Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Of course not.’

‘They also serve who only stand and wait,’ she says, smiling.

‘Bet you don’t know where that comes from,’ says Larry.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Milton. His poem on his blindness. “Who best bears his mild yoke, they serve him best.” Meaning God, of course.’

‘How clever of you to know that.’

Larry sighs as he settles down to wait.

‘Over-educated and under-employed,’ he says.

Mountbatten shows up fifteen minutes or so later, striding along in a great hurry with Harold Wernher at his side. He sees Larry waiting and stops at his office door.

‘You want me?’

‘A very quick request, sir.’

In the office, Mountbatten hears him out, and turns to Wernher.

‘This is why we’re going to win the war,’ he says. Then to Larry, ‘Your father won’t thank me if I say yes.’

‘My father will be proud of me, sir,’ says Larry, ‘if you tell him I’ve done my duty.’

Mountbatten smacks his hands together.

‘By George, that’s right!’ he says. ‘I wish to God I could do the same. But surely, you’ve not been trained for this sort of command?’

‘Not a command, sir. I’ll go in the ranks.’

Mountbatten gazes at him, evidently moved.

‘Bless you, my boy,’ he says. ‘If that’s what you want, I’ll not stand in your way.’

The cellars at Edenfield Place are kept locked these days, and George Holland has the only key. He unlocks the cellar door and leads Larry down the steep steps, bending his head as he goes.

‘Watch out here. Low arch.’

Light filters into the cool vaults through dusty cobwebbed slots. Bay after bay is filled with bottles.

‘Mostly from my father’s time,’ says George.

‘Seriously, you don’t have to do this,’ says Larry.

‘Someone has to drink it,’ says George. ‘You’re his friend, aren’t you?’

He moves down the bays, peering at the labels.

‘St Émilion ’38,’ he says. ‘That should be good.’

He pulls out two bottles and gives them to Larry.

‘You must join us, George,’ says Larry.

‘No, no. It’s for the two of them.’

On an impulse he pulls out two more bottles.

‘There. Tell Kitty congratulations from me.’

Larry carries the bottles in the pannier of his motorbike, wrapped in his pullover so they don’t bang against each other. He transfers them to the kitchen table in the farmhouse and wipes them down. They’re standing on the table, glowing deep purple in the evening sunlight, when the outer door opens, and Ed enters.

‘Can’t keep away, can I?’ he says.

He sees the wine.

‘Grand Cru Bordeaux! Where in God’s name did you get this?’

‘It’s for you,’ says Larry. ‘For you and Kitty, from the lord of the manor. He says congratulations. And so do I.’

‘Word travels fast. I came here to tell you myself.’

‘I saw Kitty at the corps briefing.’

‘She still happy about it?’

‘She’s crazy about you, Eddy. You know that.’

‘And I’m crazy about her.’ He picks up one of the bottles. ‘Why such generosity from the lord of the manor?’

‘He has a soft spot for Kitty. Or had, I should say.’

Ed goes out into the yard to empty his bladder. Rex shows up, in a subdued mood.

‘I just heard,’ he says, ‘they’re fitting out warehouses by the docks as field hospitals.’

‘Won’t be long now,’ says Larry.

Rex touches the bottles of wine, one by one, clearly unaware that he’s doing so.

‘You want to hear a funny story?’ he says. ‘There’s this fellow in the RAMC who faints at the sight of blood.’

‘He’s in the wrong job, I’d say.’

‘I don’t faint,’ says Rex. ‘I’m fine with blood. But sometimes I think, what if I don’t know what to do? What if I do the wrong thing?’

‘Has to happen sometimes,’ says Larry.

‘If I do the wrong thing, someone dies.’

He takes off his glasses and looks at Larry, blinking.

‘Rex,’ Larry says, ‘you can’t think that way. You’ll go nuts. You’re a medic, you do your job. That’s all.’

Ed comes back in and tells Rex his news. Rex offers his congratulations, glancing at Larry as he does so. Ed proposes they open one of George’s bottles of wine.

‘So we can drink to Kitty,’ he says.

‘Not for me,’ says Rex. ‘I’m not a wine drinker.’

‘I know you’re teetotal,’ says Ed. ‘But this is Grand Cru Bordeaux!’

‘I just don’t like the taste,’ says Rex.

‘You’ll have some, Larry.’

‘You bet.’

The wine is good.

‘You don’t know what you’re missing, Rex,’ says Ed. ‘See the smile on my face? That should give you some idea.’

He refills Larry’s glass, then his own.

‘Two smiles are better than one.’

Ed decides to stay for dinner. They finish the bottle between them. Rex excuses himself.

‘Early night for me.’

Left on their own, Ed fixes Larry with his cool blue eyes.

‘Now comes the big question,’ he says. ‘Do we open bottle number two?’

‘It may not be as good as number one,’ says Larry.

‘That is true. That is very true.’

‘We could be gravely disappointed,’ says Larry.

‘We could,’ says Ed.

‘But we bear up under disappointment, don’t we?’

‘Always,’ says Ed. ‘The show must go on.’

‘So let’s risk it.’

Ed opens the second bottle, and fills Larry’s glass.

‘Still good,’ Larry says, drinking.

‘So far,’ says Ed.

‘We live in hope,’ says Larry.

‘The other reason I came over this evening,’ says Ed, ‘was to ask you to be my best man.’

‘Honoured,’ says Larry.

‘Kitty wants a church wedding. Not a grand do or anything. But she wants the full vows.’

‘Then she shall have them.’

‘All right for you. But I don’t go in for all that stuff.’

‘So what? You can go through the motions, can’t you?’

Ed sits back in the deep old chair in the corner and stares at the ceiling.

‘Yes. I can go through the motions. But I’m marrying the girl I love. I want it to be real. I want to mean every word I say. I don’t want to tell lies.’

‘You’re not lying. You’re just saying words that have no meaning for you.’

‘Would you do that at your wedding?’

Larry says nothing to that. Ed follows his own thoughts.

‘Kitty believes in God. I asked her why, and she said she didn’t know.’

‘You can’t ask why someone believes in God,’ says Larry. ‘It’s not rational. It’s just something you know.’

‘So how come I don’t know it?’

‘I don’t know. You must have believed once.’

‘I can see a thousand reasons for saying there’s no God, and no reasons for saying there is a God. But just about everyone in the world believes there is a God.’

‘So who’s out of step here?’

Ed jumps up, suddenly restless. He fills up their glasses once more, and starts to pace the room.

‘I want to be wrong, Larry. Believe me, I want to be wrong. I want to be on Kitty’s side. I want to be on your side. But I don’t know how to get there. I only have to look out of the window and I see what a shit-filled world we live in.’

‘Why call it a shit-filled world? What about all the beauty?’

‘And all the misery, and all the cruelty. The human race has a lot to answer for. Just look at this bloody war.’

‘Yes,’ says Larry. ‘There are bad men out there. But there are good men too. For every Hitler there’s a Francis of Assisi.’

‘I notice your good man is long dead and your bad man is very much with us.’