The two suns slid back into one. It was how she took pictures, her film from the world. She knew she was different. Were there others, photographers she didnât know about? She slogged along kicking at weeds, stumbling and feeling crazy, and wanting not ever to return.
She arrived back at the house and opened the door and walked into the room where Brian slept. She sat down on the bed and put her arms around him. He was already awake, and he looked up at her. âMama, why are you so quiet? Whatâs the matter, Mama? Mama! Grandpa hasnât been saying his prayers.â
The child spy ...
She looked lovingly at her son.
âMama, please. Please may we go?â asked the small child.
âI am sorry, darling. Perhaps soon. Give Mother a kiss.â She dug in her purse and handed him Basilâs picture, the photo of his father. âGuess who this is,â she teased, her voice musical. Her son sat up, clutching it awkwardly. âOh, we have been here a long time, havenât we? You are right, dear. We need not be quiet any longer. You have been a very good little boy.â
How could she leave him here?
Invited to spend the night, she accepted. The needs of the guests came first, but they were either already gone, or leaving, and she went into what used to be her room and closed the door. Brian slept with her parents, and she had packing to do. Her room had not changed, and neither had their lives. She looked at the box radio, placed next to the bed by her mother, for her visit. From a distance, she could hear the whispering of the sea. Valerie listened. They went to bed with the chickens out here. She pulled the blackout curtains and set the alarm for 500 hours. Pre-dawn busses lay ahead. She clicked off the light, undressed, and got under the covers. The sheets, which had lain unused for months, smelled like dead bibles. In some terrible and sad way, the vicarage had reclaimed her again. Would she ever be free? They asked her to sleep in her own bed, but she didnât have one anymore.
In the dark, she thought back to her fatherâs bedroom, just down the hall; and to that secret cabinet, long ago. Thumbing through his prayer book, she had discovered a key, buried in its spine. Her parents, gone on holiday, had left her at home for the weekend. She had read the books, beginning with Frank Harris, devouring all five of his volumes. She read the other ones, too. Edward Crewe, she discovered, had tried to lock up evil. But in locking up evil, he had locked up truth. By protecting her from it, he had denied her the knowledge to know it; and she had torn it out of his cabinet with the furious and starving hands of her mind. The afternoonâs meeting with Hamilton came back to her. She had it within her; she was going to be somebody! The history books, he had said.
Really?
Valerie reached over, she turned on the radio. In coveralls, live from the floor of a factory, the fist of Vera Lynn was swinging at the nation, giving Hitler hell....
Heute Deutschland, Morgen Die Ganze Welt!
Clocks were ticking....
Time passed. She kicked off the covers, as though ready for love. Her eyes had closed in sleep. At the edge of the vicarage, a limousine had arrived. Silver and black in the shadows, it trembled like a cat. Leaves were blowing, and the curtains moved. The programs changed. Music came on. Sinclair rolled over. There, from the nightstand, aglow in the darkness, sweet in their singing and brazen with mourning, the Second Welsh Fusiliers marched steadily past her bedside....
Piping her to glory.
II
Scotland was hot!
Commissioned before midnight, an officer now, Valerie Sinclair arrived in Edinburgh wearing her W.R.N.S. uniform as Hamilton had instructed. Rockets, missing the tracks, had exploded along the way, and she realized that Germany could still win the war.
Adrift in the terminal on this Saturday afternoon, some kids were eating popcorn. They were stuffing it into their mouths
She arrived back at the house and opened the door and walked into the room where Brian slept. She sat down on the bed and put her arms around him. He was already awake, and he looked up at her. âMama, why are you so quiet? Whatâs the matter, Mama? Mama! Grandpa hasnât been saying his prayers.â
The child spy ...
She looked lovingly at her son.
âMama, please. Please may we go?â asked the small child.
âI am sorry, darling. Perhaps soon. Give Mother a kiss.â She dug in her purse and handed him Basilâs picture, the photo of his father. âGuess who this is,â she teased, her voice musical. Her son sat up, clutching it awkwardly. âOh, we have been here a long time, havenât we? You are right, dear. We need not be quiet any longer. You have been a very good little boy.â
How could she leave him here?
Invited to spend the night, she accepted. The needs of the guests came first, but they were either already gone, or leaving, and she went into what used to be her room and closed the door. Brian slept with her parents, and she had packing to do. Her room had not changed, and neither had their lives. She looked at the box radio, placed next to the bed by her mother, for her visit. From a distance, she could hear the whispering of the sea. Valerie listened. They went to bed with the chickens out here. She pulled the blackout curtains and set the alarm for 500 hours. Pre-dawn busses lay ahead. She clicked off the light, undressed, and got under the covers. The sheets, which had lain unused for months, smelled like dead bibles. In some terrible and sad way, the vicarage had reclaimed her again. Would she ever be free? They asked her to sleep in her own bed, but she didnât have one anymore.
In the dark, she thought back to her fatherâs bedroom, just down the hall; and to that secret cabinet, long ago. Thumbing through his prayer book, she had discovered a key, buried in its spine. Her parents, gone on holiday, had left her at home for the weekend. She had read the books, beginning with Frank Harris, devouring all five of his volumes. She read the other ones, too. Edward Crewe, she discovered, had tried to lock up evil. But in locking up evil, he had locked up truth. By protecting her from it, he had denied her the knowledge to know it; and she had torn it out of his cabinet with the furious and starving hands of her mind. The afternoonâs meeting with Hamilton came back to her. She had it within her; she was going to be somebody! The history books, he had said.
Really?
Valerie reached over, she turned on the radio. In coveralls, live from the floor of a factory, the fist of Vera Lynn was swinging at the nation, giving Hitler hell....
Heute Deutschland, Morgen Die Ganze Welt!
Clocks were ticking....
Time passed. She kicked off the covers, as though ready for love. Her eyes had closed in sleep. At the edge of the vicarage, a limousine had arrived. Silver and black in the shadows, it trembled like a cat. Leaves were blowing, and the curtains moved. The programs changed. Music came on. Sinclair rolled over. There, from the nightstand, aglow in the darkness, sweet in their singing and brazen with mourning, the Second Welsh Fusiliers marched steadily past her bedside....
Piping her to glory.
II
Scotland was hot!
Commissioned before midnight, an officer now, Valerie Sinclair arrived in Edinburgh wearing her W.R.N.S. uniform as Hamilton had instructed. Rockets, missing the tracks, had exploded along the way, and she realized that Germany could still win the war.
Adrift in the terminal on this Saturday afternoon, some kids were eating popcorn. They were stuffing it into their mouths
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