good to be true â they were high above Regentâs Park already and had a splendid view of the new London. The B.B.C. building had collapsed into the street: Waters found himself suppressing a smile of pleasure. If only they had accepted his demands to speak on their programmes, to warn of the dangers that lay ahead for mankind! They had invariably chosen pseudo-scientists who had put the problem in far too far-reaching terms. And look at them now! He hoped piously that they had been able to get out alive.
A moment of sadness came with the sight of Billings and Edmonds, where he had been fitted out for private school, no more than a pile of rubble on the ground. And Simpsonâs! Waters glanced down at his suit and told himself sternly that these were the feelings he must guard against. If necessary, the spinning and weaving skills he and his wife had cultivated in Hampstead would be taught to the masses on the other side.
When they passed over Jermyn Street and Savile Row, however, Waters averted his gaze. Burlington House still stood â thank heavens for that! He wondered vaguely about the National Gallery and the Tate.
Then the direction of the wind changed.
The balloon turned violently to one side, spilling out the family spaniel and discarding the remaining ballast. With a sickening heave they rose higher and higher until they were engulfed by wet clouds. London was no longer visible below. And the wind became whimsical, tossing the frail vessel first in one direction and then another. It seemed, to Watersâs fear-crazed brain, to have taken on a life of its own, and to be teasing them with its hidden intentions. Waters thought of the bully at his school thirty years before: a slight lull would be followed by a vigorous shaking; a moment of hope by torment more awful than anything that had preceded it.
Mrs Waters looked at her husband timidly. âAre we crossing now?â she asked. Accustomed to rough Channel crossings, she folded her hands and looked with resignation down at her stomach. Waters could be strangely unsympathetic when she was sick.
âI like it up here!â the youngest Waters child cried. âCan we stay up here for ever, Daddy?â
As if in reply to this foolish question, the wind gave a succession of brisk puffs, which reminded Waters of a cherub with his cheeks blown out, a picture that had always entranced him in his nursery. In between the puffs was a sinister stillness â and each time the balloon fell at least twenty feet, only to be buoyed up again before it was too late. Mrs Waters, retaining her gracious poise, was sick over the side.
A great puff swept them once more sideways in a movement that was oddly like skating on a rink made of air. Then the wind dropped. They went down fast. Waters managed a sickly smile, meant to be reassuring. They went faster â the brown clouds thinned, the tops of trees came at them like spears â the grassy earth bulged out to meet them.
12 Waters Sees his Reflection
When the balloon hit the Serpentine, a flock of naked bathers scattered like flamingoes on to the muddy banks. Putrid water rose in a fan and drenched the Waters as they lay stunned in the belly of their amateurish vehicle.
On tiptoe, the naked men and women peered in at them. Then they began to laugh. The laughter was mad and babyish, as if an infant were being tickled to the point of hysteria.
Waters closed his eyes immediately after opening them. From the thick lips of one of the men hung a much-chewed babyâs rattle. A woman of about forty with straggling grey hair was blowing her nose on the back of her hand and rubbing it vigorously on Mrs Watersâs blouse. Several of the bathers were crying and moaning with laughter â and in some cases a real crying fit ensued. Worst of all, a trickle of urine ran down the leg of a mournful-looking woman who stood, thumb in mouth, at a short distance from the others.
So this was the new
A moment of sadness came with the sight of Billings and Edmonds, where he had been fitted out for private school, no more than a pile of rubble on the ground. And Simpsonâs! Waters glanced down at his suit and told himself sternly that these were the feelings he must guard against. If necessary, the spinning and weaving skills he and his wife had cultivated in Hampstead would be taught to the masses on the other side.
When they passed over Jermyn Street and Savile Row, however, Waters averted his gaze. Burlington House still stood â thank heavens for that! He wondered vaguely about the National Gallery and the Tate.
Then the direction of the wind changed.
The balloon turned violently to one side, spilling out the family spaniel and discarding the remaining ballast. With a sickening heave they rose higher and higher until they were engulfed by wet clouds. London was no longer visible below. And the wind became whimsical, tossing the frail vessel first in one direction and then another. It seemed, to Watersâs fear-crazed brain, to have taken on a life of its own, and to be teasing them with its hidden intentions. Waters thought of the bully at his school thirty years before: a slight lull would be followed by a vigorous shaking; a moment of hope by torment more awful than anything that had preceded it.
Mrs Waters looked at her husband timidly. âAre we crossing now?â she asked. Accustomed to rough Channel crossings, she folded her hands and looked with resignation down at her stomach. Waters could be strangely unsympathetic when she was sick.
âI like it up here!â the youngest Waters child cried. âCan we stay up here for ever, Daddy?â
As if in reply to this foolish question, the wind gave a succession of brisk puffs, which reminded Waters of a cherub with his cheeks blown out, a picture that had always entranced him in his nursery. In between the puffs was a sinister stillness â and each time the balloon fell at least twenty feet, only to be buoyed up again before it was too late. Mrs Waters, retaining her gracious poise, was sick over the side.
A great puff swept them once more sideways in a movement that was oddly like skating on a rink made of air. Then the wind dropped. They went down fast. Waters managed a sickly smile, meant to be reassuring. They went faster â the brown clouds thinned, the tops of trees came at them like spears â the grassy earth bulged out to meet them.
12 Waters Sees his Reflection
When the balloon hit the Serpentine, a flock of naked bathers scattered like flamingoes on to the muddy banks. Putrid water rose in a fan and drenched the Waters as they lay stunned in the belly of their amateurish vehicle.
On tiptoe, the naked men and women peered in at them. Then they began to laugh. The laughter was mad and babyish, as if an infant were being tickled to the point of hysteria.
Waters closed his eyes immediately after opening them. From the thick lips of one of the men hung a much-chewed babyâs rattle. A woman of about forty with straggling grey hair was blowing her nose on the back of her hand and rubbing it vigorously on Mrs Watersâs blouse. Several of the bathers were crying and moaning with laughter â and in some cases a real crying fit ensued. Worst of all, a trickle of urine ran down the leg of a mournful-looking woman who stood, thumb in mouth, at a short distance from the others.
So this was the new
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