The Invisible Wall (19 page)

         

ANOTHER THING CAME
to occupy everyone's mind on the street. This was the return of Freddy Gordon to his home, or what was left of him. They were clearing out the hospital so that it could be a school again. The soldiers who were better walked out and went home. Those who were not and who still could not walk were carried off to other hospitals that were less packed now than before, or else, if nothing further could be done for them, they were shipped home. Freddy was one of those.

They brought him home in an ambulance. We watched as it came, and we rushed down to the Gordons' shop to see Freddy being carried out. One of the attendants did it all by himself, lifting the half-body up in his arms and carrying him as if he were a baby being taken out of a pram. Freddy smiled at us and waved a hand. Inside the shop, old Mr. Gordon had risen from his chair and was standing, staring, his thick fleshy cheeks ashen and deathlike. Florrie had come out of the taproom and was staring too.

His homecoming had been a bit of a surprise to them. We got this from Mrs. Green later. Florrie had been trying to delay it as long as possible.

“She warn't too anxious t' 'ave him,” the toothless old woman cackled, the Friday after Freddy's return. She spoke to the fire as she prodded with the poker and brought the flames leaping upward. “After all, what's she going to do with 'im? Pickle 'im? He wouldn't be any good to her in th' shop. The old man's just a step away from death's door, and that'd set her free, and that's all she wanted, to get away and marry that man in Birmingham. He's still waiting for 'er. But now Freddy's in the way. She's been trying to get the hospital to ship him out to one of those soldier homes where they've got a lot of other fellows without legs or arms and things like that. And they were going to do it too, except that Freddy didn't want it and got 'em to send him 'ome, and 'ere 'e is, and I know what Florrie's going to try next. She's working on me Annie to take Freddy off 'er 'ands, but I'll see to it that doesn't 'appen. Not as long as I live.”

She poked furiously, and sparks shot up in the fireplace, and all of us listening said nothing. We felt sorry for Freddy. How could you not? Especially when Florrie began putting him outside in the wheelchair the government had given them. There he sat wrapped in blankets, the lower part of his body, the missing legs, well covered. It made people think of Mr. Turnbull up at the other end of the street. There he sat, too, all day long, looking miserable. We now had one at the top and one at the bottom of the street.

“Just like two ornaments on a dresser,” said Mrs. Humberstone sadly, coming over one day to chat with the Jewish women, about the only one who still did that after the war ended. “The poor lad. He just sits there.”

She went over there to talk to him too, and a lot of other people on the street did the same thing. He wasn't yet strong enough to wheel himself about, and he was always glad to have people come over or to stop and chat when they were on their way into the shop.

I went to the shop one day to get a cob of white bread for my mother, and his face lit up at the sight of me.

“Ar, lad,” he said. “You're still growing, aren't you? Bigger than me already, though that wouldn't take much doing, would it?” He chuckled, and looked up at me with something glinting in his eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. But it didn't last long. He kept right on chuckling. “Remember the old days, when you used to come in for ginger beer for Sarah? Eh? And how is Sarah? You ever hear from her?”

I told him what I knew, what her mother had told my mother, and he nodded, and stared straight ahead of him up the street and said, “Well, that's good. I'm glad to hear it. She deserves her luck. She was a nice girl, Sarah. A good girl. We had some fine times together. When you write to her give her my best. Tell her I still think of her.”

I didn't say anything. I felt awkward, remembering the talk in my mother's shop and the things they'd said about Freddy, and thinking how unlikely it would be for my mother to let me write what he asked to Sarah, if ever we should write to her.

I went in and bought my bread, Florrie waiting on me. When I came out, Freddy reached up for the bag and said, “Look here, lad, you do me a little favor, will you? Give me a push up the street, and I'll hold the bread for you.”

I gave the bag to him, and grasped the handles at the back of the chair, and just as we were about to start off Florrie came to the door.

“Where d'you think you're going?” she asked.

“We're taking a little ride,” Freddy said. “Just up th'street a bit. Maybe I'll stop off and see Annie.”

“That's not such a bad idea,” Florrie said. “Maybe she'd like to come on back with you and have a glass.”

“Maybe,” said Freddy. “I'll ask her.” He chuckled. “I'll ask the whole family, her mother too.”

“That old hag?” Florrie snapped. “You don't have to bother with her. I can do without her.”

“I know that.” Freddy chuckled again, and we set off.

It was easy pushing the chair, and I rather enjoyed doing it. I think some of the other lads on the street, watching, envied me. I suppose our journey up the street, the first time Freddy had done it, attracted a lot of attention. People came to their doors and stared. When we got to the Greens', Annie was already out there, looking flustered and glad.

“Oh, hello, Freddy,” she said.

“Hello, Annie. How you be?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “And how you be?”

“I'm fine. How's little Peter?”

“He's just champion. You want to see him?”

“That'd be nice.”

But before Annie could turn to go in, her mother was there at her back, her eyes murderous and glaring.

“Now, what's this?” she said. “What's going on 'ere?”

“I'm just visiting,” Freddy said.

“Well, you go and visit somewheres else,” she snapped.

“I don't see what you got against me,” Freddy said, and he was calm enough, and even smiling a bit, as if he found the old woman amusing. “I'm not going t'arm Annie or little Peter.”

“That's right, Mam,” murmured Annie, but her voice was shaky. She was clearly terribly afraid of her mother.

Mrs. Green simply ignored her. She spoke directly to Freddy. “Nobody said you was going t'arm anybody. You just go and visit somewheres else. I know what you did for king and country, and I got respect for you, but I got me troubles too and Annie's got 'ers and you got yours, so let's just everybody take care of 'is own troubles and everything'll be all right. I'll 'elp you go back where you come from.”

She thrust her way forward suddenly and snatched the handles away from me. Freddy handed the bag back to me in time before Mrs. Green started pushing him vigorously back down the street. I ran across to give the bread to my mother, who had been standing in the doorway with all the rest taking in the scene. I then ran back down the street, joining the other boys, who sensed a row about to start, and were excited at the prospect. There was nothing like a good row between two women to liven things up for us, and quite a crowd had gathered around the Gordons' shop as Mrs. Green arrived there with Freddy.

Florrie had come out with fire in her eyes and hands on her hips, the typical stance of a Lancashire woman about to have a fight with another woman. We had seen them standing like that facing one another when they came out of the pubs on Saturday night, their faces flushed, their bosoms heaving, their legs planted firmly on the ground, their eyes fixed on one another.

It was like that when Florrie came out of the shop to face Mrs. Green. The two stood just a few feet apart, both with hands on hips. Freddy, sitting in the wheelchair in front of the shop where Mrs. Green had deposited him, had a good view of them. The crowd ringing them, partially on the sidewalk and spilling out onto the cobblestones, was silent. Florrie spoke first.

“Now what's this all about?” she asked.

“It's all about your brother and you and your little game won't work, that's what it's all about,” retorted Mrs. Green. Her hair was dangling over her face, and her shawl had slipped down to her shoulders. “I brought 'im back to you,” she said, “where he belongs. You're not going to shove 'im onto me and me Annie.”

“Oh, is that it?” said Florrie, and in contrast to Mrs. Green she looked almost attractive and bosomy, with her rosy cheeks, the color deepened now by her anger, and the rich golden hair plaited and hanging behind her. “Seems to me it wasn't so long ago when you'd have kissed me arse just to be allowed to look at me brother and 'ave him call on your daughter.”

Mrs. Green gave a cackle. “And now,” she said, “looks like you'd kiss me arse just to let your brother talk to me daughter. It's just a pity you couldn't 'ave 'im do that when me Annie needed him for the child 'e gave her and which you said 'e never did but which everybody knows 'e did. It's too late now. Y'aven't got a brother, only 'alf a brother, an 'alf brother.” She cackled again, showing her toothless gums. “And an 'alf's not enough.”

“First place,” said Florrie, inching forward a foot or so, “Me brother had nothing to do with that child, and you know it. Considering as 'ow your Annie was rolling about in th' park with one after another you'd never know whose child it was. Second place, if it was his, as you say, then a father's got a right to be with his child. So you're stuck either way. And, third place, as far as kissing your arse is concerned, I wouldn't touch your arse with a ten-foot pole that's been used for scraping out a midden.”

“First place for you,” replied Mrs. Green, “me Annie never rolled about in th' park with any man. She was just misled, that's all, and by your brother, who's your misfortune now, and yours to keep. And second and third place,” she too moved forward slightly, so that the two women were very close to each other, “when it comes to rolling about in th' park, a whore like you shouldn't be casting reflection on other women's character.”

“Who you calling a whore?” said Florrie, advancing still another inch, her eyes beginning to flash dangerously.

“Who do you think?” said Mrs. Green. “Me shadow? Don't tell me, in all those years you spent behind that bar y'aven't found yourself a little sideline?”

It was Florrie who struck first, with the back of her hand, and with the crack of a whip, catching Mrs. Green on the side of the face and causing her to stagger backward a little. She quickly regained her balance, and struck out herself, with the back of her hand, and with a similar crack, making the flush on Florrie' s cheek an even deeper red.

The two then began to circle each other warily, hands raised in fighting position. An excited stir went through the crowd. A little, almost joyous cry went up as the two women lunged at each other in full battle, hands claws reaching for hair. At first, they were like two horned animals, with horns locked, backing this way and that, head to head, fingers buried in each other's hair, and then they began to thrust and jab and scratch and tear—and bite—and they both fell clutching each other, and rolled on the ground, and bit savagely, screaming with pain, blood covering their faces.

The crowd swelled as more and more people rushed from other streets to witness the fight. There were roars of excitement and the crowd edged closer and people shoved and pushed and elbowed to see better, while the women fought on the ground, their skirts flinging upward, showing long drawers and petticoats and flashes of bare flesh, and blood began to stain the rough cobblestones.

I do not know how it ended. I was frightened by what I was seeing, and I let myself be pushed onto the outskirts of the circle by the wild mob of spectators. I was shivering and sick, and then I glanced toward Freddy. He was sitting there, unnoticed by the crowd. He looked just as sick as I felt. He was huddled in that wheelchair, just his head and neck showing above the blankets. Then our eyes met, and he motioned to me.

I went over to him, and he said in a low voice, “'arry, take me away from here. For God's sake, wheel me away somewheres.”

I was only too glad to get away from the scene. I wheeled him around the corner onto Wood Street. We went past the taproom entrance, and to the end of the street to where the steep hill that ran up to the park began.

When we came to it, Freddy said, “Do you think you could push me up th' hill, 'arry? I'd like to go to the park. It'd be nice in there.”

I said I could do it, and we began the climb. We ran alongside the rec at first, a large playground at the foot of the park, covered with layers of crushed cinders that sometimes cut badly when you fell. It was here that I had often watched Freddy play soccer for the county team, and where crowds used to cheer him. An iron rail separated it from the road that went up the hill, and Freddy smiled a little as he glanced through the rails, doubtless remembering his days there.

“We had some games out there, eh, lad?” he said. “Oh, I liked me game of soccer. There was nothing like it. And I could play, too. I'm not bragging, but I was a good soccer man. I could kick and head and dribble as good as the best of 'em. And there was nothing like it when your foot caught that ball, and you heard that thud and saw the ball sail right through those goalposts, and everybody shouting and cheering and jumping up and down. But I had legs then, didn't I?”

He was speaking more to himself than me, and I didn't say anything. I was having a bit of trouble pushing him anyway as the incline grew steeper, and I was slowing down and gasping a little for breath.

He became anxious and said, “You're going to make it, aren't you, 'arry lad? You're not going to fail me now. I want to get to see that park.”

He was trying to help me by pushing on the wheels, but his hands were not strong enough to be much help. I kept at it, and fortunately his weight was not much of a handicap. I puffed and pushed and sweated, and I got to the top at last, and halted, breathing hard. We were at the spot where I had once stopped with my mother, on my way to the fancy school, and just as I had done then I turned to look down at the view that lay below us. There it was, the same as before, the same as always, a clutter of streets and endless slate roofs and chimneys, and the taller chimneys of the mills thrust upward into the clouds, and all of it seen through a film of the yellowish smoke that hung constantly over the town, its acrid smell drifting up to us.