Tom Murphy Chapter 16

On the following evening, I visited the Rosenblums and apologised. When I sensed their mood was forgiving, I treated it jocularly.

Pat spends too much time in a corner with a book, I said.

Mrs Rosenblum offered me a cup of tea. Maria, with her melting smiles, perched herself beside my knee. I had invitations for them. For the price of a silver collection we could go to our neighbourhood Sunday concert this week. A silver collection was a Donation expected for every seat, please. That meant I could pay for the four of us to go at sixpence each. I showed the newspaper advertisement for the Unemployed Workers' Movement Concert.

The U.W.M. had employed Wormwood to organise it. While we were excitedly discussing the coming show, there was a knock. A loud knock always caused shudders at the Rosenblums. But this was a gentle one. Mrs Rosenblum opened the door. To our astonishment there was Wormwood. He was quickly invited in. Wormwood and I were embarrassed to see each other. I had last seen him in the Mayor's arms. He sat down with a cup of tea.

I have come,
said Wormwood, and his insinuating smile widened so far that we could stare down into his mouth.

To ask Gustav to accompany me in a cabaret skit at the U.W.M. concert.

Mrs Rosenblum said,
Ooh! and her hand rose delicately to her mouth.

Gustav looked nonplussed. Maria stared up at Wormwood's broken rabbit teeth and giggled. Cabaret meant nothing to me and I waited until further revelation.

What do you know about cabaret? said Gustav haughtily.

Wormwood's smile uncurled with the sinister poise of a striking cobra.
Only a year in the fleshpots of Berlin just before those Nazi beasts spoilt everything.

Gustav looked embarrassed. The novelty of that made me suspect he had at last been caught out by someone. Mrs Rosenblum immediately launched into her excited arm waving condition.

Oh, Herr Vood, vee might have bumped into each other. My darling late husband and I used to take the train to Berlin to have a, how do you say it in English? a vacation at least once a month in Berlin. Oh the aah aah atmosphere! It vos the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, Herr Vood, vot it vos then to be alive vith a sweet husband and a country. Now vee are reduced to this cow barn at the ends of the earth. But I have my dear children so I must not complain.

Wormwood's smile shone as brightly as ever.
Indeed, Mrs Rosenblum. Console yourself with another thought. In Berlin you were one star in a firmament. In this hick land you are a blazing comet.

Vot Berlin sights did you frequent, Herr Vood?

Wormwood sighed, and his eyes grew moist and dreamy. He reeled off a list of German names with a skill of tongue that astonished me. It turned out that Mrs Rosenblum had made them her favourite haunts too. They finished their reminiscences with the conclusion they had once danced the tango together in a bar managed by a lady whose legs and arms were tattooed with snakes, birds and flowers. This was all novel and hair raising to me.

May I? said Wormwood.

The adults sprang to their feet. While we in astonishment and shame stared, they pulled wild faces, gripped each other's outstretched arms, and flung and spun themselves stiffly to the door and back.

Pathetic, muttered Gustav.

They looked sadly at each other, and sat down sedately.
Wormwood turned to Gustav.

Young man, I invite you to be my em-cee.
I will be Lola-Lola in the Blue Angel cabaret.

Gustav's face looked blank and irritable.
Mrs Rosenblum interjected.

The children are too young to know about the cabaret life or the movie. You vill have to teach Gustav.

How do you know I want to be in it? snapped Gustav.

Of course you vont to be in it, snapped back his mother.
You are always putting down the good people of this town. Now is your chance to show an exotic flower can bloom here too.

Gustav shrugged his shoulders and muttered something in German under his breath. Wormwood beamed his most insinuatingly and patted Gustav on the shoulder.

I'll give it a go, said Gustav to me.

Oh, that's swell, come to my flat tomorrow afternoon and we will rehearse. I have a gramophone record of – 

Wormwood reeled out German names. Years later, I recognised he was talking about Marlene Dietrich singing ‘Falling In Love Again’.

They arranged a time. Wormwood got up and shook Mrs Rosenblum's hand. He beamingly farewelled her children. After he had gone, I noticed he had ignored me all through the meeting. That was of no bother to me. All my life I had been other people's fag-ends.

As I got up to go, Mrs Rosenblum turned unexpectedly to me.

Tom, you vill accompany Gustav to Herr Vood's flat, von't you?

I had resigned myself that when Gustav sparkled in public view, I would always slip away. I was astonished.
I nodded and agreed that I would meet Gustav at the street corner that led to Wormwood's flat.

Mrs Rosenblum caught up to me at the top of the stairs.

You vill keep an eye on Gustav with Herr Vood. Gustav is at that age vhere an older man might exercise an unhealthy influence. Vith you boys together you vill all be safe.

Before that last encounter with the Mayor and Wormwood, I would not have had any idea what she was talking about. Now I nodded conspiratorially. She looked at me with a sudden puzzled frown. Then she gave a surprise peck on my cheek and returned to the garret.

As I went down the stairs, I overheard Maria questioning her mother.

Mummy, what does the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah mean?

Gustav laughed that irritating elder sibling mocking laugh of:
I know but I am not going to tell you because you are younger.

I had no idea either although I was familiar with the term at the Prody meetings.

The next evening, I met Gustav at the street corner. I got the feeling he would prefer I wasn't there. He said to me as a passing joke:

Mummy said I was to keep an eye on you with Wormwood. She must think one of you will pick the other's pocket.

I did not reply. I concluded with surprise that on the matter with Wormwood I was the worldly one.

We ascended the apartment stairs to Wormwood's flat number. Gustav knocked. After a few minutes, Wormwood came out with his beaming smile and only in a bath towel.

Excuse my undress. In this hick town, the only civilised place to meditate is inside a warm bath. I have just thinned my eyebrows, and fluffed up and curled my hair for the Lola-Lola style. Do I look the Fraulein?

He waggled his head a few inches from Gustav.
I glanced down and saw his toes were painted a gaudy green. Wormwood then saw me and his face fell.

Come in, come in, Wormwood said to Gustav.

I squeezed myself behind Gustav into the flat. The flat was a picture of simple elegance. Not a hair or speck upset its neatness. On the living room wall there was a framed picture of the ballet dancer Anna Pavlova gazing sedately at us.

Sit down, sit down, would you boys like a err, lemonade?

We immediately agreed. I was relieved I was now included. We sat down on wicker chairs. Wormwood soon returned with two high glasses filled to the brim and a stick with a cherry floating inside each. We took them gratefully, and our throats shivered with the rare icy delight.

Wormwood excused himself to get dressed. He returned in a long flowing blue dressing gown wrapped around with a sash. Images of bright flowers and ferns decorated it. I gasped at this striking unique sight.

My dears, giggled Wormwood.
I will be wearing my favourite Blue Angel Dress. I will be contacting the local repertory for you Gustav. You will be in a top hat, tail coat, a flower in your button hole. You will be smoking a fat cigar. You will introduce the immortal Lola-Lola to the crowd. Then you will tell a cabaret joke. I remember a good Berlin one about the Nazis and the Jews. Then the gramophone will play.

Then Wormwood reeled out some German words. Gustav nodded. Wormwood sped to the edge of the living room. I watched with wonder as he fitted a black disc into a metal box. He turned on a switch. My wonder overflowed. The disc revolved, and Wormwood picked up a metal arm and gently positioned its needle finger on the edge of the disc.

Then I nearly jumped out of my seat. A husky young female voice sung as sweetly as honey a melodious tune in German. I glanced at my two companions. They were too engrossed to notice my agitation.

Wormwood stopped the gramophone. He motioned to Gustav. Gustav stood before him. Wormwood pretended to puff a cigar and lisped in a peculiar stammering voice. After Gustav had perfected it, Wormwood tottered to a wicker chair in the middle of the room. Then he sped to the room corner and put on again the gramophone. He rushed back. As the honey song began, he mouthed the words and fluttered his eyes and waggled his tongue at me.

With the sly movements of a sleepy cat to the rhythms of the song, he sat and wrapped himself around the chair, and gestured to me with his outstretched arms. I began to feel ill at ease. Men were men and women were women in my world. I glanced at Gustav. He was watching Wormwood and pretending to smoke his cigar. He was transfixed and drinking in the experience. The song finished. There was silence. Wormwood lay wrapped around the chair as if his body had never heard of bones and muscles. I remembered to applaud.

Wormwood got up and blew kisses to me. He tottered his way out of the room.

Put on another record, boys, I am dressing,
Wormwood called from outside the living room.

Gustav hurried to the gramophone and studied a pile of colourful wrappings in a box beside it. He pulled out another disc from a wrapping of a handsome dark eyed man and woman dancing in that stiff armed wild way. He fitted it into the gramophone and drew back the metal arm. Wild dizzying fiddle sounds filled the air. Gustav returned to the middle of the floor and motioned to me. I hesitated, but the wild sounds drove my feet to Gustav.

Gustav grabbed my arms. I succumbed to the wild sounds and the sweaty allure of his lithe body and vibrancy. I found I too was dancing and the room was spinning and Anna Pavlova was smiling at us handsome gay boys. We hopped and spun to the end of the room and back again to the end and back again.
Gustav whispered in my ear.

I haven't danced the tango since my Bar Mitzvah. Daddy rented a hall for the celebration after the ceremony. When he switched on the light, there was a young Nazi stormtrooper standing in the middle of the hall. My friends and I made a ring around him and jeered and whistled at him, and he scampered off like a frightened puppy. He was so embarrassed we felt sorry for him. He was the sort of yokel simpleton this town is full of.

I vaguely felt this was an insult made at my town and put up my hand to slap my friend. But at that moment,Wormwood, in a white silk vest and white cotton tight short pants, came jiving into the room. His entire body was hypnotic and pulsating to the tango sounds. He grabbed Gustav and they tangoed across the room. Then he spun around and seized my arms. We tangoed to the end of the room and back. In my entranced mood, the room was suddenly filled with handsome dark eyed jiving couples and we were the stars. I studied Wormwood's face a few inches from mine. It was pallid with drooping eyes, cheeks hideously pock‑marked and scarred, and crumbling and broken teeth.

The music suddenly stopped. We boys stopped and released our arms. Wormwood continued to sway and spin. As his body contorted, he lisped and stammered in a high pitched mincing voice.

L–l ife ith a dance of death. Fthe orchestra plays on. Fthe politicians, fthe generals, fthe newspaper editors s–shake and bounce to its rhythms. We millions of little people p–play ring around the roses around them. But no time for philosophy for Wormwood. I–I am a hedonist, a fag, a joker, a goldfish on the dance floor

Faster and faster spun Wormwood and we boys applauded and cheered. Then we were silent and alarmed when Wormwood began to sway clumsily and struggle to keep on his feet. Then he fell to the floor. We rushed to him. He struggled to crawl and fell flat to the floor, waving his limbs like a crumpled stick insect.

Boys, I need some happy dust. Go to the kitchen cupboard and you will find behind the marmite jar a tiny bag of white powder. Bring it here.

Gustav ran to the kitchen. I stayed to hold up Wormwood's head. His eyes were glazed and blood shot. Mucus flowed sickeningly down from his nose and on to his tongue. He continued to desultorily wave his limbs. Explosions of little farts came out from his other end. Gustav rushed to him with the bag.
Wormwood groaned and whispered.

Put a pinch of the happy dust on the back of your hand and hold it to my nose.

Gustav said to me: You do that. I don't mess around with cocaine.

I glanced at him in astonishment. In our neighbourhood one helped each other as a matter of course regardless of any high-mindedness.

I did as Wormwood asked, and he snorted it up his nostrils. He sat up, leaned back his head, and sniffed until his lungs were filled. He held the air, and then released it slowly. We helped him up to a chair. He was giggling and still farting.

Boys, all there is to this world is dives and bankrupts. Happy dust takes away the pain. It floats you away on cloud nine, giggled Wormwood.

We felt it was time to leave. We hurried to the door. It was locked. Gustav opened a side window and we climbed out into the fresh midday air.

A week later, The Unemployed Workers' Movement concert was held. The Rosenblums and I paid our donations of sixpence, and trooped into the draughty hall. The front seats were filled with respectable elderly people. The back seats were occupied by whistling, feet stamping young men and women. The unemployed had each made an effort in his tattered suit, down at heel shoes, washed out hat. His wife or girlfriend was smart in her washed out floral skirt, hat and layers of rouge and eye shadow.

There were impersonations of famous characters I had never heard of. There was choir singing of favourite old songs. A couple did jokes that amused the crowd but I thought very feeble. One stayed in my mind because I was surprised that the audience laughed so hysterically .

A young couple, dressed up as respectably as at a Church meeting, were sitting together looking horribly bored.

The young woman said to the man.
What are you thinking of dear?
Same as you are thinking, pet, replied the young man.
She got up and promptly slapped his face.
Oh, you horrid thing, she said.

Then at last, Gustav in coat tails, powdered face, and smoking a fat cigar appeared on the stage.

W–Welcome w–welcome to the blue angel. I am not a Jew, I only lookth intelligent.

Gustav glanced anxiously at the audience. There was a solid blank silence. He seemed to dry up. He coughed.

H–happy to see you. I am your hosth. Leave your troubles outside, stranger, madam. Fthe orchestra is beauthiful. And now presenting the legendary? the sweet heart of every European capital? Lola-Lola?

There was an uproar of feet stamping, whistling and shrieks. Wormwood, in white hat, fluffed curls, scanty black dress and sash, black stockings, high heeled shoes, minced on to the stage. He blew kisses at the audience. He thrust his hips forward, and sat astride on a chair, leaning on the back. He crossed his legs, and fluttered his eyes, and waggled his tongue. Then the scratchy gramophone played the young woman's husky voice and honey melody. As he mouthed to each pause of the song, Wormwood gestured his arms out to the audience.
There were shouts from some of the older men.

That's a Hun song!

Wormwood blew kisses at them. The em-cee strutted and smoked his cigar at the front of the stage. I stayed silent fearing a riot. I glanced at the Rosenblums. They were laughing as if they would burst, and their eyes were moist. I glanced at Dad. He was scowling and his fat cheeks were red with anger.
Suddenly, Dad marched forward and shouted.

This is a concert not a brothel!

I was instantly terrified there really would be a riot and both Dad and Wormwood would make fools of themselves. However the audience was too helpless to notice. Dad marched to the hall door, marched out, and furiously slammed it. I hurried after him.

Dad? I called, It's only a bit of fun.

Dad glanced at me. What's the matter, I'm only going to the lavatory?

I left him and hurried behind stage. The cabaret was over but the audience had not calmed down. In a corner of the dressing room Wormwood was weeping inconsolably. My heart was troubled. I hurried to him and put my arm around his shoulder. He buried his face into my chest.

Is it too much to ask for appreciation for refinement and style? he sobbed.

They're all hicks out there, I consoled him.

Wormwood dried his tears.
No, no, Tommy. The entertainer has always to be one step only in front of the crowd. One behind, they fall asleep, two ahead, they make him a freak. Tonight, I forgot that maxim.

Wormwood, I said
Come back and perform in 1944. By then half the town will belong to the Unemployed Workers Movement and they all will worship Lola-Lola.

N ow the audience was ready for the final act, indeed the most perilous. To my great unease, Dad would be leading a sing along of harmonised songs of long long ago on his piano accordion. I hurried over to the back of the auditorium, and gave a silent Prody prayer and a hail Mary for final measure.

Dad, looking very uncomfortable with his accordion, appeared on the stage. There was an instant polite applause drowned out by a roar of boos from the young men at the back. Dad glared at the trouble makers. He walked resolutely to the front centre of the stage. He began to squeeze the instrument and sing in his powerful baritone.

After a performance of Dad in the bath, many a neighbour would tell us he might have made a living as a performer. But now it all seemed wrong. He was uneasy and his voice seemed to be strained. The audience turned their attention away and began to gossip to their neighbours. My heart sunk for poor Dad. The trouble makers shouted across the aisle to one another. Dad stopped, shrugged, and began to walk to the exit.

Sing us, Danny Boy! a voice that I knew was the neighbourhood butcher shouted.

Go on! Go on! shouted the crowd.

Dad hesitated and had the look as if to say, Are you taking the mickey out of me? Then he returned to the front of the stage. He squeezed the instrument.

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling, he sang softly.

The audience became silent. Dad's words seemed to waft out of the hall to the far away emerald isle. The instrument desisted its hideous sounds and became delicate wind throbbing pipes. Dad opened his throat and his words flew out like leprechauns. Tears of sadness and joy sprang from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. I glanced around. The trouble makers were silent and transfixed. Then like a bull roar, then a celestial choir, a single throat sound rose from the audience and filled the hall. I felt cold shivers run down my back. Tears flowed everywhere, even the young men wiped their eyes.

For you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall live in peace until you come to me,
ended the song.

Everyone stood up and the applause and feet stamping and whistling might have taken the roof off. Dad bashfully bowed and walked off the stage. I rushed over to congratulate him.

The concert was over and everyone was soon engrossed in their own business.
They left the hall for the relief camps and the slums, and Dad to his badge of office. The last patrons made my heart pound. They were Doctor Eisler and his wife. I slipped away home and felt horribly guilty.

My alarm at meeting the Eislers made me lie low for a week. When I climbed again the garret stairs, it was after tea time. Gustav was absent. I looked around the garret in surprise. That had never happened before. Maria was lying on her bed and captivated in writing up her diary. She glanced up and gave me the sort of smile that a cat might give when disturbed when lapping its milk ration. I muttered an embarrassed hello and farewell and fled from the children's bedroom.

Mrs Rosenblum was desultorily and awkwardly repairing a garment on a sewing machine. Once I had settled down to the shock of no Gustav, I noticed the garret was electric with radio static. Beneath its unearthly whistles harmonic string sounds wafted.

A soft voice burst forth from the cacophony and sang in German as if he was Saint Peter greeting us troubled mortals at the Heavenly Gates. I wondered if he welcomed burglars and vandals of innocent elderly folk.

Mrs Rosenblum gave me a soft sad smile.

I have got short vave German radio.

I was more troubled. She suddenly looked old. The corners of her mouth were down, and her hair and skin were dried up and deathly-looking. Tears dribbled from the corner of her wrinkled eyes like rain drops from the window panes of a battered old building. A morbid thought struck me that she was was on some potion of Doctor Eisler's.
When the Rosenblum children had been ill, the gentle little man with his big black bag had regularly called at the garret. If I had been a man instead of a soft cheeked boy, I would have put my arm around this poor old woman.

Where is Gustav? I asked. I tried to sound offhand.

He has just gone out with Mr Vood, said Mrs Rosenblum.

Her face drooped more until it seemed to hang over the sewing matching.

Click, click click, went the swing machine.

Aah, aah, aah, sang Saint Peter.

I was angry with Wormwood, Gustav, and myself. If I had come a few minutes earlier, I might have been able to wrestle Gustav from Wormwood. Then I immediately knew I, a boy, had no show. I had five pounds secreted away in a crack in the floor under my bed. But even that I knew was peanuts against all the advantages of being not only a man, but, more remarkable, gainfully employed. Wormwood spewed forth money.

Where to? I asked.

He said, ‘To the billiard hall’, said Mrs Rosenblum.

I was shocked. The billiard hall was the spiritual home of my manly brothers. Once they had entered into that smoke filled swearing place, the teaspoon of brotherly love allotted to them vanished. After several visits, they all stayed permanently smoke filled swearing oafs.

A furious determination gripped me that I mustn't allow that to happen to Gustav. I made a hurried farewell to both Rosenblums. Engrossed in their gloomy thoughts both barely looked up.

I ran to the main street and entered the billiard hall. I cast my eyes about. I saw Gustav in the middle of a circle. Beside him was my brother Mickey. Wormwood was bent over the pool table. His cheesy smile and lethargy had turned into a striking cobra. He struck. Billiard balls rolled, whacked into one another, and performed a dance. Several balls rolled into the table hole.

Wormwood's smile broke out as wide and bright as the Summer sun. A sigh resounded around the circle. I cryptically sensed that sigh belonged to the adult kingdom that seemed to for ever detain me at its gates.

I glanced at Mickey and Gustav. I saw that Mickey had that furious shifty look when he had just missed out on something that he felt entitled to. Mickey thought he was entitled to the world. Gustav was enraptured. He reminded me of the picture-book fairy-tale Prince gazing upon the twelve dancing Princesses as they disappeared down the trap-door under their bed chamber.

My day dreaming was dispelled when a mate whispered to Mickey.

Cut your losses when you can. You are dealing with a hustler.

Mickey ignored him and and moved to the billiard table. I now couldn't bear to watch. I knew how it would all end. There would be a furious row between Dad and Mickey. Dad would first cuss Mickey. Mickey would wait until Dad had thrown a few shillings at him, then he would cuss Dad.

Then I saw that Gustav was wearing flash new clothes. He looked as devilish again as when I had first seen him in the park. Gustav was a dandy about his appearance. When he wasn't wearing his out door garments, they would lie ironed out under his mattress. But of late, they had had the frayed washed out look of the relief workers. His sister and mother now stayed permanently in that clothing condition.

Wormwood went and stood beside Gustav. I noticed their shoulders rubbed together. If I had tasted a drop of Dad's home-brew, I would have had the boldness to kick Wormwood's shins.

The two saw me. Wormwood gave his cobra look. Gustav looked very uncomfortable. They weren't going to communicate with me. I left the billiard hall feeling angry and mean.

I returned to the garret. Nothing had changed there.
Mrs Rosenblum stopped the sewing machine.

Vould you like a supper, dear? she said.

Yes, please, I replied greedily.

As I politely bit through her sweet homemade cake and drank her sweet tea, Mrs Rosenblum gave startling vent to her feelings.

Tom, am I a good mother? Vot have I done wrong that Gustav should befriend himself vith a man like Mr Vood?

I was tongue-tied. They were not the sort of questions I had any experience of answering.
Then suddenly she said something that made me jump out of my skin.

Tom, you are the only person in the whole town, except for the Eislers, who has befriended us. Ve are suppliants here. Sometimes, such people have to do things in a devious vay to survive. I know that you know something about Mr Vood.

I was tongue-tied again. But I nodded.

Something that if it became known vould make him a leper in this town.

I nodded again.

To my intense embarrassment, Mrs Rosenblum got up and put her arms around my shoulders.
She whispered in my ear.

Tell Gustav. Gustav is very, how should I put it, virtuous. If you do that, you vill have him as your friend and our dutiful son and brother again. But Gustav also has a strong sense of justice. You vill have to give him evidence. He vill know vot you are talking about because he has read adult books, even though he is an innocent in real life.

I fervently nodded again and my face burnt with the shame of her words. I crouched out of her embrace and fled from the garret.

I returned to the billiard hall. As I had now expected, there was a furious row. The games had stopped and everyone was enjoying the spectacle. Bystanders were peering into the hall.

You cheat! shouted Mickey.

I want my fair share of the wager, smoothly replied Wormwood.

You pretended to be just a joker. Now you lead me down the garden path, then show yourself to be a hustler.

All's fair in love and war, responded Wormwood and his smile broke out anew.

I gulped. Wormwood spoke truer words than even he knew.

Let me get at him! Let me get at him! shouted Mickey.

His mates with much shouting and grabbing were holding Miickey away from Wormwood. Wormwood was silent, his lips pursed. I was not impressed. I knew that old trick of Mickey's who was far too scared of Dad to act out his words.

Give him his due, then he is banned from here, said the proprietor who was watching with a bemused look.

Mickey threw several pounds onto the billiard table.

Take it you queer fairy. If I catch you, I'll kill you.

For the first time, I saw Wormwood flinch.

No more of that, said the proprietor.
We all know Wormwood. He's no man's man, but he doesn't hang around lavatories either.

Everyone seemed to agree with that assertion. Wormwood coolly picked up the money and slipped it into his pocket. He then vanished out the door as swiftly as the limbie.
Here was my chance. I went up to Gustav.

Come home, Gustav. Your mother is waiting for you.

As we walked down the dark empty streets, I apologised to Gustav on behalf of the town. Gustav laughed.

That was a tea party. In my town in Germany you have to dodge bullets when gentlemen fight.

That confirmed my opinion that Germany was a very queer place.

There is something I have to tell you, I said nervously.

Gustav stopped and turned pale. Do we have to go back to Germany?

No, no, I said hastily.
It is about Wormwood. You must keep away from him. He is a homosexual.

I used the toff word that I had found somewhere.
Gustav turned pale again.

That can't be true. Wormwood is a kind and good man.

That point had astonished me too. But I had to continue. I told him how I had seen him in bed together with the Mayor.

Then Gustav said words that I had been desperately hoping he would not.

What were you doing in the Mayor's office late at night?

I had been caught out by this smart boy. I knew if I kept any part of the jigsaw back, he would needle me until I confessed. So, I took a deep breath and told him everything about my dealings with my employer. I even told him about my accident in Doctor Eisler's surgery. I had intended that as light relief. To my astonishment, he did not laugh cynically. Gustav's eyes flashed and he gesticulated in his anger.

How dare you do that to this innocent couple?

His wife would of cleaned it up,

I pretended to be nonchalant. But my heart beat furiously with the shame and fear.

The Eisler's are refugees like my family. They have already had one sanctuary, their country, broken into. Now they have had to live through that twice

I was now heartily ashamed. But what could I do to make amends?

You must tomorrow post the Mayor's five pounds to them for damages, snapped Gustav.

I meekly agreed. I was secretly glad to see the last of that lucre.
Gustav suddenly stopped and stared at me.

That means the Mayor is a homosexual too, he said in a low voice.

I was surprised at Gustav's obtuseness. I nodded.

When the leader is corrupt so will become everything else, said Gustav solemnly.

I hadn't thought of that. I wondered if Gustav was right.

When a disease gets into your bloodstream, your whole body becomes infected, said Gustav.

I nodded. Gustav was as usual wise far beyond his years.

Then we must warn the town people, said Gustav firmly.

I was horrified. The Mayor I now knew was of the same substance as pus, but he was my boss. How I had been brought up – that made him as sacrosanct as the Pope. A divide between Gustav and me was now glaring and unbridgeable. I was a worker, he belonged to the middle class.

I pleaded with Gustav all the way to the gate of the big house. I could see that he was not convinced of my arguments that the Mayor had to be protected because he was my boss and paid my wages.

I finally pointed out that if he grassed on the Mayor, no one would believe him and his family would have to leave town. He would have to grass on me also, and on Wormwood.

Wormwood would go to prison and I would go to a home for delinquent boys, I said tearfully.

That brought Gustav to his senses. I could see however that he was very unhappy to compromise with his ideals. I secretly thought that Gustav was the one who had still a lot of growing up to do. We separated at the gate.