Conversations with Myself: Chapter 6 - The All Clear Sounded

I am giving you an account of what I remember in words. I have changed much since then and can use words as honestly as images and feelings.

We soon stumbled upon an abandoned part of the city. Richard collapsed on the spot, drenched in sweat and exhausted.

Unfortunately, I cannot describe the route we took then. Not even Richard can remember the streets we went through.

***********************************************

I was supremely concerned, confused and scared. Richard had been so convinced that his mother had been trying to rebuild their relationship from scratch. Where did this turn of events leave the two of them?

I could tell Rose’s decision to send Richard away had to do with the heavy bombardment Valletta was enduring at the time. Later on I found out from her conscience (even consciences which have lost their humans can convey images) that Rose herself did not fear the bombs. Valletta had been her home for her whole life; she would live out the war in it, or not at all.

You’ve heard the expression: to break one’s heart. Poor Rose’s heart had been broken into three parts.

The first latched itself to Patrick as he left the house one final time, never to return. Rose had refused the possibility that her husband might actually leave until the moment came. Both Patrick and Rose had argued relentlessly before the day of departure arrived, so much so that she doubted whether her love for him had diminished. Only as the door creaked shut behind him did her feelings break free from the restraining leash she had lashed them to and overwhelmed her.

After Patrick left, both mother and son had convinced themselves that there was no reason to live, and it was up to their consciences to convince them otherwise: they still had each other.

The second piece of Rose’s heart went to her son when he had told her he hated her.

The third, smallest piece she kept for herself, a heart that depended on her good memories – a manner of survival in this insane scenario of war.

**********************************************

Richard was still as stubborn as when his mother had told him about being sent to Mdina. He was so hurt and angry, he would not let me get through to him. I found myself searching for loopholes around his mind to make him see reason. It was like banging on a steel box.

Resting his back against the wall, my boy sank to his knees. Curling his arms around his legs, he shut himself off from the rest of the world, wallowing in self-pity.

Newton’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. His sides heaved, making it look like a barrel of black sweat. Its eyes were large and mournful. What a simple creature. It went over to Richard, covered his face with saliva and settled down at his feet. Surprisingly, its bacteria-infested spit softened him up a little.

The walls of his mind lowered and I instantly started to worm my way in Richard’s thoughts.

Then I heard the word:

Hurry.

Although it shames me to admit it – I panicked.

The word had me retreating into myself, leaving Richard to his own devices. It took me a few moments to recollect myself, but I strove to function calmly. I identified the ‘word’ as belonging to Life, even though I had never heard Her speak. And wherever Life was, Death was never far behind in this war.

N.B. In peaceful times, Life and Death fly a flag of truce. However, Life and Death are not very diplomatic. The ease with which they could start a war and end it is far more appealing than the endless quarrels and squabbling. So war is how they settle their disputes.

Life had never paid me the least bit of attention. Not that I minded – I was just another conscience after all. Events were surely amiss if Life had seen fit to contact me then.

Sirens screamed. Richard’s mind reeled in terror, blocking me out once more. He sprang up and ran. Trouble was, he had not troubled to take note of the route he had taken.

Newton could have outrun a horse, he galloped so fast.

Life spoke to me again, this time more urgently.

Hurry.

My boy ran flat out, exhaustion forgotten.

To my relief, I found myself able to help Richard – the barriers he had renewed around his mind when the sirens rang were forgotten when he thought of his mother.

“Mum, mum!” he shouted hoarsely, unthinking. Actually I was doing the thinking for him. Mum means safety and comfort. Mum means everything would be all right. You spent 9 months inside her and nothing ever hurt you. Go back to her. Find Mum.

Herds of humans flooded the streets as they shot out of their homes, heading straight for the shelters. They were the prey the Germans had come to seek. Someone pushed him. He shoved. Someone shoved him. He pushed.

Newton was nowhere to be seen.

The crowd carried Richard away in their frantic run for the shelters, washing him outside the ‘Yellow Garage’ shelter.

I’m afraid the story becomes strongly intense here, so I’ll just leave it to the human narrator to finish it off.

***

Richard distinctly recalled his father speaking about the ‘Yellow Garage’ shelter. Home was not far from here. Desperately he ran, swinging his head from side to side and praying he would recognise a familiar road, house, shop. Anything.

His speed deteriorated fast; fatigue was settling in again and his bones seemed to get heavier. Although summer had not yet come, the weather was unimaginably hot. A brewing hurricane of Savoia Marchetti SM79 bombers shot overhead, leaving death where Death desired.

The city sheltering the Grand Harbour was shaken ruthlessly, again and again.

Richard mistook a couple of crucial turns, costing him precious time. A sense of utter futility replaced his fear as he ran and ran. Bombs exploded a few hundred yards away, engulfing the buildings in their smoky aftermath. Richard’s exhaustion overcame his fear.

A street of abandoned shops came in sight. Richard froze. Sooty black paint disguised the used-to-be barber’s shop at the corner of the street, but the boy recognised it at once. Sweat stuck strands of his hair to his head like leeches take to blood. Excitement grew. He took a few cautious steps before leaping forward again.

Yes, this is it, he thought. I’m nearly there. The bombs were still dropping but he didn’t care. He was nearly home. The closer he got, the larger the clouds of dust seemed to be. Fear grew. His feet barely touched the ground. Richard nearly choked as a cough filled his throat. He rounded the last corner for home.

Rubble greeted him in the space where his house used to be, where it had been that same morning. Death had already passed through here. By a stroke of luck, Richard had missed it. His mother had welcomed it. The young boy’s mouth opened in a soundless scream as he stumbled upon the debris. His knees bled from the indifferent ends of sharp rock. Richard wretched from the large amounts of dust he inhaled. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as if he was undergoing a violent fit.

Apologies were beyond him now. He would never tell her how much he loved her, how sorry he was.

The enormity of this tragic event, the loss of both parents forced Richard into convincing himself that all would be well.

Maybe she’s fine, she’s in a public shelter. She isn’t buried under this…

Richard collapsed in an unconscious heap, his lungs saturated with dust.

***

1. I can tell you she wasn’t.

2. I can tell you she was.

But it was best for him not to know the exact circumstances of Rose’s death. It was best for him not to know she died before the air raid started.

***

The All Clear sounded.