gas mask back under the table. Besides, I had to make up for his preposterous rudeness. Hence, I drew his attention to the gas mask to make him remember the closeness the two had shared during the air raid. My variety of sentimental tools is quite effective, more than any tangible material if I may say so.

My narration would be a trifle useless without a general view of the people in Richard’s family. We will start with a person I disregarded in my first episode of story-telling: my boy’s father. England did not suit the adventurous young gentleman. Keen on experiencing the world first-hand, he set out on turning his teenage dream into reality as soon as he left college.

Three places struck him as extraordinarily intriguing during his travels. Venice took him on an expedition through historical paradise on a gondola, passing close to the majestic Piazza San Marco. The city of canals was indeed a striking place to live in, but Patrick did not fancy building a house close to water. So he moved on.

Next was Poland. Łódź captivated him, as his many footsteps on the Piotrkowska Street could tell. Poznań was a fortress in its own right. Patrick was a sucker for history, and he buzzed swiftly towards Poznań like a bee to pollen.

Two years following his graduation, Patrick’s pockets were worryingly light. A decision to withdraw to his homeland proved fruitful; his career as a teacher soon reached its peak, and a promotion to education inspector was all but knocking on the front door. A letter brought his head back underneath the clouds.

To give you a brief summary of what the letter said: A dodo bird had a higher IQ than that of the Maltese population (Malta being a British colony) on account of so many uneducated adults, clinging on to their fields and offspring. Patrick was being sent to help bring education to the island’s populace.

Though disheartened, Patrick did not indulge in self-pity. Malta’s story was rich and alluring, a hoard of various remains of prominent nations and cultures. Thus it came as no surprise that Patrick was enthralled by the small island of Malta. Arabs, Normans, Knights and the detestable French had all set foot on this rock and transformed it into a cultural pearl in the middle of the Mediterranean.

It was not long before a maiden by the name of Rose (one of the intelligent few coming from a middle-class family) sent him a ravishing smile that set his pulse racing. As is the case with all soppy love stories, several months of courting gave rise to a blossoming marriage a couple of years later.

Unfortunately, Patrick was nothing if not a spendthrift (as his numerous travels can testify) and poor Rose (despite coming from an educated family), was nevertheless, literally poor. It was all the young couple could do to pool resources together and find a suitable place to live.

Life proceeded normally from then onwards until two events uprooted the family: the birth of Richard (a happy one) and Death employing Adolf Hitler as his lapdog (a sad one).

Now that I have given you a general background of the main characters, I must prompt you to recall where we last left off. In the light of my success at setting Richard’s feelings down the right path, I shall be recounting the story from now on. That is, unless Richard interrupts me again.

If memory serves me correctly, Richard, Rose and that sorry little dog (my boy was suffering from a scientific obsession when he named the dog, ‘Newton’) were about to tour the streets of Valletta.

Rose was the last to leave the house, shutting the door behind her. Newton was already racing Richard mindlessly, with my boy following as fast as he could. His mother traipsed behind them, the tip-tap of her patent leather pumps ricocheting in the narrow spaces between houses.

The streets were bustling with activity. Everybody appeared to be in a great hurry, heading this way and shoving unlucky pedestrians out of their path.

Suddenly the dog turned tail and, manoeuvring through people’s legs, bounded up to Richard with a sloppy look on his stupid face. The idiot of a boy crouched down to catch the ugly mongrel in his arms, his right knee crunching against the gravel.

Joyous saliva drenched Richard’s hair and face. I cringed in disgust, repressing the urge to let my personal irritation and anger mar Richard’s short-term sanctity. The dog was a welcome distraction, if totally devoid of any brain cells. They started racing again, dodging the press of bodies around them.

Something still plagued Rose. I could see her conscience working laboriously, almost giving in to despair. Even though Rose’s conscience and I disagree on many matters, she must be credited for her perseverance. Richard’s mother remained dead calm, her impassivity actually betraying her frantic urgency. Her silent, expressionless face worried me.

Finally, she called out. “Richard, wait.” Her pace quickened and the intricate curls of her hair bounced in rhythm to her slight jog. I could tell Richard wanted nothing more than to pretend he hadn’t heard, but I’d fuelled enough guilt into him to get him to acknowledge his mother.

“Where do you want to take Newton?” she asked. Her eyes riveted on the dog; she did not look at Richard.

“Wherever he goes. He leads and I follow,” Richard replied innocuously.

“Well we mustn’t let him out of our sight. We have to stay close to home. The sirens could go off at any minute,” she said, lifting her eyes anxiously towards the skies. The whiteness of her exposed neck contrasted with her knee-length black dress fanning out at the shoulder pads. I thought she looked vulnerable.

A shout of “Newton!” followed by two shrill, abrupt whistles brought the dog to heel.

“I think those were Junkers Ju-87 yesterday. I’m not sure though,” Richard offered timidly. My guilt was doing its work. It was rare indeed for him to continue the conversation any longer than he should.

“Really? Where did you read about them?”

“One of my new war books. Sounded like they were out in strength.”

They were both thinking of Patrick, I could hear it in their voice. He had bought all of Richard’s new war books. The subject wasn’t raised though, it was simply too painful to talk about.

“Well, it’s not safe around here anymore.” Her conversational tone made me jumpy, and I’m afraid I couldn’t cover up quickly enough. Richard pulled me closer to himself, relying on his feelings for guidance. His guilt was sliding off.

“I should be receiving a letter soon.” Richard kept his mouth shut, Tension reached an unbearable peak before she spoke again:

“It would be from your father’s aunt, Mrs Falcón.” Rose had caught up to him now, but she still wouldn’t look at her son.

On impulse, Richard asked, “The one in Mdina?”

“Yes,” she spoke softly as if revealing a scurrilous secret. “I sent her one myself, asking her to take you in until the war lasts.”

So that was it. I knew she had an ulterior reason for wanting to spend her time with my boy ‘exercising Newton.’ What a polite way to put it.

“Are you coming with me?” Richard asked. His mouth was exceptionally dry and his heart hammered against his chest. He trembled.

“I can’t Richard. Your father’s aunt and me…we’re not exactly the best of friends. She kept trying to convince your father to join the war effort. I felt he would have gone on his own accord, but she didn’t have to invade our household with her letters. We could have bought one of our own at that time if we wanted to. She kept dropping hints that a wife’s duty is to support her husband because I wanted him to stay at home. We argued constantly…but I suppose you know that.”

Rose faced Richard then. I found out I preferred the inscrutable Rose compared to this emotional wreck.

“And?” Richard’s lips trembled.

“I wrote her a letter back. She might live in Mdina but she’s definitely not my superior. There were no more letters after that. But now I’ve had to write to her again, to ask her to – ”

“So you’re sending me away?!?” Richard replied, attempting to keep his voice from wavering. His whole body had gone still.

“She still has to send her acceptance. Richard, I want you to be safe.”

Rose inched closer, and cupping Richard’s cheeks with both hand, finally told him what had been on the tip of her tongue since they received the dreaded KIA letter.

“I love you.”

I slipped.

He wrenched himself away forcefully and started walking away. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, and turned round. I could never have controlled what he said next.

“I hate you!”

People stopped and stared.

The words were hurled like pebbles from a sling. I tried to reach him, but I might as well have been talking to a book. I was unable to break down the walls of anger he had erected around his mind. This had never happened before. I’ve always managed to make myself felt in one way or another, but on that day, he managed to block me out completely.

Richard started to run and Newton followed. Rose froze, her head bowed and hands clasped.

Rose grew smaller and smaller as Richard ran and ran. He never looked back once, and I couldn’t tell him to.