For the edification of a mentor: young Wladek helps with the potatoes
Tom offered to clean up the house and give the loungeroom and the bedroom a bit of a vaccum and everything else some dusting, including the bookshelves and the TV. “Seeing as I’ve been out in the sand and the sun all day long, Sue, while you and Władek were inside, I thought I’d better. You can just have a little rest now, while Robert posts the letter and does a bit of shopping.”, said Tom, “And when they come home, we’re all going to have a barbecue.”
“Just a minute, Meggles won’t be here.”, I said. “Don’t worry, Sue. Meggles will get her share, if Foxy doesn’t stuff her with food. She says she’ll be coming home at three. We’ll sit out in the fresh air and the sun, and I’ll get the wood and the firelighters.”, Tom said.
“The Weber’s in the garage, and we’ll put a guard around it. Right, a barbecue it is, young Tom. Władek, before we go, go into the laundry, open the brown cupboard’s door, pull out the trolley from the cupboard, and check if there’s a bag full of potatoes. If the bag is light, we need more, if it’s heavy, we have enough. Tom, before you vaccum anything, make sure Władek knows what to do with the potatoes that are left. Then you wash them, and remember, I don’t want him too long at it.”
“What, Robert, me at the vacuum cleaner or Władek with the potatoes?”, Tom said.
“Good question. Potatoes are living things, plants in fact. As for vacuum cleaners, you know how I feel about them.”, said Robert, “Now, come, young Władek, I’ve decided I don’t want you skulking around the laundry more than you can help. Grab my hand, put on your coat, and we’ll post the letter.”
“What about the potatoes? Poor Anne has a cold.”, Władek said.
“So you knew the letter was for Anne? Tom will wash and count the potatoes. That’s all that will happen. Where’s your coat?”
“In the cupboard, near the front door.”, said Władek, pointing to where he thought it was. He went to put it on and go to Robert. “Well, she won’t catch any germs or dirt.”, he said. They went out the front door and I nodded to Tom to wash the potatoes, and only clean his bedroom and the loungeroom as I was going to bed.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you slept on the couch or on the beanbag, Cousin Sue?”, Tom asked, as he showed Władek what to do with the potatoes. The bag seemed reasonably heavy, judging by Władek’s he-man antics with it. “Now, come, Vladimir.”-this guy talks Polish in his sleep-and with one day to go according to my desk calendar-”Give me the bag with the potatoes in it.” This particular bag was about 1 kilo and had 6-8 potatoes in it. “Now up here-” said Tom, gesturing to the table.
“I…I can’t! Not all those. I give them to you…one at a time.” That actually sounded quite reasonable-if Władek could hold the bag with one hand and take the potatoes out of it with the other. Perhaps after one or two, he might get tired or fustrated. “Yes. We’ll give it a go. Now, I’ll hide the bag.” “Hide, Tom! You hold the bag, I get potato out, climb on the stool, put potato on table and get off the stool.”
“How about me passing the potato to you, so that you don’t have to get off every single time you see a potato?” Tom asked as Władek got up on to the stool. “But when potato is on table, I sit down on stool and get next one.” “Vladimir, you will be careful. When you sit, sit facing me instead of the stove.” “Stove? What is stove?”, Władek asked. “Never you mind.”, Tom said companionably, as he handed Władek the first potato.
When all six were on the glass cutter, Tom took one, and Władek took another, and the both of them gave the potatoes a good wash, ready for Tom to peel them, but not until Władek and Robert had done their bit at the post office AND the shopping centre. Then, they washed their hands, of course.
“Goodbye, Vladimir. I’m going to do the cleaning and the vaccuming in my room and the loungeroom. While you, oh you, are going shopping with Robert, you lucky thing.”
“Have you peeled the potatoes yet?”, said I from the living room. Robert was sitting in the dining room, listening as Władek asked Tom, “Why do you clean?”
“Honestly, Władek, just because you’d be lucky to get through the day not being called a Polish Boo Radley…Spare the adjectives, please. I’m not a neurotic or an obsessive or even a glutton for punishment. Reason number one, Władek, is Cousin Sue is ill and can’t do it. Reason two is that Meg isn’t around, which is a good thing because her head will be full of crafty stuff and barbecue and she won’t badger me to do my fair share. Reason number three, is that it’s too wet for cricket.”
“Yes, but if matka was very well, and Meg was here-she would not be pleased to hear you talk like that-would you still do it?”
“Generally speaking, yes, perhaps. It depends on the situation.”, Tom said, “However, in this particular case, you won’t be there to see it. So, this time, could you trust me or at least give me the benefit of the doubt? If you do, you’ll be able to go shopping with Robert in peace.” “I’ll second that.”, I said.
“But it is not too wet for cricket. Look how the sun is shining.”, Władek said. “Come outside and see how the clouds are shaping. If they are grey or floaty, it will rain soon. And I’m afraid Tom’s right.”
“Actually, Robert, it’s the dew on the grass and the soil…” Tom explained. But by that time Władek and Robert had already left.
I don’t know how the clouds were from their standpoint, but they looked prety innocous to me. We were going to take the back lawn of main Collegiate, and if the rain was too bad, we’d have to have it inside. I said goodbye to Władek and Robert, and then supervised Tom as he peeled the potatoes. Then I boiled the potatoes and made an inventory of the things we usually had and whether members of the family could eat them. Then I sat down to read the books from the library that I’d borrowed on my own account. For an hour and a half I needed and wanted a terrific book.
Robert 20.8.96
Last I saw of Sue, she was making her contribution to our success as a geopolitical, bilingual household. Translating a children’s book into Polish, obviously not needing my help or Tom’s, we left her alone.
Meanwhile, she could be satisified that I was carrying out my responsibilities. Władek having the sense that real life was going on before him and without him, I decided to make the most of this opportunity to introduce him to the outside world.
As it turns out, the clouds are for us. Still we take our umbrellas and I my purse and a picture book that the consumunate GP, Ms Walsh, had digitised for us prior to the Limited Psychological Amnesty.
She had collated digitised pictures from the CD-ROM, fairly life-sized, and in groups like the meat, the deli, the fresh fruit, the check outs (and their racks) ans well as the things in each aisle. On the left hand side was the area (taken from the only supermarket in Guenrsey, which was our destination), and oon the right hand side there were the things.
I knew Władek would be reasonably well-behaved. He was not easily floored by unpredictable or threatening situations unless something of his was at stake, he’d had some experience at the market, he had a clear purpose for being there, and circumstances permitting, we would not be kept too long. Also, he wasn’t tired or hungry-a short nap and snack might have made him more presentable, but, hey, the greater good.
I ran through the list I had made, and put Władek in the trolley seat with his book. The vegetables were the easiest-after all, a tomato is a tomato, a red pepper a red pepper, whether you come from Poland or England, whether you see those pommes de terre on a farm or in a supermarket. I found Władek had a fair idea of most of the salad vegetables we required.
But when it came to milk, yoghurt, cheese, smallgoods and meat-to be kind-he just didn’t get it. “Where is the cow? The goat? The pig?” he asked at the deli, “You cannot tell me that this is cow, and this is pig. It is silly. You are cannibals.” I made peace with Władek eventually by telling him how milk and cheese were made-”You know in Miss Muffet, when she offered the spider her curds and whey.” I think this reality was brought home to him by the modern, commercial packaging, and the man at the deli did help by explaining the diagrams. Władek understood sausages and mince meat much better, and we got some steak and lamb rissoles to make hamburgers, and we discussed the prices and what we were all likely to eat and what we actually liked-and didn’t. Władek really seemed to enjoy the various interactions between me and those behind the coutner, and kept a good focus. When his interest wasn’t in his book, or pointing to something on the shelf and asking me what it was and what people used or bought it for, he would watch the other shoppers in the aisle, especially if our particular quest didn’t interest him-like a kind of car wash liquid and some hose guards, which diversions I should have accounted on my own time.
At times when we got towards the end of an aisle, I would let Władek go down from the seat and take a little walk, on the strict proviso that he keep within calling distance and when he saw or got the thing that we needed, he come straight back to me and continue the rest of the excursion in the trolley-until the next pit stop, that is.
We deliberately passed the lollies and biscuits because of the noise and the grabbing.
“I think when people are tired and hungry, they should have good food. Or at least a snack.”, I said.
“Let the children come to the barbecue. We can make biscuits, yes. Pan Robert, have we the bread, the butter, the sugar, the flour and the eggs.”, my companion replied.
“Vladimir. Be sensible.”, I gently admonished him, “Do you really think that Tom and Meg would want a pack of screaming toddlers around at our barbeque? So different from the shop, which is a confined, impersonal atmosphere that imposes rituals on fixed and narrow mindsets.”
“Is a ritual when you don’t think? Pan Robert, close your mouth. That lady is looking at you.”
“Tell you what, Władek, don’t tell Matka I said that. Secret men’s business, understand? And may I remind you that we are not having biscuits, we are making a barbecue. We will get the bread and the flour and the eggs-perhaps you might like some fried egg in your hamburger, as well as the cabbage and the beetroot-we do have a can of that, and two cans of pineapple.” that mainstay of British literature and cuisine from Blyton onwards. Canned beetroot tends to go all limpy if not opened after a certain time, so Maggie swore. She always had beetroot sandwiches, and boy did they stink. Maggie was always known as the Beetroot Girl at school, especially primary.
We got the things that Władek mentioned and added to the number tomato sauce, which we seemed to be appallingly out of when Meg and Tom visited. When we got everything I could think of, and I told Władek stories about Aunt Maggie and Uncle Anthony that would make one’s hair curl, somehow we went to the checkout, and had to wait in line. We had twenty-one things in our trolley-either essential items or in some way connected with the barbecue.
This German bloke was making a nuisance of himself, complaining apparently about overcharging and badly-brought-up children. He was in the express checkout-with four peple in front of us, I didn’t see what he had to whinge about.
Of course Władek wasn’t badly brought-up, just badly frightened, and his history with Germans wasn’t too good, despite his having lived six months among them. I did the only thing I could do.
“My son is about to have a billious attack. Could someone look after this trolley while I go to take care of him?”, I asked the checkout chick.
“Certainly, sir. He doesn’t look at all well. Go to that bench just near.” Fortunately we were out of the noise, fuss and spectacle, and I sat Władek on the bench. He didn’t cry or scream, but he said, “Intruder! Intruder!” in a little whisper.
“Don’t worry, Władek. Think of how happy Tom and Meg will be and how proud Matka will be. You’re behaving very well-much better than me. Now, if this German bloke really is a threat to you or anyone else, we’re complaining to the check-out chick at his aisle, and then to the manager. Then you and I can go home and not have to think about it anymore.”
“Why did you not tell her, Pan Robert? That’s not looking after me. Why did you say that I was sick, you lying uncaring bastard!”
“Władek, it’s okay. Really. You’re really strung up about this, aren’t you? I didn’t want to dig up any ghosts. Remember the Germans lost the war both times.” It was time to be proactive. “Madame, my name is Robert Gilbert, and I would like to make a complaint against that man in aisle four. He is being a nuisance and a threat to other shoppers.” and then I made an item by item description of the German.
“So this man is the cause of your son’s billious attack? Right. I’ll do something. And if he continues to be a nuisnace, well, you do have recourse to the manager. Meanwhile, don’t be so quick to judge people on the basis of their accents. Bec, are you right?”, asked the check-out chick, who I later learnt was called Claire.
Bec said, “Herr Kleinschidt, there’s a man that had to move his son and his trolley because of the disturbing effects of your polemic.” I interrupted here and said, “Perhaps you can save yourself the pun,” Bec and Claire giggled among themselves.
“What is this all about, mein Herr? I am sorry that all this should occur, all because of a little excursion. I was overcharged, sir. Seriously overcharged. And this stupid girl will not even give me a price check. This is even worse than Frankfurt…and then these mothes and grandmothers with their screaming toddlers. I have grounds for complaint, and I shall make them, do you hear?”
“Don’t you like children, Herr Kleinschmidt?”, Bec ventured. “This is chaos, this is ruin. I don’t understand how Gretchen does this every day. Und du, jung Mensch? Wie gehts?” at which point Władek dived his head straight into my armpit-anything to get away. This wasn’t meant to happen, was it?
We were in an awkward impasse. Her Kleinschmidt was awkwardly close. I had to make conversation. “How is Gretchen by the way? Do you have any children, by the by?”
“Only Caroline LeTerre. She is twenty-four. She went to a boarding school in Lyons and married a French debonair.”
“Do you travel much, Sir?” I asked to have the conversation on another tack, “And what do you do for a crust?”
“I work at the Strzelecki School for Slavic Europeans now, on the board in fact. My family runs ancient estates in north-western Poland, and I travel over Europe every few months.” As he said this, he did a dance to the back of my armpit, where Władek seemed not to want to budge. Once again, I don’t blame him. “Why don’t you write down your name, address and telephone number for me?”, I asked, “Then my family can get to know yours after a few drinks. I’m sure Gretchen will approve, and if you can bring Lady LaTerre out of her chateau, what could be better?”
“Auf wiedersehen. Until we meet again.”, said Herr Kleinschmidt.
“Everything sorted out, Herr Kleinschmidt? You can put everything in the bags now, if you don’t mind, Sir!”, Bec said.
Claire, meanwhile, ignored the bewilderedness of the other shoppers and began to serve me. The other shoppers were preoccupied, satisified with their purchases, their conspcious consumerism. Disgusting, and so wrapped up in themselves. The ones in front of us had left for the car park or the street. Claire was young, friendly in her stance and chat, wearing the uniform, bending over the cash register.
Władek, thank God, was settled, helping with putting our varoius goods on the conveyor belt, answering Claire’s simple questions, and when he was comfortable, ventured a few of his own, leaving me to pick up after his semantics and pragmatics ocassionally. I also passed over the goods ocassionally to him, and answered Claire, “Well, I am an architect by trade, but now I’m a full time father and geopolitician.”
“Have you read the paper? Here’s something that might interest you. It says that all these English and French teachers here are on strike because this racist called Robert Gilbert…”
“My name is Robert Gilbert, and I am not a racist.” I said, “Thanks for your help, Claire.” “It’s all right. I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.”
“Look, my wife, my son and his psychologist are the only ones who know what really happened. Whether you believe I am a racist or not is none of my concern. Ours is a provider-client relationship, and you have no right whatever to assume a knowledge of my personal qualities or the situation outside of this relationship. Do you understand, Claire?”
“My God, you do like to play the heavy. You’re worse than my boss. But, hey, I get the picture, Mr Gilbert. Can I help you?”, she said to her next customer.
I walked strongly with the trolley, and went to the boot of the car, unpacking all the shopping, buckling Władek in his seat first of all, then returning him Pani Volska’s book and putting that in the glovebox.
The car had a sophoric effect on Władek-he drifted in and out of consciousness, especially when the route, like this one, contained straight roads and gentle turns, which I avoid turning too sharply for his sake and mine. The sheepskin around him helps too. We stop halfway to get some petrol to fill the car up with-one of the few situations where I can quite legitimately leave Władek alone-I’m really only across the window, near the back seat, when I fill up the tank. I waved to him and he giggled. The boy insists on sitting up the front, and I finally convince him (not easily convinced, the little bugger-so I used the tactics that you use when you don’t have tactics) that it would be rude and disrespectful to matka to grab the front seat, and besides, after what we’ve been through for him, it’d be callous to put himself in an early grave. “But if you make stupid turn or ram into another driver, I am dead and it’s your fault.” he pointed out. Then I stupidly pointed out to him that “Some priveledges need to be earned”. Shades of Stewie. A stupid turn indeed. Władek then agreed to sit near the right-hand wndow for a change, and I tried to think what driving in Poland would be like. In Guernsey, I had some empathy, seeing as our main beach routes are mere dirt and hell for drivers. Eventually we did get to the Collegiate, Władek having a go at how the boot lock worked. Of course, it is child-proof, so I unlocked it with a key. Władek had a last laugh at me as he got into the boot, surrounded by brown biodegradable bags. If only he’d kept still long enough to have got a photo. I clicked my fingers for Tom, who was out with the Weber and Sue, to carry the bags nearest to the eye, while I stopped Władek from tackling the back seat.
Honestly, I stuck my arse and my legs just to restrain him and put him back on the tarmac. Then this procession of women arrived, and I heard her voice very clearly, “Oh, we’ve got to get a photo of this, Gran. Robert, what in the name of the Warsaw Uprising are you doing?”
“Meggles, and Emily Whatsit, could you help Tom put the shopping in the house, please.”, I said. Too late. I heard a camera-and flash! My arse was immortalised and my adopted son was crawling though my legs. Władek and I got out of the car with the meat, and Sue wanted to know exactly what was going on. She told Emily that she had great promise as a photographer, and would she like to take photos at the First Year Gala.
“Right! This photo is going in the Hall of Shame on Władek’s twenty-first.”, I said. “So we’re thinking that far ahead, aren’t we, Robert?”, Sue said. “I know what I forgot! Air mail envelopes!”, I said.
“And I suppose you can give your head enough breath to recall that Vladimir is only Vladimir Selitsky Gilbert by courtesy, and that his biological father will be out of jail in how many years, Robert?” Sue continued. When I barked out the correct answer, Sue asked me to apply a slightly more complex piece of arithmetic, “And how old will Vladimir be then?”
“Bloody courtesy. If you leave me any longer, I’ll have hallucinations and the Polish Embassy will take the kid away because I’m unfit to be a father by reason of insanity. You would have to resign from teaching and move out of here…If we lose Władek now, I can’t think what will happen to him and us. I’ll have to leave you and have it off with some girl closer to my age. Władek is like a drug…do I have to wean myself off so soon?”
“Nonsense, Robert! You sound like you’re all washed up at twenty-three. We’ll take your concerns one at a time, from cradle to table. If we do the right thing and play by the rules, the Polish Embassy would be highly unlikely, not to mention reluctant, to use its power in that manner. We will not lose Vladimir, as we are his legal guardians in this country…and if cultural considerations force him to a Polish family, we will still be able to see him once in a while. Number three, we did not adopt because we were infertile, and my injury is healing quite nicely. I dare say that I may recover fully in six weeks-on the advice of my gynaecologist, of course. Fourth, I will not resign from teaching. That would be holding a responsibility that more properly belongs to yourself and your conscience. Meanwhile I will certainly not allow you to take the easy way out and go with a woman purely on the basis of instant gratification. Though we are a childless couple, and with our respective careers that will remain so for about five years, we are still very much husband and wife. As for the age difference, I never thought you believed that an issue. We are equals-you are not the subject and I am not the object. Sound familiar, Robert, now it’s in the proper context? Your inner geopolitician ought to be recoiling in shame. Who would think,” Sue riposted to Ms Fox, “That this simpering, sniping, sledging, hysterical creature was the man I fell in love with, shared Cambridge with-that’s right, you didn’t hear? The university officially invalidated his degree-got engaged to, had the wedding with-yes, this man is my husband.”
And who would think that this snivelling, treacherous bitch was my wife, I thought.
“Well, a little bit of occasional bickering won’t hurt your marriage or your relationship, and what looks like rabid insults to outsideres like myself, is really your way of communicating and, well, clearing the air.”, Mrs Fox said, “Emily, perhaps next time you would like to take a picture of Vladimir, you get permission and I’m sure Mr Gilbert will find you a more respectable and seemly setting. You’ve got to set boundaries. Don’t forget that boundaries are how we make sense of the world around us-not the boundaries themselves, but what is inside them.”
“You sound like my housemistress at Wesley.”, Meg said, “Thanks, Ms Fox, and Emily for taking me out to the market. It was a lovely opportunity, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Would you like to come to the barbecue that Tom and the Gilberts are cooking up?”
“No, thank you, we’re right. We had some food at the market, didn’t he, Meggles? Listen, why don’t you show some of the things that you got for your bedroom to Sue and Robert.”, Emily said.
“Of course, if you’re full, little petted Em, my invitation was not to eat up. It was to dish up. How’s the food situation, Tom? And where’s Vladimir?”, said Meg.
“He opened up the freezer and put the steaks in it-God, he’s handy like that.”
“You’re pretty handy too. Cleaning up our room and the loungeroom singlehandedly in one fell swoop. And the organising that we were to have a barbecue, and making the potato salad with chives and parsley. That is legendary.”, said Meg, “So long as Vladimir isn’t on his own. I’ll go and see what he’s up to.”
“I’ve finished the potato salad and I put it in the fridge. Do you want to make the three beans salad, Meggles, and put it out on the table out here?”, Sue said, “I finished it just before you arrived, Meggles.”
“Now that you’re here, I guess I mustn’t shirk. If you’re going inside, I’ll go and see Vladimir. I have a fairly good idea where he is.”, Tom said, “Thanks for finishing up the salad, Sue, and for telling me where to find the garnish.”
He had a really good hunch where Władek was. He was near the books and the magazines, submerged by the beanbag. Tom sat beside Władek, and Władek asked, “Anything waiting for me? Is lunch ready? You smell of potatoes.”
“Oh, no. That was ages ago. Listen, Władek, how did you get in here? Someone has to operate the door for you, and you have to ask permission if you want to go in and out…unless you climbed up on that wooden table near the door?”
“I came in with you, of course.”
“Yes, I know that, when Meg, Emily and I came to the pantry and emptied out all the paper bags. I remember you opened up the freezer after I gave you a start and put the steaks in there.”
“You gave me no start. I remember from draws in matka’s room. Oh, freezer. He is very cold. But I never mind cold. I know about meat. He must be very very cold to be firm, and then heatened up as a safeguard against germs.”
“Meg’s cooking teacher tried to get that fact into her head for a term, she says, and she absolutely howeled when she was told that. I’d have bashed her with a raw cold steak to show her what the teacher meant. But we eat meat hardly ever-only eggs and chicken and vegieburgers and lentils at home. At least that’s what Mum cooks for us-but when we’re home we cook whatever we feel like, you know, from the weekends-Friday to Monday, and never ever have take-away. ‘If you can’t stand the heat in the kitchen, you’re a pretty rotten person’ Dad says. Besides I feel a lot more creative there than I do a lot of the time at Wesley. Hope Robert got the meaty things and the vegie things-sausages and that.”
“Sausages have pig in them.”
“Not all of them do. Not real pig, anyway. They have plastic stuff in them that tastes like whatever, and processed, reconstructed bits of meat that people don’t want, but are too ordinary for offal. It’s all the casing. I suppose it’s better for the pigs, but because fewer of them get killed for sausage meat. It used to be pretty gruesome-the farmer cut the pig’s throat and hung it on a hook. The girls all went squeamish when we saw a pregnant sow being killed. It had seven little baby pigs in it.”
“Tom, is the sow a man pig or a woman pig? Then you say what he or she is. Make up your mind.”
“A woman. Yeah, you’re right. It is a she pig.”
“It is just that Margaret and your mother would not be happy if they were having babies and got killed for meat. I feel very sorry for the she pig, don’t you?”
“Anyway, that’s one of the reasons why some people turn vegetarian-because they can’t stand killing animals for food or sport. Our family doesn’t eat meat because we think it’s healthier, cheaper-you don’t get as much food poisoning in the hot weather, for instance-and it helps the ecosystem. Now the pigs are in the meatpacking system and they get killed with stun guns in their brains and have to walk on this ramp or conveyer belt. It’s so much better for the pigs that someone called it a Stairway to Heaven, after the Led Zeppelin song.”
“All this talk isn’t going to make Władek come out, or fry the sausages.”, Meg said, “And my friend Kirby says ‘They’re all flour and water. You don’t want to drag Vladimir by main force, do you? Because Sue says there’s a little chair in the garage and also a fency thing. I’d get it out myself, but you’re the one who did body building to strengthen your pecs.”
“Only because Mum and Dad told me it was good to use my mind, but they didn’t want me to be a Nancy boy.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, stop jawing and do something useful.”
“Okay. But I’ve got a problem. Every time I open the door, it’s an open invitation to Vladimir to walk out and hurt himself. And I can’t trust myself to keep an eye on him and carry the stuff in the garage at the same time-and there’s so much more stuff in the garage that could be hazardous. I don’t want any nasty accidents because I was too much of a one-track egomaniac to provide proper supervision for him. We’d never be allowed at the Gilberts again if that was the case. So, the first thing that happens, is that he comes out with me.”
“I heard something to the effect that Sue would offer him the choice of being outdoors or indoors, and eat in with him if that’s what he wanted and it was necessary.”
“The whole point of a barbecue…” Tom began to rave, while Meg said, “Come, get Vladimir out in two quick sticks, and shut the door after you-without letting go of his hand. Then I’ll lock this door and come out the front until I see what Sue and Robert want. There’s nothing to stop a nice family meal from happening if we plan carefully. Now I know you’re going to say something…”
“That I’ll regret later on? Um, I was just wishing that I had eyes in the back of my head so I could carry Vladimir on my back-hear that, Vlad? Do you want to go for a horsey-ride? At least I don’t have to be shoed for it…” and kept on making horse noises, including lots of cloppety-clops.
As it was, the way Tom kept Władek’s eyes and hands on him was nothing short of ingenious. Tom actually had Władek’s feet iin one hand and hands in the other, supporting his head and the rest of his body with his own arms and chest. Clearly there was some risk with this arrangement. Not only that, but Tom put Władek down on Sue’s lap with such vim.
Sue said with similar vim, patting Vladimir on the back, “And if he does spit up, you can receive the full benefit of it, thank you very much. Apart from which, worse things have happened. He might well have become hysterical, or he could have overbalanced and you might very well have fallen. You might have been strawberry jam all over the car park, you two! You had me very worried, Thomas Wiley, please think of the consequences before you do such risky things. There are three ways you carry my son, and that wasn’t one of them. I wonder Meg wasn’t here to supervise-ah, there you are, Margaret. Go to the kitchen, get a red plastic cup, fill it up about half-full, carry it very carefully, come back here and give the cup to Władek to drink. And if he can drink it, we’ll know that his body and brain are still in one piece. Tom, sit at the table, plesae. Do not move, but meditate on what you’ve done and might have done.”
Władek sat quietly in Sue’s lap-the best thing for him, though it could have well had a bad shock, and who knows what shock could do to him. I know First Aid, and said, “Shall I get up a blanket to cover him up in, while we check his body for any signs of bruising or swelling?” “Władek,” Sue said, “You’ll have to be very quiet and do everything we say. We’re afraid that you might have had an accident. If we tell you to lie on a blanket or drink some water, then do it straight away. That way we know you’re conscious and that you understand each word. All right, Władek? Now, how are you feeling? Groggy? Sleepy? Panicky? What?”
“Oh, Cousin Sue! Don’t let Władek go to sleep.”, cried Meg. “You’ve brought the water? Good-I knew I could trust you. Now, Władek, can you hold this cup with two hands and drink the water when Meg tells you to.”
Before Władek took the water, he said, “Mam zawroty g³owy. Nie mogê spaæ.” and looking at me, he said, “Proszê wezwaæ lezarka?” “Oh, thank God! Thank God he can talk.”, I said, “He said he felt dizzy, but he couldn’t sleep and then wanted me to take him to a doctor.” “Yes, yes, we understood just fine, Robert. Władek’s just fine too. Look how he’s drinking the water now. That’s good. Tak, dobry dziecko.”, Meg said.
“Can you be a good responsible girl, Meg, and get whatever bowls and plates we have in the kitchen?”, I said.
“Robert, I don’t notice you asking Tom or your own son to lessen my load. Tom’s been sitting there like an idiot for since I came here. And just because you’re both scared shitless about Władek-sorry-you might at lesat not play Tom and I off against one another. Mum and Dad take special care not to do that when they’re having one of their personal traumas or angst-ridden periods. It’s not fair on us-Tom has no excuse to sit like an idiot, nor smile like one.”
“Meg, the best you can do is what Robert asks you. Tom’s just got his monkey face on-the one that he puts on when he has to think. Robert, you might go with her now. We’ve done the sausages, chops and rissoles-I believe the salad boles are the only things we need. Did you remember to cover the bowls with cling wrap, Meggles?”
“Yes, Cousin Sue. I did. I put the remains of the canned stuff-the corn and the beans-in containers. I used most of the corned beef, beetroot and sauerkraut-er, cabbage, Cousin Sue.”, said Meg, “In fact, I made a list of almost everything Tom and I used, for what, how much and where it went. It’s about as exciting as a weather report-but at least you’ll be able to see for yourself what happened to the cling wrap. Oh, if I don’t bring the bowls out, they might spoil. Come, Cousin Babbitt, and help me out.”
“Charlie or Raymond?”, I winked to my wife. Sue winked back. The angst was over. We hoped Władek wouldn’t remember the incident, as Sue told him to put his head down and that isn’t always good for dizziness because though it may get the blood rushing, it also gives you a big crink in the neck. Sue was massaging him and telling him he’d feel better with a good meal inside him-or at any rate what he could eat-though I doubt he was really feeling bad until we had put the idea into his head.