A Man Called Darius Read online

  Fortunately I had brought a few Persian shawls home with me, in the event that I might meet someone whom I should have remembered as I have a very bad memory for most things and like so many people I know, I remember what I want to remember... and no more. Well now, don’t I sound like a right hard nut … well perhaps I am. They say you can never see yourself, don’t they?

  Well anyway, I gave one of my shawls to Martha and to my utter surprise, she gave me a broad smile …She liked it and immediately took a mirror from a large Dorothy bag to admire herself as she threw it nonchalantly around her thin shoulders. I wondered if the snow was beginning to thaw...

  The afternoon and evening of Christmas day passed without incident, apart from Aunt Martha’s snoring or clicking her dentures in rhythm with her knitting needles as the King gave his speech. It was rather a sad, protracted colloquy and I thought his stutter had returned to him somewhat, but Aunt Martha and Jeremy said he was magnificent and soul inspiring …between Jeremy’s telephone calls to the boys … that is.

  ***

  The following day, Boxing Day and every other day until the New Year, I spent walking around London, window shopping for the most part and seeing two amber green eyes on every window display dummy. I visited various places of interest that had never interested me before when I lived on their doorstep. It’s really amazing how tourists will flock with such enthusiasm to places that I had always taken for granted. I never really saw the Tower of London until then and I was nearly twenty-four and had been half-way around the world too. I guess the Egyptians never valued the pyramids like I did... and certainly that old lion, having it off with the young princess high above the heads in the square in Baghdad, gave me quite a shock when I first saw it... and all in life-size stucco too... yet few maidens who passed it daily wrapped in their virgin veils and modesty shrouds would have taken very much notice. Well, such is life, I suppose.

  I wanted to get away on my own for the New Year and did something that I suppose was underhand, unappreciative and unforgivable. I told my hosts that I had been invited to spend the occasion with an old friend who was now married and living in Leicester. Instead, I booked a room at the Three Sisters in Highgate Village, where I knew I could reminisce to my hearts content and dream of my youth... long past. I remember I spent hours reading and just listening to the radio. I liked Ambrose and his band and he had just signed-up a new female singer who had a terrific voice, but I can’t remember her name. I think it was Anne Shelton. Victor Sylvester was memorable too with his mellow tones and swaying tempo. I danced a lot too... in that time... on my own.

  I would watch the crowds from the second story balcony as they passed below my window and wonder where they were going and where they had come from and my life was peaceful as I longed for just one more glimpse of those magnificent eyes... so far away now... in Basra.

  ***

  About ten o’clock on New Year’s eve, I took myself off to visit Trafalgar Square and revelled, if somewhat soberly, in the illuminated fountains and the antics of so many madly-happy, if not so sober people around me. In my loneliness, I wanted to join in and shout with them, to throw my hat in the air and sing... sing and sing and sing, anything that came into my head. It was great to be alive and the war was over... what more could I want, to be happy... and yet still, a little tear clouded my vision as someone grabbed my arm and I found myself being thrown against a soldier who was standing behind me. I apologized as I stumbled and he helped me to my feet. I blushed, hoping he didn’t think I was drunk, but he kindly handed me my bag that had been thrown into the air when I was pushed. He had caught it apparently, before it had touched the ground.

  “Hi there …” He began to speak but in an instant we were both being manipulated into the throng of revellers and found ourselves in the Conga file, kicking our way around the Square, pushing and shoving happily into the New Year. The noise was deafening.

  “Kinda high-flyin’ here tonight,” he called out above the din and I could just detect a slight American accent. I didn’t know how to answer him and anyway, I wasn’t looking for company as I waited the first opportunity to break away from the Conga ranks. “Can I take you away from all this?” he screamed, almost reading my thoughts, but I was apprehensive and just smiled as though I was enjoying myself. “Come on,” he shouted again, “I’m only tryin’ to be neighbourly.”

  I turned towards him as he pulled me from the chain of troubadours and looked into his face. He was quite handsome in a strange, homely sort of a way, which surprised me. I had always had the impression that all G.Is were loud, gum chewing, money spending, self-opinionated louts... in my inimitable pompous and aloof way, of course... and from my earlier indoctrination at the Convent of the Holy Sepulchre, but this one wasn’t at all like that and even in the glow of the moonlight I could see that he was well tanned and well built. I guessed he must have been over six foot. There was a twinkle in his eye that would have made many a girl think the worst and yet, I never felt that way, not even for a moment. He looked so brotherly... that was the only way I could describe him and I wanted to assure him that I wasn’t for picking up and that I didn’t mind being just neighbourly as he put it, but that was all, when suddenly I surprised myself by asking him if he could dance. He did have a mouthful of gum, because he stopped chewing it when I asked him, then he straightened his cap.

  “My pleasure,” he beamed and held out his arms. I was even more surprised at how easy it was to get into such a situation with a total stranger. Whether it was the merriment of the moment; the whole intoxication of the atmosphere or the fact that I was desperately lonely, even if I did not want to admit it, I don’t know, but I found myself being swirled around the street, just a little way from the crowd, in a waltz that seemed to be playing just for two. I’m sure the other music was much more rowdy and in tune with the celebrations, but I heard a waltz and no mistake ...and in that moment, I felt I had known this G.I. for years.

  “D’ya come here often?” he joked and grinned as I could feel his breath against my ear. Somehow I felt a strange sensation of being wanted and a warmth of nearness crept over me as I pressed my head into his shoulder and the loud music of the revellers seemed no more. I could only hear the music of our duet waltz but soon it changed and he was leading me into a quickstep.

  “I love you and don’t you forget it....”

  Someone started singing at the top of his voice. I stopped dancing and stared at my partner. He stared back at me.

  “If you’re like me,” he said, “It’s time to call it a day. I have two left feet for this sort of thing, I’m afraid.”

  I laughed and he grinned again, showing his white teeth, with one slightly crossed at the front and a little empty space at the right hand of his mouth, where one was missing.

  “It’ll soon be midnight anyway and don’t you like to spend that time in England with your relatives or friends?” he said and I could hear the crowd gathering momentum as I tried to look at my watch from under my cuff

  . “I make it eleven twenty... we’ve still got another forty minutes”, I said, discarding any embarrassment. I was happy at that moment and I knew I was going to cry. I turned my face away from my newfound friend and pretended to look up at the sky, but he put his hand under my chin and drew me back, so that he was looking into my eyes.

  “Hi baby... what’s the matter …somethin’ I’ve said?”

  He ran his forefinger under my eye and caught my tear, just as it fell. I didn’t want to face him... I didn’t want to have to explain... even if I could... so I pulled away from him to dash off somewhere... anywhere away from Trafalgar Square and all its gaiety, but someone pushed me even closer to him as I tried to run and I could smell his after-shave.

  “Shoooh …shoooh, little girl ...this is no time for tears,” I heard him say as I tried to wipe my eyes, “Not with such gorgeous peepers as I can see here,” he add
ed kindly and handed me his handkerchief. I hid my head in his shoulder as he put his arm around me and led me gently away from the screaming crowd..

  ***

  “My name’s Garry... Garry Gillespie, what’s yours?” he asked, as we stood together in the comparative silence away from the bustling noise of the revellers. The street lamp above us was dim. It flickered. I remember thinking that someone should change the bulb, but the moon was at its height and a mass of stars peppered the inky sky, twinkling and blinking as I remembered they had done in a film I’d seen in Baghdad. Everything seemed so unreal as I stood with a total stranger who had his arm around my waist..

  “My name?... My name... oh yes, it’s Francesca... Francesca... “ I repeated my name, thinking that even my voice sounded unreal. Why was I telling a stranger my name? What business was it of his? I didn’t want to tell him my family name because of its double barrel anyway. I thought that would surely frighten him off and I didn’t want that to happen... not just yet.

  He looked down into my face and cupped it in his large warm hands.

  “Somethin’ wrong, Francesca... Can I help? I hate to see a dame cryin’... I really do.”

  I wanted to pull away from him and tell him that I was no ‘dame’, but in that instant and when I caught the look in his eye, in the moonlight, I could not scold... and saw no necessity to contradict. That was his way of speaking; of being kind, I was sure and who was I to contradict or show offence? Who exactly did I think I was? I asked myself and I began to despise myself in that moment.

  “I’m sorry... there’s nothing wrong ...I’m just... well, it’s another year over, isn’t it. No more wars, we hope... but where are we now. It makes you wonder what’s coming next... whether it was all worthwhile... what it was all about, doesn’t it?”

  He looked at me and his face took on a grave expression of concern.

  “My... my... you are in a bad way, aren’t you?”

  He looked around and his eyes narrowed under the flickering lamp.

  “I could do with a coffee,” he said, “How ‘bout you? Is there any place nearby where we could get one?”

  I know you’ll think I was extremely rash... or maybe very naive, but I hailed a tax and took him to the Three Sisters.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea Garry... please. It’s only coffee... you do understand?”

  He turned towards me and laughed, leaving me staring, wide-eyed at him as he pulled back the lapels of his jacket to expose two little gold crosses, one on each collar flap.

  “No need to worry Francesca... I’m the one who should apologize. I thought you knew but then, of course... how could you...? I’m a priest... a Catholic priest.”

  I felt faint as I reflected over my thoughts and my conduct of the last half-hour.

  “But you waltzed with me. You... you put your arm around me....”

  I started to cry and shook uncontrollably... whether from shame or relief, I’ll never know. I was utterly confused.

  “I just thought you looked so lonely... so lost in that crowd back there, that’s all. Please believe me... Look, I’ll get right out of this cab when I see you are safely home. Cross my heart, eh?”

  He smiled again and I knew I was being trite... Would I ever grow up? Would I ever think of anyone other than myself?

  “No... No, please Garry... er Father... don’t do that I’m sorry. It’s the first time I’ve ever met an American Padre. I never saw your crosses. I just knew you were an officer, that’s all. Thank you for your company and for all your kindness to me this evening and I’d be honoured if you’d join me for coffee.”

  Suddenly his eyes looked different somehow and he removed his chewing gum from between his lips as he turned slowly to face me.

  “I’ve scared you, huh? I shouldn’t ‘ave done, but can’t we be friends? I’d like nothing more.”

  It was my turn to smile.

  “Oh Father, you sure do know how to treat a lady... you’re so kind, I could kiss you.”

  I had said the words before I realized the implications and I touched his cheek nervously with my fingers. He put his hand over mine and held it there.

  “You sure are a swell lady, Francesca and coffee with you would be just one fine thing.”

  I felt he was about to call me a swell dame again but somehow this time, I didn’t really mind. I saw Father Garry Gillespie in quite a different light.

  “Then I’ll retire to my virginal couch... Scout’s honour,” he said and gave me the scout salute as he grinned broadly.

  ***

  We must have looked a strange pair, walking along the corridors of the inn at ll.50 p.m. on New Year’s eve, but I’m quite sure that Garry didn’t give that a second thought... nor did I for that matter. He sat on the pink wicker chair by the side of my bed and began to read Aunt Martha’s book on nursing in Singapore, whilst I rang for room service.

  “You interested in nursin’ Francesca?” he asked as he flicked through the pages.

  “Oh, please call me Frannie. Stupid name I know, but everyone else does.”

  He smiled and I was surprised to see just how handsome he did look in the pale light of Room 401, with his strong dimpled chin and white teeth, even if there was that little one missing and the two front ones were slightly crossed. I wondered why such a man would ever want to become a priest. I’d never met a Catholic priest before, American or otherwise, apart from the visiting chaplains who came to hear the confessions of the nuns and the other boarders who were at the Convent, but we never spoke to them... and here I was with a ‘real live one’ in my bedroom, who had just a short time ago, held my tear-stained face in his anointed hands and addressed me as a swell dame.

  “I’m a nurse actually Garry. It is O.K. if I call you Garry, isn’t it... I mean now that I know that you are a priest?”

  “ ‘Course it is. That’s what God calls me, so it can’t be that bad....”

  He threw back his head and laughed again and I felt relaxed.

  “I don’t like talking too much about my nursing career to people Garry, because it usually involves hearing all their physical ills and complaints and I haven’t got a miracle cure up my sleeve for any of them.”

  He nodded his understanding and commented on my tan.

  “You been abroad, Frannie … you look extremely healthy for an English... lady.”

  He crossed his legs and the wicker chair creaked as I continued to tell him my story.

  “I’ve been in Iraq for the past two years. I’m on leave. I’m a Q.A.”

  He sat back and blinked and the chair creaked again.

  “You’ve got me there, Sister... what’s a Q.A. when she’s at home?”

  I couldn’t help giggling at his way of talking. It was a manner of speech that I found so different from what I was used to and yet it was so nice to listen to... so homely and comforting.

  “It’s the name of the nursing organization to which I belong, Queen Alexandra Imperial Military Nursing Service... the Q.As.”

  Garry’s eyes opened wide and he touched his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

  “Well... well, you’re a fellow officer and you have a vocation too.”

  I’m sure I blushed when he said that, but he made no comment if he noticed it.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Ah, that’ll be the coffee, please excuse me for a moment.”

  I went to the door and took the tray from the young maid who stood there.

  “How do you like it Garry? Black or white?”

  “As it comes Francesca... oh sorry, I was thinking of your vocational status, I guess … sure, just as it comes, Frannie.”

  He puckered his brow and blew into his cup remarking how strong and hot it was and that it was just as he liked it.

  “G
arry, I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression when I asked if you could dance, back at the Square there.”

  He sipped his coffee before he answered and for a second, I could see Jeremy’s face. It puzzled me, since Father Garry Gillespie looked nothing like my stepbrother.

  “Well now... as a matter of fact, it’s me who should be asking you that question, Frannie. I don’t normally go around chattin’ up young ladies, ‘specially the pretty ones... but well... I don’t know... I guess I was caught up in the euphoria of the crowd or somethin’... and you looked so sad and kinda... well kinda ‘Nun-like’ if you know what I mean.”

  Garry giggled and his cup shook in its saucer making a rattling noise.

  “Nun like? “ I queried, “Oh goodness. I’ve never been described in that way before.”

  Garry stood up and pulled lightly at the hem of his jacket.

  “Well... you know what I mean... you looked so different to all the others and I could tell that you weren’t happy. I was gonna move on... an’ then somethin’ made me do what I did. I dunno. I grabbed your purse as it floated towards me through the air and I just had to talk to you then ...That’s all... Hey, you didn’t think I was tryin’ to come on fresh, did yah?” he asked with alarm and we laughed together at the circumstances of our meeting, like two children thrown together by fate.

  “I’m glad to have made your acquaintance Father Gillespie. I really am.”

  At that moment, we could hear the cannons roar and the bells chiming their welcome into 1946.

  “Happy New Year Garry... Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year Frannie and may 1946 bring you all the happiness you deserve... you can now kiss my pink, fat cheek if you like,” he added perkily... and I did.