At the end of the row of shops I halted once again, suddenly aware how unusual I must look to these people. Already I had earned several curious stares. I estimated that I had left the barricade an hour and a half before, and that the time now would be around five or six in the evening. I realized how tired I was, in addition to the other symptoms I was experiencing.
Because of my dirty clothes, my unkempt hair, my unshaven face, my two months’ odour of dried perspiration and urine, my limp and the flecks of vomit on my shirt, I felt unable to approach any of these people.
The pain from my leg was now almost beyond bearing. I became obsessed with the thought that I was an offensive spectacle to the people, and turned off into a side-road at the first opportunity. I carried on as long as I could, but my weakness was overwhelming. A hundred yards from the turning I fell to the ground for the second time that day, and lay helplessly. I closed my eyes.
In a while, I became aware of voices around me and I was lifted gently to my feet.
A soft bed. Cool sheets. A body cleaned with a bathful of hot water. A painful leg and foot. A picture on a wall; photographs of smiling people on a dresser. Discomfort in my stomach. Someone else’s pyjamas. A doctor winding a bandage around my ankle. A glass of water at my side. Comforting words. Sleep. I learned that their names were Mr. and Mrs. Jeffery. His first name was Charles; hers was Enid. He had been a bank manager, but was now retired. I estimated their ages as being in the middle or late sixties. They were remarkably incurious about me, though I told them I had come from outside the town. I said nothing of Sally or Isobel.
They told me I could stay as long as I wished, but at least until my leg had healed.
Mrs. Jeffery brought me all the food I could eat. Fresh meat, eggs, vegetables, bread, fruit. At first I registered surprise, saying that I thought they were impossible to obtain. She told me that the local shops had regular supplies of groceries, and could not understand why I had thought this.
“Food is so expensive though, dear,” she said to me. “I can hardly keep up with the price-rises.”
I asked her why she thought prices had increased.
“It’s the times changing. Not like they were when I was younger. My mother used to be able to get bread at a penny a loaf. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I just pay up and try not to think about it.”
She was marvellous to me. There was nothing that was too much to ask of her. She brought me newspapers and magazines, and Mr. Jeffery gave me cigarettes and some Scotch whisky. I read the journals eagerly, hoping they would be able to give me some information on the present social and political scene. The newspaper was the Daily Mail and was, as Mrs. Jeffery told me without any apparent surprise, the only one available at the moment. Its editorial content was mainly foreign news and photographs. There was no mention anywhere of the civil war. There were very few advertisements, and those were in the main for consumer-goods. I noticed that the price was thirty pence, that there were only four pages, that it was printed twice a week and that it was published from an address in Northern France. I passed on none of these observations to the Jefferys.
The rest and comfort allowed me time to think more objectively of the situation. I realized that I had been concerned mainly with my personal life, and had given no thought to what our long-term prospects would be. Though I fretted mentally at my inactivity, I recognized that it would serve no useful purpose to move until my ankle had healed.
The questions were the same whether or not I was able to find Isobel and Sally. In my unwitting role as refugee I had of necessity played a neutral role. But it seemed to me that it would be impossible for this to continue in the future. I could not stay uncommitted for ever.
In what I had seen of the activities and outlook of the Secessionist forces, it had always appeared to me that they adopted a more humanitarian attitude to the situation. It was not morally right to deny the African immigrants an identity or a voice. The war must be resolved one way or another in time, and it was now inevitable that the Africans would stay in Britain permanently.
On the other hand, the extreme actions of the Nationalist side, which stemmed initially from the conservative and repressive policies of Tregarth’s government (an administration I had distrusted and disliked) appealed to me on an instinctive level. It had been the Afrims who had directly deprived me of everything I had once owned.
Ultimately, I knew the question depended on my finding Isobel. If she and Sally had not been harmed my instincts would be quieted.
I could not directly contemplate the consequences of the alternative.
I felt the dilemma was largely of my own sponsorship … had I been able to come to grips with it earlier, I would not now be in this position. On a personal, practical level I could see that whatever future there was for us, it would not be one in which we could settle until the larger issues around us were resolved.
On the third day at the Jefferys’ I was able to get up and move around the house. I had trimmed my beard, and Enid had washed and repaired my clothes. As soon as I was mobile I wanted to pursue my search for Isobel and Sally, but my ankle still pained me when I walked.
I helped Charles with light tasks in the garden and spent several hours in conversation with him.
I was continually surprised by the lack of awareness displayed by both him and his wife. When I spoke of the civil war, he referred to it as if it were a thousand miles away. Remembering the injunction given to me by the man at the barricade not to speak of the Afrims, I was cautious about discussing the politics involved. But Charles Jeffery was not interested in them. As far as he was aware, the government was dealing with a difficult social problem but that the solution would be found in the end.
Several jet aircraft flew over the house during the day, and in the evenings we would hear distant explosions. None of us mentioned them.
The Jefferys had a television set which I watched with them on the evening of the third day, fascinated to learn that the service had been restored.
The style of presentation was similar to that which had once been adopted by the BBC, and in fact the station identification was given as that. The content of the programmes was largely American. There was one short news-bulletin in the middle of the evening, which touched on issues local to the south-coast towns, making no mention of the civil war. All the programmes were pre-recorded, and consisted in the main of light entertainment.
I asked the Jefferys from where the programmes were transmitted, and they told me that they were part of a closed-circuit wire system, broadcast from Worthing.
On the fourth day I felt that my ankle had healed sufficiently to allow me to move on. I had a growing restlessness in me, emphasized by a feeling that I was being seduced by the friendly comfort of the Jefferys’ house. I could not believe it to be real, but thought of it as an artificial restoration of normal life in an abnormal state. The Jefferys would be incapable of appreciating this, and I said nothing of it to them. I was genuinely grateful for what they had done for me, and while they were able to maintain their illusion of normality I wanted to have no part in breaking it.
I left them in the late morning, knowing that I could never fully express either to myself or to them what the short stay had done for me. I headed for the coast road.
I encountered no difficulty at the barricade. The men who guarded it were unable to understand why I wished to leave the town, but once I had made it clear to them that I genuinely wished to leave, they allowed me through. I told them that I may be returning later in the day, but they warned me it would not be as easy to re-enter as it had been to leave.