Shadow of a Hero

SEPTEMBER 1990

MOMMA WAS IN the living-room, knitting and watching TV with the sound off. The knitting was a gaudy jersey for Poppa which she’d been making for at least three years because she only got it out when she was seriously bothered about something, and then she started off by unpicking most of what she’d done last time.

‘You’re early,’ she said. ‘More trouble?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it about Van? You had his keys.’

‘You didn’t say anything.’

‘I wasn’t noticing. I thought about it after you’d gone. Come here, darling. I need someone to hug.’

She dropped the knitting and made space on the chair beside her. They did their best to arrange themselves comfortably. There seemed to be a lot of elbows.

‘Just like your father,’ said Momma. ‘He’s all corners, too. Well? No, wait. Before you start, you don’t have to tell me it’s not your fault. I know that already.’

That helped a bit. Letta stared at the screen. It was golf. No-one in the family was remotely interested in golf, but you got close-ups of grass, with a little white ball trickling across and popping into a hole, or missing it, which was soothing in a hypnotic sort of way.

‘He asked me to get something out of his bike,’ she said. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone about it – he meant specially you or Grandad. It was two things in secret compartments in the panniers. I had to keep them apart, so they were safe. Then I had to ring Mr Orestes. I had to use a call box because he said our line would be tapped and then I had to give Mr Orestes a separate number to ring back from a call box his end. There was a code. Yellow meant I’d got the things and red meant I hadn’t. I felt really bad about it, not telling you. Anyway, they were there. I got them while you were telephoning.’

‘Let’s get this straight. You had to keep them separate, to be sure they were safe?’

‘That’s right. He said they were probably safe even if I didn’t, but . . .’

‘Oh, God! Where are they now?’

‘In my room. In two different places.’

‘All right. Go on.’

‘Then Biddie called, which made things easy. I went to the station and called Mr Orestes from there, to give him her number, but – I still don’t know why I did this – it was something to do with the creepy way he was talking – when he asked a question to give me a chance of saying “red” or “yellow”, I said “red”. It wasn’t a mistake. I did it on purpose. I told him I hadn’t got them.’

‘Oh, thank heavens!’

‘Then when he called me back at Biddie’s, I said I’d found the bike but there was nothing in the secret compartments and Van was badly smashed up in hospital and he couldn’t remember anything about the journey. That’s all. But listen, Momma. I’m pretty sure the next thing he’ll do is come down and try and see Van at the hospital to find out what’s happened. You’ve got to stop him. You’ve got to tell them to say Van’s too ill to see anyone. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’

Momma was breathing slowly and deeply. Her arm round Letta felt like iron.

‘I knew there was something wrong about that bike,’ she muttered.

On the screen it looked as if someone must have won something. He was prancing around punching his fists in the air.

‘Can you ring Poppa?’ said Letta.

Momma looked at her watch.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve left a message for him to ring me at eleven. You’re going to have to move, darling – I should have given your grandfather his pills twenty minutes ago.’

‘Are you going to tell him?’

Momma thought, then sighed.

‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to. He’s old and he’s tired and he’s done his work, but there isn’t anyone else. I’m out of my depth. Oh, God, I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life trying to get us all clear of this sort of thing, and now it comes back. I wish . . . Oh, there’s no point in wishing. At least your grandfather will have some idea what’s going on. It may not be as bad as I think. All right. Will you come? He’ll want to ask you things. I suppose we’d better take the bloody packages, too, while we’re at it.’

They climbed the stairs together. While Letta groped behind her books Momma stood in the doorway, in what seemed to be a sort of daze, but as Letta crossed to get the other package out from behind her clothes she strode in, took one of the plastic bags which held Van’s clothes out of the grip and looked at the print on it.

‘Vienna,’ she said. ‘He was supposed to be in Wolverhampton.’

‘It might be from when he came over before.’

Momma tipped the bag out. There were some new socks, still with their wrapping-strip round them. The writing was German. A till-slip fluttered to the floor. Momma picked it up and read the date.

‘This Monday,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

Grandad was sitting up in bed playing his own brand of patience on a tray while he listened on his short-wave radio to what sounded like a news broadcast in Romanian. He must have been expecting Momma with his pills, but was clearly surprised to see Letta.

‘Hello, my darlings,’ he said, then looking at them more sharply added, ‘Not bad news from the hospital, I hope.’

‘No. Well, not from the hospital,’ said Momma. ‘But we need your help. Letta’s got something to tell you which I don’t like the sound of at all. Can you stand it? I know it’s late, but we’ve got to make our minds up tonight.’

‘Of course.’

He looked questioningly at Letta, who told her story again. It was far easier doing it for him than it had been for Momma. He held out his hands for the packets when she got to that bit, looked at them briefly, and laid them down on either side of his bed. When she’d finished he shook his head.

‘These people are idiots,’ he said.

‘Van told us he was going to Wolverhampton,’ said Momma, ‘but he seems to have been in Varina. I don’t like my children lying to me. It’s some kind of bomb, isn’t it?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Grandad, picking the yellow package up and weighing it in his hands. ‘Semtex, or something of the kind. If it had been the sort of explosives we used, they would need a far larger amount to do any serious damage. If so, it should be highly stable, and perfectly safe . . . I have one thing to say, my darlings. These people are conspirators. Because of that they see conspiracies everywhere. They will not automatically assume that Van has betrayed them, or that Letta has lied. They are perfectly capable of believing that the accident was deliberately engineered by some powerful organization, the CIA or the British Secret Services, so that the packages could be abstracted. In fact that is what they would prefer to believe. It will fuel their own myth about themselves, their belief in their importance . . .’

‘What on earth do they think they’re up to?’ said Momma. ‘This is England, for God’s sake! It’s got nothing to do with Varina!’

‘It’s hard to say precisely what they intend,’ said Grandad. ‘My best information is that part of Vasa’s strategy is to engineer a break-down in relations between Romania and Bulgaria, and then to stage some kind of incident at Listru next year between the Bulgarian authorities and Varinians who are Romanian citizens attending the festival, thus giving the Romanians an excuse to intervene, and ultimately to annex our southern province into Romania. This would allow a unitary Varinian state to begin to be formed, under the hegemony of Romania. If this is right, it is a crazy strategy. It is inconceivable that the Romanians, with their concern over their Hungarian minority in the north, would let themselves be lured into such a scheme. Vasa has some influence in Bucharest, but there is a limit to what even he can do with bribery and blackmail.’

‘Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with us,’ said Momma. ‘What on earth could he gain by blowing anything up here?’

‘Publicity, of course. The most likely target is some kind of cultural monument . . . Ah, there is to be a Bulgarian trade fair at Birmingham in November . . . that is a possibility, for an overt motive, at least. But I think it likely that Vasa and his immediate circle may have another idea in their minds. Suppose such an explosion were to take place. Suppose it were then revealed that my grandson was directly implicated, that the explosives had been stored in the house where I live . . . You follow?’

‘Oh, God!’ said Momma. ‘We’ve got to get them out of here.’

‘Couldn’t you ask your policeman to help?’ said Letta.

‘Policeman!’ said Momma.

‘He’s not that kind of policeman,’ said Letta.

‘I’m afraid he is,’ said Grandad. ‘There are limits to what even a privileged security official would be prepared to hush up, and a plan to commit a terrorist offence on British soil is certainly beyond them. Unpleasant though it is, we are trapped by Van’s complicity. Minna, you will have to find somewhere to dispose of them. Separately, if possible. Deep.’

‘All right,’ said Momma. ‘I’ll think of something . . . oh, yes. Do you remember, Letta . . .’

‘Don’t tell us,’ said Grandad. ‘The less we know, the fewer lies we have to remember.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Momma again. ‘I thought we’d got clear of all this sort of thing. All right.’

She spoke in Field, because of Grandad, but it was the same strained, dry voice she’d used to tell Letta what had happened at Lapiri. She put her hands to her face, hiding her eyes, and bowed her head. She paid no attention when Letta moved to her side and put her arm round her to comfort her. Letta glanced at Grandad, but he held up his hand to stop her from speaking. He seemed far away. After a while he reached for his pad and made some notes.

‘It seems to me I shall still have to talk to my policeman,’ he said.

‘No! Please!’ said Momma. ‘Van’s been punished enough.’

‘I am partly thinking about Van. We have to shield him from Hector and his friends.’

‘I’m going to ring the hospital and see if I can get him a private room. And, Letta, you must send him a card saying everything’s all right.’

‘That is sensible, but it is a short-term measure. We must persuade these people to leave Van alone indefinitely. Suppose they were led to believe that Van was being followed by the British security services, who then took advantage of the accident to search the motor cycle, and discovered the bomb, and removed it, I think Hector would rapidly retract his patriotism into activities such as bagpipe-dancing. He is not the stuff of heroes, you know. I can tell my policeman enough to give him cause to interview Hector, but not enough to incriminate Van. Then, when Van is well enough, he must be given the same version of events . . . Minna, dear, you had better call the hospital before it is too late.’

‘I suppose so. I haven’t given you your pills.’

‘Letta can do that. Will you take these things now?’

He flicked his hand contemptuously towards the packages.

‘I’ll put them straight in the car. I must set my alarm. I want to get there when it’s just light. Oh, Poppa, please, please be careful what you say! Letta, you’ll have to get your own breakfast. And your Poppa’s going to ring any minute. Oh, what am I going to tell him now?’

The sentences came in gasps, with slow indrawn breaths between. She sounded at the end of her tether, but then she straightened, moving her head from side to side as if she were easing her neck, and picked up the packages.

‘All right,’ she said, in her normal brisk voice. ‘I think that’s the best we can do. Goodnight, Poppa. Thank heavens you’re here. Don’t be too late, Letta, and remember to set your alarm. If you hear mine, just go back to sleep.’

She left. Grandad made some more notes while Letta started counting the pills out, thinking as she did so about what had just happened. Something struck her and she looked round. The movement must have caught his eye, because he glanced up enquiringly.

‘You said “partly”,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

‘You were thinking partly about Van.’

‘Yes. My darling, this is something I need to talk to you about. I was also thinking partly about Varina. We have an even more dangerous state of affairs than I had realized, but at the same time there is a glimmer of hope. My policeman is in fact a very good friend, and we agree about most things, but he has had difficulty in persuading his masters to take Varina, and especially Otto Vasa, sufficiently seriously. They have other things on their minds. I think I can tell him exactly enough to give him the evidence he needs, so that his masters will then think it worthwhile to put pressure on the government in Bucharest to counter Vasa’s activities by allowing me back into the country.’

‘No!’

Letta had almost shouted the word. Grandad looked at her in surprise. He smiled, nodded and put his pencil and pad aside.

‘You still forbid me to go?’ he said.

‘No, of course not. I can’t forbid you anything. I just don’t want you to, that’s all.’

‘You don’t remember? Last summer – when was it? Soon after we started reading the Legends, I think – we had almost this conversation, and in the course of it I told you I would not go permanently back to Varina without your permission.’

‘Unless I could come too, I said.’

‘I’m afraid there is no question of that.’

‘I know . . . Anyway, it doesn’t count. We didn’t really mean it, did we? It was a sort of game we were playing.’

‘I meant it.’

‘Oh . . . Still . . . It’s not my . . . But anyway, it isn’t fair, Grandad! On you, I mean. You aren’t well. You’re . . . Do you want to go?’

He put the ghost fingers against the real ones and cocked his head to one side.

‘I have asked myself that often,’ he said. ‘The answer is, I don’t know. I should of course prefer to die in Varina – remember that, my darling, if it should happen. That apart, the question is unimportant, trivial. If I have the opportunity and refuse it, what will have been the point of my life? What will have been the point of my bearing the name I bear? You see?’

‘No. No I don’t. Whatever happens, you’re you. Whatever you’re called. There isn’t anyone else like you and there never will be. Oh, please . . . I’m not allowed to say that, am I? I’m supposed to say “If you must go, then you must go.” But I won’t. I won’t!’

He was looking at her, nodding his head, considering.

‘You do forbid me, then?’ he said.

‘No, it isn’t like that. I’ve told you, I can’t.’

‘You could, and if you did I think . . . I think I would stay. Remember that I am not sure that even if I were allowed to go I could achieve anything. I am old. I am tired. It is very likely too late. I am telling you the truth, my darling. I do not know.’

He started to take his pills, one at a time, with sips of water between. Letta watched him. His hand quivered as he lifted the glass. A moment ago he had been full of energy, but now he looked as frail as a fallen leaf. What could one old man do?

The window was open and the curtains drawn. The town lights glowed below, and glowed again from the cloud-base above. Somebody was having a party a couple of streets down the hill. There were whoops and cheering. The noise reminded Letta of sitting with her back against the sun-warmed wall of ruined St Valia’s, listening to the noise of Potok rejoicing in the festival, and that in turn reminded her of the picture, almost like a vision, she had seen in her mind when she was sitting with Biddie in Richoux, the war-planes screaming between the mountains, the stampeding crowd in the square, Parvla falling under their feet . . . It wasn’t anything to do with what she wanted, she realized, or with what Grandad himself wanted, for himself. Perhaps he could make the difference. And if he couldn’t, then no-one could.

‘I think you’re sort of fixed,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to go if they’ll let you, haven’t you?’

‘I’m afraid so, my darling.’