Hammond Innes: The Doomed Oasis

A slight movement of the shoulder, that was all the answer he made. It wasn’t a shrug, more a muscular twitch as though he was impatient for me to go. ‘Mr Grant is only trying to help, Dafydd.’

‘Dammo di! What the hell good is a lawyer man now? It’s done, and arguing about it won’t alter anything.’ His voice trembled. And then he turned on me, a flash of pale amber eyes, and told me to get out, the words violent, laced with obscenities.

‘Dafydd!’

But she was frightened; she had no control over him. ‘All right,’ I said, and I moved towards the desk where I’d left my hat. ‘I hope for your sake,’ I added, ‘that your father’s condition isn’t serious.’

‘He’s not my father.’ The words flashed out from between clenched teeth. ‘I’d have killed him if he’d been my father.’ I turned to find his pale eyes fixed on his mother. ‘1 mean that, Ma. I swear I’ll kill the swine — if lean ever find him.’ The words had a violence and a bitterness that appalled me.

‘He’s not himself,’ his mother murmured. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’ Her hands were plucking at the apron round her middle and her brown, doe-like eyes were wide with fear. She knew he’d meant it.

‘You’d better get control of yourself,’ I said. ‘You’ve done enough damage for one day without threatening more and frightening your mother.’

But now the pressure inside him couldn’t contain itself any more. ‘You get out of here.’ He said it quietly and because of that his words had force. ‘What’s happened here is nothing to do with you or anyone else. It’s between my mother and me.’ He spoke through clenched teeth as though he were still trying to keep some control over what he was saying. And then suddenly he lashed out wildly, all control gone: ‘When you’re suddenly told you’re illegitimate, and your sister’s illegitimate, too, you want to know a little more about it, don’t you? You want to talk it over with your mother — ask her a few questions, find out who and what the hell you really are.’

He flung out an arm, pointing dramatically at the album on the floor. ‘See that? Uncle Charles’s scrap book. She subscribed to a press-cutting agency. Every story the newspapers published about him — it’s all there, pasted in with loving care. My own mother clinging to the worn-out bed of an old love. Jesus Christ! It makes you want to weep. And me and Sue coming up the wrong side of the bloody blanket, and being fooled into calling that poor drunken sot Dada.’ He stared at me balefully. ‘Eight years old I was when I first stole a peek at the contents of that book. A relation, that’s what she said, an uncle of mine. Started me getting interested in Arabia, it did. I thought he was a bloody hero. Instead, he’s just a low-down, dirty heel who left my mother flat. Well, what do you say to that, eh? You’re a lawyer. Maybe you can tell me what I ought to do about it?’ And he glared at me as though I were in some way responsible.

And then he suddenly moved, a quick step forward that brought him face-to-face with me. ‘Now you just get the hell out of here and let me talk to my mother alone, see.’ His eyes had a wild look, the sort of look I’d only seen once before on a boy’s face, but that had been in the midst of battle.

I’d known how to deal with it then. But this kid was different. It wasn’t only that he looked tough; I had a feeling he was tough. Well, I’m not exactly soft, but I don’t walk into things with my eyes open. But then I glanced at Mrs Thomas, saw how scared she was of him, and after that there was nothing for it but to stand my ground, not knowing what exactly he’d do, for I could feel the tension building up inside of him again. He was like a spring coiled too tight.

And then the ring of the ambulance bell sounded down the street and the violence suddenly died out of him. It drew up outside the house and a moment later two hospital attendants came in with a stretcher.

The attention of the three of us was focused then on the man on the couch. He murmured as they shifted him, an inarticulate sound, and Mrs Thomas, fussing over him now, spoke his name. The tone of her voice had a quality that is only possible between people who have shared their lives together, and it seemed to reach him, for his eyes flicked briefly open and he murmured her name. ‘Sarah.’ It came thickly from his twisted lips, obscured by the effort of moving half-paralysed muscles. ‘Sarah — I’m sorry.’ That was all. The eyes closed, the face became clay again, and they took him out.

Mrs Thomas followed them, sobbing uncontrollably. The door swung to of its own accord and the room was still. ‘I shouldn’t have hit him. It wasn’t his fault.’ The boy had turned away and his shoulders were moving. I realized suddenly that he was crying. ‘Oh God!’ he sobbed. ‘I should have known. If I’d had any sense, I should have known.’

“You couldn’t have known he’d have a stroke,’ I told him.

He turned on me then. ‘You don’t understand.’ The tears were standing in his eyes. ‘He and I — we hated each other’s guts. I can see why now. But at least he stood by us, poor sod.’ And he added viciously, ‘He was a damn’ sight better than my real father. If I can ever lay my hands on that bastard-’ He checked there and gave an odd little laugh. ‘Bastard! That’s funny, isn’t it, me calling him a bastard.’ He turned away then, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘I wish I hadn’t hit him,’ he said quietly.

‘He’ll be all right.’

‘You think so?’ But then he shook his head. ‘No, he’s going to die. That’s what the doctor said. He was the only father Sue and I ever knew,’ he added, ‘and now I’ve killed him.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense. It’s not as dramatic as that. He’s had a stroke — and anyway you’re entitled to defend your mother when a man hits her.’

He looked at me. ‘Did she say that?’ And then he laughed, a little wildly. And after a moment he said, ‘Yes, that’s right — he hit her.’ And he added, ‘Christ! What a bloody mess!’ The door of the ambulance banged in the street outside and he turned to stare out of the window. The engine started and it drove off. As though its departure had started an entirely new train of thought, he swung round on me. ‘You’re Whitaker’s lawyer, aren’t you?’

The name meant nothing to me, but then no doubt Mrs Thomas’s allowance had been arranged by Evans years ago and it would be handled by my clerk as a matter of routine. ‘Whitaker is the name of your father, is it — your natural father?’

‘That’s right. My natural father.’ He spoke the word slowly, savouring it for the first time. And then he said, ‘I want his address.’

‘Why?’

‘Why the hell do you think?’ He was back at the window again. ‘A bloke’s got a right to know where his father lives, hasn’t he?’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t know his address.’

‘That’s a lie.’ He came back to me, his eyes searching my face. ‘Well, you’ve got it on your files, haven’t you? You could look it up.’

‘If he’s a client of mine, then I’m not at liberty to disclose-’

‘Not even to his son?’

‘No, not even to his son.’ I hesitated. The boy’s temper would cool and after all he’d a right to know where his father was. ‘If I’ve got his address,’ I said, ‘then I’ll write to him if you like and get his permission-’

‘Oh, don’t give me that crap. You know bloody well where he is.’ He caught hold of my arm. ‘Come on. Arabia, it is — somewhere in Arabia. Tell me, for Christ’s sake.’ He saw it was no good then and began to plead: ‘Please, I haven’t much time and I got to know. Do you hear? I got to know.’ There was a desperate urgency in his voice. And then the grip on my arm tightened. ‘Let’s have it.’ I thought he was going to hit out at me and my muscles tensed, ready for him.