mess . . . but you’ll be with him tonight afterwards, and you’ll have plenty of time then, I don’t doubt – go on, man, go on!’
Fred gave up, and went ahead, out into the feeble glow of the hanging lantern, not knowing where he was going and almost without hope, but remembering the ORs’ favourite litany as he did so: ‘ Roll on death – demob’s bound to be a failure!’
‘Left, left – towards the light there – ’ Colonel Colbourne pointed down the pillared cloister ‘ – but don’t believe all he says, eh?’
The pillars were unreaclass="underline" only the utter darkness beyond them – a darkness emphasized by the flashed reflection of the occasional raindrop out of the millions which were falling in the open square outside the pillars – only that darkness was reaclass="underline" Colbourne wasn’t real either, and Audley was a nightmare from the past . . . and the allegation that this was a Roman fortress set the seal on them both.
‘All my officers are mad, quite mad,’ Colbourne confided, from just behind him.
Kaiserburg, he had been thinking. But now Colonel Colbourne and Captain Audley were in total agreement –
‘Quite mad.’ Colbourne agreed with himself. ‘In any sort of military sense . . . almost unemployable, in fact.’
The Kaiser’s Burg, Fred applied himself to his original thought, unwilling to let Colbourne and Audley agree with each other. But perhaps that wasn’t Kaiser Wilhelm’s Castle: perhaps it was Castra Caesaris . . . or would it be ‘Castrum’ Caesaris – ?
‘But as a sapper you’ll have no trouble with them – ’ Colbourne touched his arm ‘ – round the corner, then on your left there.’
dummy4
He was exhausted, and filthy, and he wanted a pee. But if that was the officers’ mess, he needed a drink, and a strong one, and a large one even more urgently.
‘And then . . . the Brigadier wouldn’t have asked for you if he didn’t think you were suitable – mmm?’ The Colonel rumbled question-and-answer in the back of his throat. ‘In fact, he said – Ah Amos! There you are!’
Major de Souza appeared in the wide double-doorway. ‘Gus!
You’re damned late for dinner. Your pig has been crying out for you – and so has Otto, actually.’
‘I’m sorry, old boy – I really am.’ The Colonel would have pushed past if Fred hadn’t already been trying to get out of the way. ‘But look here – I want you to get on to the RAF – try Wing Commander Fraser first, at Minden, he’ll know who to get on to ...
You remember him?’
‘I remember him.’ De Souza winced slightly. ‘But what do you want, Gus?’ He rolled an eye at Fred, sympathetically. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘Air photography, Amos – what about that, eh – ?’
‘Air photography?’ De Souza abandoned Fred, expressionless now.
‘What about air photography?’
‘It’s the answer to all our problems.’ Colbourne lifted a tumbler off a silver tray which had materialized out of the darkness at his elbow, held by a white-gloved hand on the end of a disembodied white-coated arm, without taking his eyes off Amos. ‘Got it off Freddie here – he’s a friend of John Bradford’s. Very clever young dummy4
man.’
‘I never doubted it.’ Amos misunderstood the reference suavely.
‘But I haven’t got any problems, that I am aware of. Except in the matter of demobilization, that is. And who the hell is John Bradford?’ he looked sideways quickly. ‘Otto! Where is Major Fattorini’s drink?’
‘Herr Major!’ The disembodied arm acquired a substantial body –
an immaculately white-coated body topped by a beaming red-brick face slashed diagonally by a line holding a black eye-patch in place. ‘Herr Major! My most profound apologies! What is your pleasure?’
‘I didn’t mean Freddie, Amos,’ snapped Colbourne.
‘He’s not a clever fellow?’ Amos simulated surprise. ‘I rather thought he was. Oxford degree, and all that – and a better one than yours, Gus, actually . . . Mathematics was it, Freddie? Are you a musician too? They say music goes with maths, don’t they?’
Fred was caught once again with his mouth open, midway between the piratical Otto and the baffling proximity of his Commanding Officer, and Amos de Souza’s transformed behaviour, and all the questions which had suddenly been directed at him.
‘Good God, Amos! Let the poor man order his drink, damn it! First things first – eh, Freddie?’ Colbourne seemed oblivious of Amos’s scorn. ‘You order your drink – and you come away with me, Amos, and I’ll tell you all about young Bradford . . .’ As he trailed off, the Colonel raised his head and stared into the encircling lamp-lit gloom in a series of jerky movements, as though he was dummy4
searching for something. ‘Where is young David? He’s never there when I want him . . . where the devil is he–?’
De Souza turned slightly, ‘ David!’
A huge presence loomed from behind the one-eyed Otto. ‘You c-called, Amos?’
‘Look after your friend.’ De Souza returned his attention to the Colonel as he spoke. ‘Get him a drink and introduce him to everyone . . . Now, Gus . . . you just tell me all about this John Bradford of yours . . . and about air photography – right?’ He pointed into the gloom.
‘Herr Major – ’ One-eyed Otto tried desperately to catch Amos’s attention.
‘Gently, Otto, gently! Your pig will just have to keep . . . Gus – ?’
De Souza’s hand shrugged off Otto and directed his Commanding Officer in a flowing double-gesture. ‘Just give us a few minutes.’
Mess rules, Fred decided belatedly: outside wherever the mess happened to be Colonel Colbourne was God Almighty; but one inch over the threshold of the mess he was primus inter pares –
just another officer, who talked military shop at his peril. And since he made the rules, those were the goddamn rules.
‘Don’t w-worry, Otto!’ Audley wound a great arm round the white-coated pirate familiarly. ‘Your pig won’t run away squealing. More like, his crackling will c-c-crackle even better!’
‘Ach! He will crackle all right – he will crackle all through, is what he will do! But where will all his good juices go? Up the fucking chimney, I tell you, Captain David – up the fucking chimney!’ One-dummy4
eyed Otto rounded on Audley angrily.
‘Well I like my meat overdone. Better a burnt sacrifice than one bloody offering, any day.’
‘So?’ Otto almost accepted this reassurance, but then rejected it.
‘But you are a child – you know no better.’ He shook his head at Audley. ‘The war has ruined you: you think you have won . . . but the truth is, you have lost.’ The shake continued for a moment, and then became a shrug. ‘We have all lost – that is the truth!’
‘No.’ Audley shook his head back at the man. ‘ You have lost – and the Yanks and the Russians have won –remember?’
Otto brought both hands – white-gloved hands – in front of him, chest high and clenched. ‘But they don’t have my pig.’
‘But the Colonel won’t blame you, Otto – he won’t know, will he?’
Audley matched Otto’s gesture, except that his big hands were unclenched and placatory, as though he was trying to sell the over-cooked pig.
‘Fuck the Colonel! It is my pig – and I know!’ Otto looked up at Audley. ‘And he was a good one – he deserves better, Captain David.’
Audley nodded seriously. ‘Fuck the Colonel – I quite agree: a very p-p-p-proper sentiment. But – ’ Suddenly he became aware of Fred, and clapped his hand to his mouth, looking from Otto to Fred, and then back again ‘ – b-but, hadn’t you better offer Herr Major Fattorini a drink, like you were ordered to – ?’