D. Compton - The Continuous Katherine Mortenhoe

‘Saner?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘I’d like to meet this Dr Klausen.’

‘No you wouldn’t, old son. He keeps a sense of humor. And he’s got his guilts well in hand.’

The telephone rang, making both men jump. But it was only Search HQ phoning in a negative report on the instructions of the Chief Inspector. Dr Mason got up, went to the window, leaned his forehead on the glass. Vincent phoned down to the cutting room — unless something happened pretty damn quickly he’d have to start knocking together some fill-in footage for the evening’s show.

Roddie’s behavior he did not think about at all. Certain things — like the Civil Liberties Committee or the nation’s tax structure — only annoyed his ulcer.

It was comedy spy-thriller stuff. Katherine and me squashed into the vanished part of one of Tommy Tucker’s vanishing cabinets. It had been designed for one occupant, and a pretty skinny occupant at that. But neither of us laughed much. Neither were we all that turned on by the thrills of sexual propinquity. We accommodated ourselves to each other as best we could, and waited… The van slowed at the roadblock and stopped. After a brief conversation the back door of the van was thrown open. I felt Katherine take a deep breath. If she had one of her shakes now, we were done for.

The van sagged as someone heavy climbed in. Grunting ensued as things were shifted about. ‘You’ve got enough stuff in here, dad. What’s it all in aid of?’

‘Royal Charter, that’s what. That’s what it’s in aid of. I tell you, some old king, George it might have been, or William, give Punch and Judy the right to twenty minutes, any time, any place.’

‘Yeah. Well, there hasn’t been no George or William around for a year or two now…’ The policeman was clambering nearer. ‘You got a license?’

‘A license?’ Tommy sounded worried. Were we going to be caught just because he didn’t have some bloody silly bit of paper?

‘That’s right, dad. A showman’s license.’

‘I sets up my show, see. Never cause no trouble. It’s the kids, they—’

‘Kids or no kids, you need a license.’ The policeman’s head was turned, looking out of the van. When Tommy didn’t answer he swore under his breath and started working his way out again. At his nearest he’d been a foot, maybe two, away.

Under cover of his banging about Katherine breathed again, and shifted her head against my chest. The policeman slithered down onto the road, followed by what sounded like a small avalanche of Tommy’s pots and pans. ‘I tell you, dad, if you’ve not got a license you’re in dead trouble.’

‘My brother taught me the way of it. He never had no license.’

‘That’s as may be.’

There was a long pause. ‘I got a permit? Is that what you mean? All showmen got permits.’

They went away around the side of the van, arguing. We relaxed. Good old Tommy. To any self-respecting policeman a license in the hand was worth two missing persons in the bush any day… Finally Tommy climbed back into the driving seat.

‘Now remember,’ the policeman said, leaning in, ‘if you see a couple like that by the road, don’t pick ‘em up. Just drive on to the next phone box and give HQ, a tinkle. The number’s there on that bit of paper.’

‘Me pick up a couple of loonies? You must be joking.’

He drove off. After what seemed a very long time he stopped the van and came and let us out. ‘They must want you bad,’ he said. ‘But I tell you one thing though — a couple of saner loonies I never seen.’

It was a testimonial I really needed. I smiled at him, hoping he’d notice. One way and another over the last couple of hours the blindness had been getting me very low, getting me so I no longer knew myself, no longer knew what I was. But Tommy knew.

You see, in the past I’d often imagined being blind. I’d thought of it in terms of doing things, of getting about, of not hurting myself. And I’d been wrong. Even in the strangest surroundings you can feel safe by a wall, or in a chair, or against some tree. No, the worst vulnerability is to be seen and not to see. There is nothing, no cloak, no box, nothing that will protect you from the eyes of those you know are there yet cannot see. I no longer knew myself. I’d felt it first in the night, talking in the van with Katherine. I’d felt it again standing in the sunlight, remembering Tracey. I no longer knew myself. Katherine and the old man, they talked together, and with me, and they didn’t seem any different, but I got back from them nothing of me.

Then Katherine jolted me out of my mood, had one of her shakes, a bad one. I helped her. She needed exactly what I could give: closeness. Poor Tommy was embarrassed and went away, I’ve no idea where. A long time later he came back with a bottle of milk and Katherine drank some. Later still I heard him pumping up a primus and prepared myself for the arrival of more all-purpose stew. But I’d underestimated him — it was water he was heating. The lady might like a wash, he said, over his shoulder, going again.

The trouble was that when Katherine was better she was so very much better. She was gay. There was a lightness about her presence that demanded little of me but that I couldn’t match. Tommy drove very slowly. I sat beside her in the back of the van and thought about Tracey. What would she see? Me? Me as I remembered myself, or me as a self-mutilated lunatic? And how would I know what she saw? How could she tell me what she really saw? They were pointless questions. They went round and round so that I was glad when Tommy announced a roadblock up ahead and we had to hide. At least the danger gave me something else to think about.

Gerald Mortenhoe’s school was at the top of a long slow hill. Tommy had been there to give shows, and remembered the approach. Katherine asked him to stop when he thought there was about half a mile to go.

‘Find a place where we can get out without being seen. If the police did happen to be there and you drove us in, you’d be in trouble.’

‘Old fool like me, they’d only chew me up a bit.’

‘Please, Tommy. I wouldn’t want you chewed up, not after all you’ve done for us.’

‘You know me. Never forget a face or a favor… Besides, you’re a real nice lady.’

He drove on a bit, then turned off the road and bumped along some sort of rough track.

‘It’s not far from here. Just across the fields. You can see the school between them trees.’

He stopped the van and we climbed out. ‘Tommy,’ I began, ‘you’ve been—’

‘Just across a couple of fields. Not too difficult.’ He leaned closer. ‘And mind you look after her. She’s not all that spry.’

If he wouldn’t be thanked, he wouldn’t. ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

Katherine called from a little distance away: ‘We’ll miss you, Tommy.’

‘Huh. You’ll be the first as ever has, then.’ He bashed his suffering gears into reverse. ‘Mind how you go.’

‘And you.’

He ground away, his engine yowling fretfully. In the distance it changed its note, checked, and climbed again through the forward gears, fading into silence. Other cars passed, going up and down the hill. Birds sang. There was a smell of wild garlic warmed by the sun. Far overhead an airplane hissed in the wake of its own echo. I was alone with Katherine Mortenhoe, on a vague track, by two shapeless fields, below unnamed trees and an inconceivable school. I heard her move behind me, a rustling of clothes as if she were sitting down. I went toward her, feeling the space about me with my ears, my skin. Learning. My foot struck something soft. ‘I’m finding it harder to stand,’ she said.