What had haunted him, he told Cuthbert, was the face of the man eating the snake, showing the sanest and most pitiable eyes he had ever seen. Each pore of his skin was corroded, eating himself, and whoever his eyes turned on. It was less painful to look at the snake he was eating. The face, at the moment before turning to the snake, was one of pain, desperation, self-loathing, panic, fear, awe, the terror of letting go and, finally, courage.
He saw the face later when Handley’s brother John found him in Algeria. On the final night when they were making their way down the hillside to a waiting boat that would take them to a ship out at sea, John had run back up the rocky slope with the intention of staying behind. He didn’t want to go — out and back to England — but Dawley had subdued him and forced him to the beach. In the dim light of a torch he had seen the same multiplicity of expressions on John’s face as had been on the snake-eater’s in the desert before he turned to consume the snake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A ginger-haired youth of eighteen, with a checked and gaudy shirt showing under his open jacket, got out of the car with Enid and Maricarmen. He had freckles and bright grey eyes, a narrow forehead, and the smooth skin of a well though not overfed face. He looked around nervously but, standing in the yard, seemed confident that things would ultimately be all right. To threatening belly-shuffles from Eric Bloodaxe he leaned his rucksack against the kitchen wall, and returning to the car he freed two basket-loads of groceries.
‘This is Dean,’ Enid said, when Dawley and Cuthbert approached. ‘He helped us get the stuff to the car park in Hitchin. He was coming in this direction, so we gave him a lift.’
‘Hi, there!’ said Dean, a hand held out in a friendly manner.
Cuthbert ignored it. ‘Are you American, then?’
‘No, siree! Just a bit of old Limey down from Nottingham, on my way to hitch-up with some of the lads in London. They’ve got a grotty pad in the Earls Court.’ His language was a prattle of false American and raw Nottingham and, undiscouraged by Cuthbert’s glacial stare, he turned to Dawley — who saw no reason not to greet him properly, though he hardly touched the hand when he shook it.
Maricarmen, struggling across the yard with a box, wondered why there was so much smoke in the paddock. ‘Dean can stay to lunch,’ Enid said defensively. ‘He’s been a great help.’
The provisions were quickly got from car to kitchen, where Myra stowed them into their various store-places. Dean stayed in the sun, sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, eating an apple filched from one of the baskets. ‘What did you say your name was?’ Dawley asked.
‘Dean W. Posters,’ he said readily, ‘as my old man named me. But for shit’s sake don’t ask what the W stands for or I’ll have to tell you it means William — Billy for short — though I allus use Dean ’cause it suits me better.’
Frank crushed an impulse to laugh. ‘Are you on the move?’
‘Since last week. Decided to hop it. Get out of the mill race. Threadin’ bobbins was never my idea of the good life.’
‘What is?’
He threw the apple-core as far as it would go. It wasn’t far, because soft arms showed below the rolled sleeves. It hit the side of the Rambler, however, and left its mark there. ‘Wain’t know till I find it, will I? Don’t even want to find it. The good life’s in looking for it, you know.’
Frank stamped his cigarette. ‘I can smell cooking.’
They washed hands at the kitchen sink, then collected their stew and went into the dining-room. Ralph, Maricarmen and Enid were already eating. Cuthbert sauntered in, and Richard and Adam came from upstairs.
‘Where’s Mandy?’ Handley said.
‘In bed,’ Ralph told him.
Handley left his steaming plate and ran three at a time up the stairs. ‘Leave her be, for God’s sake,’ Enid shouted. ‘He’ll get ulcers one day if he don’t stop disturbing his mealtimes for a thing like that.’
‘Or we’ll get them,’ Dawley said.
‘What have you been burning, Ralph?’ Cuthbert asked, unmoved by the disturbance. If his father wanted ulcers who was he to stop him?
‘Rubbish,’ Ralph said with a faint flush. ‘I’m clearing the garage.’
‘Make sure it is rubbish,’ Cuthbert said. ‘Once it’s burnt you can’t bring it back.’
Ralph stood, as if he would reach over to Cuthbert and stifle him. ‘What are you trying to accuse me of, you unfrocked priest?’
Frank looked at Ralph. ‘Sit down and eat.’
‘He’s got too much on his conscience,’ said Cuthbert, spearing a carrot from his soup. ‘Otherwise he wouldn’t get so hot under the collar.’
‘Another word from you,’ Enid said, ‘and you’ll be outside.’
Dean’s head was bent to his stew. Frantic shouting came from upstairs. A door slammed, and Handley walked back into the room, breathless but smiling. ‘The princess will descend in a few minutes.’
‘Lovely,’ Dean said, his plate empty.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ Handley demanded, noticing him for the first time.
He stood, as if to be polite. ‘Dean William Posters. I’m on my way to the Smoke.’
‘He helped us with the provisions at the market,’ Enid said, ‘so we asked him to come and have a plate of stew.’
Handley sat, breaking his slab of brown bread into chunks before dipping. ‘Can you poach?’ he asked. ‘Not eggs — rabbits.’
‘No.’
‘Where you from?’
‘Nottingham.’
‘So’s Frank. Rare old place. And you can’t poach?’
Dean helped himself to more stew from the huge tureen. ‘I was two years threadin’ bobbins in a lace factory, and then I thought: this is no bleedin’ life for me. Too much like ’ard work.’ The more he ate the more his Nottingham accent came back.
‘You’re at the right house,’ Handley said, ‘if you don’t like work’ — looking meaningfully around. ‘What put you off?’
‘I’d done enough. I’m eighteen, and I left school at fifteen. So I thought I’d get on the move, see what I could make, hitch to Turkey, maybe India. I hear blokes do.’
‘What about money?’ Cuthbert asked.
‘I’ll peddle,’ Dean leered.
‘Peddle?’
‘Hash. Mary-Jane. Scrubbers bristles. Holy Smokes. Make plenty of gravy.’
‘So that’s what William Posters has come to,’ Handley grinned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it, would you, Frank?’
‘Young kids get up to anything,’ he said.
‘What did your parents say when they heard you were going off like that?’ Enid wanted to know.
‘Mam cried a minute. Dad thought it was natural. Didn’t like me giving up my job, though. Saw a dazzling career in boobin-threadin’, Dad did. A job to him is a sort of paradise. Dad was young before the war, and allus talked about what life was like without a job. He thieved for a while and got shoved inside. Then he thieved again and was on the run. All through the war he was on the run. Used to make a joke about Bill Posters being prosecuted, and the bastard even named me William as a joke, so’s I’d carry the name on. But I’m not Bill bloody Posters. If I go on the run it’s at my own fair speed. Speed, see?’ he laughed, mouth full of food.