James Benn - A Blind Goddess

“You’re supposed to be on a train to London,” I said. “Wait a while and then call. Tell them it’s a loose end you’re wrapping up and have them leave a message with Constable Cook when they have the skinny.”

“I will use those exact words, Billy,” Kaz grinned. He had a thing for American slang, the more obscure the better.

At that moment, a loud voice sounded off from the entrance to the bar. “What are them damned niggers doin’ here?” A GI with corporal’s stripes and a red neck stood in front of a pack of his pals, his jaw jutting forward in a show of aggression.

“You shut your mouth, soldier,” the barkeep said, a middle-aged fellow with salt-and-pepper hair. “I’ll have none of that talk in my establishment. Either turn about and walk out, or order your drinks and be peaceable. There’s enough war waiting for you across the Channel, I can promise you that.” He pulled his sleeve up over his elbow, and thrust his forearm toward the new arrivals. A twisted cord of scar tissue ran all along his arm. “Got that at the Somme, and counted myself lucky. So spend your time here in good cheer, gentlemen. There’s pain and fight enough waiting in France.”

The room was silent. The barkeep leaned forward, resting his ruined arm on the bar, watching the corporal, who looked stunned by the response. One of his pals whispered to him, and he shook him off roughly before he stalked out, muttering about niggers and Englishmen. His friends shuffled their feet, unsure of their welcome.

“What’ll you have, boys?” boomed the barkeep, and that was that. They went up to the bar with sheepish grins, shillings jingling in their palms. Tension eased out of the air, and the hum of conversation and laughter returned. But it was only a fight postponed. This was neutral territory and the bar was manned by a guy who knew the ropes. It wasn’t anything like that in the world outside.

“Not the best representative of the American type,” a voice said from my side. It was Ernest Bone, from the sweet shop. I introduced him to Kaz, who agreed with his assessment of the departed corporal.

“You don’t harbor any ill feelings toward the colored troops, Mr. Bone?” I asked.

“None at all. Those fellows behave themselves, and would never enter an establishment as that lout did. Pity your army doesn’t treat them better.”

“They got a combat unit not far down the road from your shop,” I said. “Tank Destroyers.”

“Indeed. They’ve got maneuvers laid on for tomorrow. The whole village is buzzing about it. Most want to watch and the rest are worried about the fields and fences being torn up. I’d like to chat, gentlemen,” Bone said, draining his pint. “But I must excuse myself. It’ll be an early morning tomorrow, getting the cart ready and all. It’s a good chance to sell to the onlookers if the weather’s decent. Good night.” He touched his cap in the old-fashioned manner and we wished him luck. I secretly wished for some myself.

“He was one of Neville’s customers, wasn’t he?” Kaz asked.

“The one who was turned down for the loan. He’s starting the renovations himself.”

“Optimistic chap,” Kaz said. “Rationing must make it difficult to sell delicacies in a small town like this.”

“He’s near the girls’ school at Avington. People always want candy, don’t they?”

“I prefer my sweets from the dessert cart at the Dorchester,” Kaz said. “But it will be some time before we dine there again. Now let me find a telephone and make that call.”

I stayed and had another pint. I watched the darts match, which the locals won. Their Negro opponents were from Greenham Common air base, and four of the biggest fellows in the bar walked them out to their vehicle in case of trouble. It wasn’t in the cards tonight, but I wondered how much longer before this powder keg blew. I found myself hoping for the invasion to come around soon, just so we’d have a common enemy close at hand.

The morning was crisp and bright, sunlight lifting the heavy dew off grasses and leaves, filling the air with the scents of springtime, a ripe dampness that carried the promise of life. It was invasion weather too, the season for returning young life to the soil, a morbid twist for our times. Kaz had made his telephone call to MI5 about Crowley the night before, and we stopped at the police station to see if a message had been left. The place was locked up tight. The street was deserted and quiet, except for the sound of a bicycle on cobblestones. I wondered where Diana was right now. On a train to Scotland? Or sitting in an SOE office in London, receiving an official reprimand.

“Everyone’s over at the Common,” Doc Brisbane said, slowing his bicycle to a halt. “It’s the maneuvers. The army said people could watch from the roadside. I’d guess there’s a crowd by now, and the constables will have their hands full. Thought it best to be there myself in case I’m needed. Plus I wouldn’t mind seeing those Tank Destroyers tearing about.”

“We may as well go watch ourselves,” Kaz said as the doctor pedaled off.

“Sure,” I said, starting the jeep. “We can swing by the Avington girls’ school. Ever since Laurianne Ross told us about Margaret Hibberd showing up there, I’ve been curious about where she disappeared to.”

“Right,” Kaz said. “Diana told us none of the girls observed her bicycling away out the main drive.”

“I’d like to know if there’s another route away from the school, and where it leads. Maybe we’ll bump into Constable Cook. We can ask him about Alan Wycks and let him know we’re expecting a call.”

“I also telephoned Big Mike last night,” Kaz said as we headed out of Hungerford and into the countryside toward the Common, a large stretch of open land between Kintbury and Hungerford. “I asked him to try and find Diana. He said he would get Colonel Harding to ask some questions.”

“Thanks, Kaz. But I doubt MI5 will admit to any Yank where they’ve sent her. But it’s worth a shot.” We had to take a few detours where roads were closed for the maneuvers, due to the large number of units involved in addition to the 617th Tank Destroyer Battalion. We finally got on the road to the Avington School, and as we came to the drive, Miss Ross was leading her charges out.

“We’re going to watch the maneuvers, Captain,” she said, the girls letting loose with a chorus of excited giggles. “Do you need to speak with me?”

“No, I just wanted to check around the back of the school, if that’s all right. Seems like everyone is headed to watch the maneuvers today.”

“It’s like a parade,” one of the girls said. “We hope it will be awfully loud!”

“Go ahead, Captain Boyle, look around all you wish,” Laurianne said, busily organizing the girls into a single file. Walkers and bicyclists were flowing into the roadway, like people headed to a parade or a county fair.

“Guess there’s not much entertainment in the wartime countryside,” I said to Kaz, as we drove slowly up the drive to the school.

“Perhaps the locals like the Negro soldiers and want to see them in action. I am sure many of them have been told by your countrymen that Negroes are incapable of fighting. Seeing Tree and his unit driving their armored vehicles will make quite a statement.”

“Could be,” I said, still trying to get used to the idea of white people cheering on well-armed Negroes. I parked the jeep on the side of the school and we walked around back. There was a neatly laid-out vegetable garden, taking up much of what had once been a lawn. Chickens squawked in their coops and rabbits stared at us blankly from within the confines of their hutches.