“Says who?”
“I told you before. I don’t know.”
“You know more than you’re saying, though. And I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”
Before my eyes, Jimmy turned from fearless into frightened, like a lost little boy. I smiled as reassuringly as I could, and I told him, “Just talk about it, Jimmy. Just say anything and everything that you remember.”
Jimmy closed his eyes. He whispered, “I remember being asked the question.”
“The question?”
“Yeah. What did you do to help?”
“That’s the question?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you do to help? Help who?”
“I dunno for sure.” Jimmy looked at the floor. “But . . . I felt like they meant everybody. Like, the human race.”
“Did someone ask you this question? Was it a person?”
Jimmy struggled to remember. “Maybe. It could’ve been.”
“Was it Jesus?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
I tried to make him focus on that moment. “So . . . was someone’s mouth moving? Did words come out?”
He looked like he was going to burst into tears. “I dunno, I told you!” Jimmy walked over to the door and then back. He held out his hands and asked me plaintively, “Now you need to answer something for me, Johnny. One question: Will you do your bit when the time comes? Yes or no?”
“I don’t know. When will the time come? When is that?”
He answered with certainty. “On the day of reckoning, whenever that may be. But for now, let’s just say that your bit is to follow me out that door—to look, and to listen, and to learn.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, and then I agreed. Without saying a word, or signing anything, or shaking hands, I agreed to follow this strange boy into those bombed-out streets, for a purpose even he did not understand.
Jimmy led me outside to the front stoop. In the harsh light of day, things seemed much worse than they had a week before. People were struggling with cardboard suitcases and paper bags full of possessions. The street next to us was roped off; its houses and shops had been thoroughly smashed by bombs. Several men were shoveling broken glass into trucks.
Alice Lane soon emerged and stood on the stoop to our left, dressed very nicely in a small fur and a large hat. She said, “You stay close to the house, now, Jimmy.”
He answered, “Yes, Mrs. Lane.” Right after she walked around the corner, though, he whispered, “All right, Johnny. We’re just about free to leave. She’ll be off with Canby, I expect.”
Sure enough, within a minute a small car turned onto the street. Canby was driving; seated to his left was Alice Lane.
As soon as the car pulled out of sight, Jimmy took off at a slow run. In spite of all my fears, I started running with him.
“Don’t worry, Johnny,” he called. “We’re safe. The Gerries done us once today already, didn’t they?”
“Did they?”
“Yeah. They hit the East End again. The East End catches most of it because it’s along the river. But you never know.
Buckingham Palace caught it on Friday. Bounced the King right out of bed, it did.”
We ran for a long way; then we turned onto a rubble-strewn road full of firefighters and firefighting equipment. Jimmy said, “Look up there, mate.”
I looked up at an enormous domed church.
“That’s St. Paul’s. Hitler tried to destroy it. Dropped an eight-hundred-pound bomb on her, but it didn’t go off. The hand of God saved it.”
We stared at the cathedral for a while longer. Then we continued on our way through the streets of the battered city. It was bizarre; people still went about their business amid the ruins. I said, “Aren’t they afraid of getting killed?”
“No. We’re not afraid. We’ve got God on our side.”
“How do you know that?”
“I feel that. Every day. Don’t you?”
“No.”
After another long run, we reached a place that I recognized, Grosvenor Square. When we got close to the American Embassy, Jimmy grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me down.
“Uh-oh. There’s another row going on with the warden.”
I peeked out. Bill Lane was standing toe-to-toe with a heavyset man wearing a warden’s patch on his sleeve. Jimmy whispered, “That warden’s assigned to the Embassy. Him, Bill, and my dad don’t get along. They’re always arguing. Bad luck that they’re at it now. My dad’ll be mad at him afterward, but he’ll take it out on me.” He looked around, as if for an escape route. “Maybe we should bugger off.”
“Are you afraid of your father?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes he gives me a licking.”
“He hits you?”
“Yeah. If I deserve it.” Jimmy explained, “He has to. He has to be my dad and mum. Doesn’t yours hit you?”
“My father?” I thought about Jack Conway and his sad face. “No. Never.”
I looked back at the confrontation. Bill Lane was squared off, facing the warden, with James Harker right behind him. The showdown had obviously been going on for a while, as a small crowd had formed.
The warden spat out, “You Auxiliaries, you’re just afraid to fight. You’re all bloody conchies, aren’t you?”
I whispered to Jimmy, “What’s that mean?”
“A conchie is a conscientious objector, someone who won’t fight.”
Bill Lane growled, “Bill Lane’s not afraid to fight. Not anybody.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You been saying that for ten minutes, but you ain’t done nothing.”
James stepped forward, elbowing Bill out of the way. “That’s enough.” To everyone’s surprise, especially the warden’s, he pulled back his fist and delivered a short, sharp jab right to the center of the warden’s nose.
The big man stepped backward, with his right hand covering his face. In seconds, a red trickle of blood showed through his fingers.
James turned around. “You talk things to death, Bill.”
“I was getting to it right then.”
“Yeah, well, enough is enough. Now it’s done with.”
The warden scurried away toward the Embassy. Bill went back to his post by the telephone box, but James suddenly paused and looked right at us.
I hissed, “I think he spotted me!”
James strode over toward the bushes. “Oh? What’s this, now? A lost boy?” He stood right over us and shouted, “Jimmy Harker! You get out here!”
Jimmy stood up slowly. I stood up with him. Both of us bowed our heads.
James demanded to know, “What are you doing outside during a bloody air raid?”
Jimmy answered timidly. “I heard about a match, Dad. Spurs and Gunners. I wanted to see if you was off duty for it.”
“It’s bloody dangerous out here. Do you know what happened last night?”
“Yes, Dad. But I figured it’d be safer during the day.”
James’s face remained hard as granite. “You figured wrong.”
“Dad, it’s on twelve October. The match, I mean. Do you have the day off?”
Bill Lane joined us, demanding to know, “Why isn’t Alice watching you? Where is she?”
Jimmy started backing up, so I backed up with him. “I don’t know, Bill. I expect she’s at home.”
“Is Canby around?”
“I don’t know.”
James reached out and grabbed Jimmy by the collar. “You’ll need to be punished for this, Jimmy. It was a bad thing to do.” He hesitated for just a moment, then slapped him across his ears, once left and once right. Jimmy shriveled up like a dying flower. James shook his head. Then he pointed to a spot near the telephone box. “You stand next to me now, and think about what you done wrong.”
Tears filled Jimmy’s eyes. He walked dutifully to the phone box and attempted to stand up straight. I watched him for several agonizing seconds a
s he struggled not to cry. James took his post next to him, staring straight ahead. He finally looked down at him, so Jimmy whimpered, “I just wanted to see you, you know, to tell you about Spurs and Gunners.”
James’s face softened. “It’s too early to say, Jimmy. I don’t have my work schedule yet.”
They remained in those positions for a few more minutes, but the worst part was over. Bill Lane’s voice filled the silence. “Do what you can to stay out of this bloody war, Jimmy. The more lads who sign up, the less they care about losing them. It’s ‘the more the merrier’ to them. Give Churchill an extra thousand lads and he’ll do another Gallipoli. What does he care? He ain’t wading ashore into the machine guns.
“Here’s a just war, according to Bill Lane: When the royals are running into the machine-gun fire, and sleeping in the mud, and fighting to the death in order to save this bloody empire, then I’ll be fighting with them. I’ll be a few meters behind them, maybe, because I don’t have quite so much to lose as they do. Let them make the sacrifice first. Then ask the poor people to help.”
As I watched, Joseph P. Kennedy emerged from the Embassy with two well-dressed young men. I knew who they were from Father Leonard’s class—the Ambassador’s sons Joe and Jack. The three of them walked into the shade of Grosvenor Square, deep in conversation.
Bill commented, “Look at them three. They’ve already thrown in the towel, haven’t they? Off to a party at Cliveden tonight to celebrate the German victory and the end of the British Empire.”
James clearly shared Bill’s contempt. “They say Joe Kennedy leaves every night for safe lodgings outside London. He stocked his air-raid shelter there with all kinds of cheeses and chocolates.”
“Yeah. He’d bugger off altogether if he could. But he ducked out of one war already, didn’t he? This’d make it two.”
James added, “Do you know what I heard him say, Jimmy? To that General Lowery fella?”
Jimmy was greatly relieved to be included. He finally smiled. “What’s that, Dad?”
“That Hitler and his gang will be at Buckingham Palace in two weeks.”
“Go on!”
“Two weeks. That’s what he said. But let me tell you something else, lad. He made that brilliant statement three weeks ago.”
James, Jimmy, and Bill shared a patriotic laugh over that. I took the opportunity to drift closer to the Embassy, because I had a feeling what was coming next. The door opened, and I saw my grandfather and Daisy Traynor emerge. They hurried toward me so quickly that I shrank back, hoping to make myself too small to notice. Both of them reacted to a loud voice from somewhere behind me. I turned and saw the hulking figure of General Lowery standing by the curb.
Ambassador Kennedy reacted, too, because he stopped and called across the square, “Are you hollerin’ again, Hank?”
Lowery turned stiffly. When he saw who was speaking to him, he smiled. “I’m hollerin’ at this girl to slow down, Joe. So I can catch her.”
Joe Kennedy and his sons laughed and walked on.
Martin Mehan escorted Miss Daisy Traynor right up to General Lowery.
Daisy turned back to my grandfather and poked him playfully. “Thanks, Mickey!” She told the General, “Martin Mehan’s initials are MM, just like Mickey Mouse. So that’s what I call him: Mickey Mouse.”
My grandfather smiled faintly. Lowery ignored the comment. He spoke to him harshly. “What’s going on, Mehan? Do you have anything for me or not?”
Martin Mehan answered softly. “Not today, General. Nothing has come in.”
The General looked at Daisy but spoke to my grandfather. “Nothing through her?”
Daisy arched an eyebrow. “Well, gentlemen, why don’t you ask her?” She looked from the General to my grandfather. “You act like I have no idea what I’m doing, or who Herr Von Dirksen is.”
Both the General and my grandfather looked around to see who had heard that remark, but neither spotted me. Martin Mehan hissed at her, “Do not use names like that in public, Miss Traynor.”
Daisy’s hand shot up to her mouth. “Oh, forgive me. That was stupid, wasn’t it?”
General Lowery smiled benevolently. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re lucky I like brunettes.”
Daisy beamed. “Yes, I am so lucky.”
“Answer the question, though. When you dropped off my message, did they give you anything back for me?”
“No, mein Herr,” Daisy purred. “There was nothing to add to all those secret messages that I copy onto lovely scented paper, tie up with pink ribbons, and hide in my hatbox.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. It’s a red hatbox. I keep it hidden under my bed.” She smiled devilishly. “Perhaps you should check under there.”
The General stared at her dumbly. Then he smiled back, slowly, acknowledging the joke. “Uh-huh. Sounds like I’d better.”
Daisy saluted. “Yes, General.”
Lowery turned to my grandfather. “All right, Mehan. Alert me as soon as you get a reply. No matter where I am. That’s all.”
Martin Mehan looked relieved that he could go back inside.
Daisy cooed, “Goodbye, Mickey Mouse. Say hello to Minnie for me.” She laughed gaily and ducked into the car ahead of the General.
I watched Martin Mehan, looking very mouselike, walk into the Embassy. Then I went back to Jimmy’s side. I had no sooner reached him when the shrill whine of another air-raid alarm started. Bill Lane announced immediately, “False alarm. Got to be.”
James turned to us. “I’m not taking any chances. You get home, Jimmy. Get running.”
“Right, Dad. Me and Johnny. We’ll have a race.”
I interrupted. “No. I’m not running through the streets! Not if they’re dropping bombs on us!”
The telephone rang, so Bill Lane crossed over to it. James grabbed Jimmy by the arm. “No playing games now, lad. You get home and stay there. If any planes come, you run to Mrs. Lane’s and get straight into the shelter.”
“All right, Dad. I will. I’m sorry.”
“You’ll be sorrier if you do this again, Jimmy. I mean it.”
Jimmy took off running, but I remained standing where I was.
Bill slammed down the phone. “Bloody hell. Planes are coming.”
“How far away?”
Bill gestured contemptuously at the phone. “He didn’t know. The bloody twit.”
That was all I had to hear. I finally spoke up. “Please, sir, Mr. Harker. I want to go to a shelter close by. There has to be one at the Embassy. Right?”
He didn’t answer me.
“Please, Mr. Harker, Mr. Lane. I’m an American. My grandfather works in the Embassy.”
James Harker and Bill Lane both looked right at me, but they didn’t respond.
I backed away in confusion, and rising panic.
Jimmy’s voice called to me from behind the hedge. “They can’t hear you, Johnny.”
“What? Of course they can.”
“No. They can’t see you, either.”
“But . . . they can. They talked to me last time!”
“Not really, mate. They was just playing along with me, pretending they saw you.”
Alarms now whined all around us, rising and falling. I screamed, “Get me someplace safe!”
Jimmy yelled, “All right! Come on!” and took off running.
I leaped over the hedge and caught up with him. “Are we going to a shelter?”
“Shelters stink, don’t they? They got one bucket for a thousand people to do their business in. Not nice. Not nice at all.”
“I don’t care about nice. I’m not running out in the open, with bombs falling on me.”
“Here’s all you got to do if they get close, Johnny: Lie flat on the ground, facedown, with your mouth open and your hands over your ears.”
I couldn’t argue anymore; I could only run. The planes were a lot closer than anyone had thought. I could actually
see them in the distance, coming in waves of ten and twelve across, heading right toward us. I ran behind Jimmy as fast as I could, jumping over sandbags and lines of fire hoses that crisscrossed the streets.
The incendiary bombs fell first. I saw one crash onto a roof to our right and burst into flame. Then dozens of incendiaries were falling all around us. They let off choking black clouds of smoke and a strong smell of gasoline. Suddenly my eardrums nearly popped open with the thundering ack-ack noise of cannons. The anti-aircraft guns had roared to life on the streets. As they fired at the planes above, shrapnel from their cannons fell back down, landing dangerously all around us with loud, metallic clangs.
Jimmy bounded ahead of me like a deer. I struggled to keep pace, but I had to yell out, “I need to stop, Jimmy. Please! Where can we stop?”
He skidded to a halt. “One place is as good as another, mate.”
I leaned over and gasped for air amid the deafening noise and smoke. I looked up at what remained of a building across the street. Only its front wall was still standing. Its windows had exploded outward, and now it blazed with a fierce light.
We took off again. By now, a black-smoke canopy covered the entire city, and the sun was dimmed to blood-red from the many fires. The drone of the German planes continued, but the incendiary bombs were now replaced with high explosives. Buildings imploded to my left and right, blowing chunks of concrete and metal right across the road. To my amazement, the defenders of London—the firemen and ambulance drivers and anti-aircraft gunners—still went calmly about their business.
I saw a man lying in the street ahead of me. I watched as two nurses in white rolled him onto a stretcher. But his arm stayed behind him on the street, a bloody stump still wrapped in a gray coat sleeve. I wanted to stop and throw up at the sight, but my legs kept pumping in terror, following Jimmy. He did not stop until we reached the surface shelter across from his house. Again I saw the old woman and the boy standing in the doorway.
Jimmy stopped and talked to them. “Is this it, Gran? Is this the one?”
The woman did not answer. She once again turned and led the little boy into the shelter.
Jimmy told me, “All right. We’ll stop here.”
“Aren’t we almost at your house?”