The Small Fortune of Dorothea Q (23 page)

D
orothea and Freddy
crept down the stairs and hid behind the curtain to the dining room. Ma Quint was walking back and forth between the kitchen and the breakfast table, serving breakfast to Humphrey and Pa, who were arguing about the two political leaders who had recently emerged in the fight for Independence; Forbes Burnham, of African roots and Cheddi Jagan, of Indian. Ma Quint’s voice broke into the argument.

‘Now you men just be quiet and eat! No politics at the table!’

At once, the men were silent. A chair creaked; Ma Quint was about to sit down herself.

‘Now!’ whispered Dorothea in Freddy’s ear. She pushed him out. Freddy walked up to the table. Dorothea, her hands over her mouth to hold back her excitement, followed him in.

‘Yes, Ma, and we all know you’ll always have the last word!’

Ma Quint looked up, the spoon in her hand hovering above her egg, ready to strike. She dropped the spoon and sprang to her feet; her chair clattered to the ground.

‘Oh my good Lord! Oh my sweet Jesus!’ Ma Quint’s hands flew to her heart and pressed against her breast, fingers splayed. Freddy took her in his arms, rocked her back and forth.

‘Oh Ma. It’s good to be back.’

‘You’re real! You’re not a ghost! Flesh and blood! My Freddy! I knew you’d be back! I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead!’ Ma Quint blabbered on, touching Freddy all over, ruffling his hair, feeling his arms, rubbing his back, sobbing and speaking simultaneously. Freddy continued to rock her.

‘Yes, Ma. It’s really me.’

Pa and Humphrey were standing now, waiting their turn. Freddy had to forcibly pull himself out of Ma Quint’s clasp. He hugged his father, who said nothing more than a muted,

‘Well done, boy, well done.’ And then Humphrey.

The slight hesitation before the brothers embraced came from Freddy, not Humphrey; and it was Humphrey, not Freddy, who spoke.

‘Welcome home, b-b-brother!’

‘
W
e were in Burma
,’ Freddy said. ‘In the jungle. They call it ‘the green hell’, and that’s the proper name for it. Funny how I had to go halfway across the world to see the jungle, when we’ve got so much of it right here.’

Breakfast was over, but they all still sat around the table as Basmati cleared away the remains. Even Ma Quint, having rattled on non-stop filling Freddy in on all the news of the last six years, was now silent. It was Freddy’s turn to speak.

‘War, and jungle; two hells by themselves, but in combination – well, there’s nothing worse.’ He paused, his eyes glazed over and he shuddered as if to shake off the memories. But then he returned to them, and his glance shifted to Ma Quint and then to Dorothea and back to Ma Quint. He spoke of war. Dorothea heard not a word; she wasn’t listening, simply drinking in the sight of him, the sound of his voice, melting in the glances he threw her way between words. But both Humphrey and Pa listened avidly. Pa’s shelves were filled with every book on the First World War ever published, and the next several minutes were filled with expressions such as ‘our battalion advanced’ and ‘the Japanese attacked’.

Ma Quint and Dorothea glanced at each other, and each knew what the other was thinking. Finally, Ma Quint butted in.

‘But you, Freddy, what happened to you? You can talk the war talk later; just tell us what happened to
you
.’

Freddy grinned, and poured himself another cup of coffee. ‘Well, see. There was this chap, a Scotsman, ‘Red’ we called him. Flaming red hair, he had. From Dundee. Hamish was his real name. Well, Red and me, we were best mates. And when he got wounded, and couldn’t walk, I helped him. Our battalion was making its way through the Burmese jungle, single file. There wasn’t a path, you see, it was thick jungle, and we were last, so by the time we came through, the others had trampled a way ahead of us. Still, the undergrowth was thick and progress was slow and we fell further and further behind. The last thing I remember was this terrible blast. Then I was out, gone. To this day I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t know.’

Another long silence. Ma Quint rustled in her chair. ‘Go on, Freddy. What happened next?’

Freddy laughed, a wry laugh, lacking mirth.

‘They found me, half-conscious. Red was dead by that time. I was dehydrated, dying. I don’t know how long I’d lain there, or why I hadn’t been eaten by animals by then. At least, nothing worse than insects. Flies and ants were all over me.’

‘Who found you?’

‘Monks. Buddhist monks, two of them. They had water. They carried me, miles and miles through the jungle, barefoot, to their monastery. Monastery! That’s a big word. It was a crumbling building, made of dried mud, with a couple of huts around it where the monks lived. It was a small community, just five of them. They nursed me back to health. They knew all kinds of herbs and things. It took a couple of weeks, but I recovered fully. But I had lost my memory.’

‘Amnesia?’

‘Yes. Total. I could not recall a thing; not my name, or what I was doing there, or where I came from. Or you, Dorothea. It was all gone, my mind a blank. That’s a strange thing. More so because I couldn’t speak a word of their language, or they of mine. But they taught me. I learned Burmese the way a child does and pretty soon I was fluent. And I lived their life. For years. It was a good life. It was as if a whole new person was born, they day they found me. Sometimes I had flashes of my former life; but nothing I could put together coherently.’

‘And that’s where you spent the last six years?’

Freddy nodded. ‘I was happy. Like a child. It was all simple and good. I had no need to know the past; I didn’t care. According to their Buddhist teaching, the past was irrelevant anyway; there is only the present. There is only the here and now, and that was perfect. Always perfect. I could have lived that way the rest of my life.’

Another long silence.

‘But something happened. Your memory came back?’ prompted Ma Quint.

‘Yes. Now and then we had visitors, other monks from other monasteries. Some of these monks don’t even have a monastery, they are homeless, simply wandering on to the next stop, all their lives. Well, one day, two monks arrived. They’d been to Rangoon some time before. They didn’t have much baggage, they never do. But what they did have …’

He paused. Dorothea’s eyes clung to him, to every word. She could hardly breathe. This wasn’t the Freddy she’d known, the Freddy she held in her memory and cherished in her heart. This was a new Freddy, a Freddy who had been through hell and survived, a changed man she could not grasp and did not know

Freddy seemed to have drifted away again. He kept doing that, as if his time with the monks had usurped a space in his mind to which he kept returning, forgetting the present moment, and her. Dorothea felt almost jealous; was that space better than the space they shared? What was in it? Was he happier there than he was with her? But no, that could not be. After all, he had returned. He was here, in flesh and blood.

‘What did they have, Freddy?’

He seemed to have completely forgotten his own last words.

‘Who? What?’

‘The wandering monks. You said they had something, something that reminded you. Of who you really are.’

Freddy’s eyes locked with hers.

‘A mouth-organ,’ he said. ‘They had a mouth-organ. They had picked it up somewhere. One of them had a talent for music and had taught himself a few tunes. The moment I heard that sound … well, I asked for it, and he gave it to me. And I played. I could play, Dorothea! Everything I’d ever played, so long ago; suddenly I could play all those melodies again. And with the music came the memories. And I was Freddy again; Freddy Quint of Lamaha Street. And I remembered home, and you, and I wanted to come home. I had to go. I had to come.’

Relief swept through Dorothea. However strong that Burma life had been, finally he had left it. For her.

‘So what happened then?’

‘Well, I’d have preferred not to have anything to do with the British Army again, but I needed a passport. I went to Rangoon and went through the official channels. I asked them
not
to notify my family. See, I wanted to come back and surprise you; I wanted to find out how things stood. I didn’t know if …’ he stopped, looked at Dorothea, and started again. ‘So all I wanted was to get to Britain, and a passport. They brought me back, and I went through all the official stages, became a civilian again.

‘I needed to go to Scotland first, to Dundee. I wanted to meet Red’s people, tell them what had happened, how he’d died. Give them closure. You understand?’

He looked at her, pleading, and she did.

‘They were wonderful, practically adopted me as a son. I felt so at home there. I stayed for two weeks. But then I left them. I got on a ship at Liverpool. We docked in Georgetown yesterday. Then I came home. And here I am.’

Freddy did not leave the house that first day, and neither did anyone else. They could not get enough of him. Ma Quint and Dorothea pampered him as if he were a baby, buzzing around him like bees around a fragrant flower. Pa wanted, and got, a detailed report on the War in Asia though the eyes of a soldier, and all through that tale Dorothea sat at Freddy’s side, holding his hand. And even Humphrey took his demotion from fiancé to brother-in-law with good grace and even empathy, which made it all the worse for Dorothea.

After lunch, Freddy prised himself away from Dorothea for a man-to-man talk with Humphrey. He never spoke of what was said there in the Annex; but to Dorothea he said,

‘Of the two of us, Humph is the better man. Are you sure?’

She squeezed his hand and that was her only answer.

A
nd so Dorothea
and Freddy were given a second chance at married life. The days passed by in perfect bliss; she took time off from work to be with Freddy every minute of every day. All Freddy’s old friends came to visit; those of his brothers who had moved out, moved back in to be near him and hear his story. Humphrey, empathetic as always, withdrew to allow the couple the space they needed; he turned to his stamps with all the more dedication. Dorothea, in her ecstasy, hardly noticed.

Only one incident marred the honeymoon: Kanga, somehow, found his way out into the road, was hit by a car, and killed. Kanga had been Dorothea’s dog in particular; she was the main dog-lover in the house, and she wept at the death. But the next day, Humphrey brought home a puppy, an adorable little ball of golden fluff, and placed it in her arms.

‘For you, Dorothea!’ he said, and his eyes shone at her pleasure. She leapt from the Morris chair in the gallery and flung her arms around Humphrey.

‘Oh, Humph! You’re a
darling!
I love you!’ she said, and Humphrey blushed in pleasure; being the lightest skinned of the brothers, he
could
visibly blush.

‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ Dorothea turned the puppy upside down to check, and said, ‘A girl! A girl dog – how wonderful!’

‘What will you call her?’ asked Humphrey, still flushed in the glow of Dorothea’s gratitude. But Dorothea turned to Freddy.

‘You
name her, Freddy! You’re so good at dog names! Go on, Freddy, find a girl name for her! Something soft and cuddly!’

Freddy stroked the puppy and thought for a moment. Then he said,

‘What about Rabbit?’

‘Rabbit! Perfect! You’re Rabbit, little puppy!’ said Dorothea, burying her nose in puppy-fluff, and then she placed the puppy in Freddy’s arms. She grinned wickedly, and said to Freddy:

‘You know that tigers eat rabbits for breakfast?’

‘I don’t think you’ll eat this one. This little rabbit is going to melt your heart – it’s getting a little tough.’

‘Not since you’re back!’ said Dorothea, kissing the puppy. She placed Rabbit on her lap and turned her over to scratch her tummy. Plainly enjoying it, the puppy licked her hands. ‘Oh, she’s so cute! I love her!’ cried Dorothea. ‘Thank you, thank you, Humph! You always know exactly what will make me happy!’

‘Thanks a lot, brother. This is a fine present!’ said Freddy, bending over to fondle the puppy’s head.

‘My pleasure,’ said Humphrey. Something in his voice – a crack, a hesitation that was not his characteristic stutter, made her look up at her brother-in-law, so that she was able, for just an instant, to catch the expression in his face as he turned away.

‘OK, I-I’ll be off then!’ said Humphrey, and walked off.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ said Freddy, but Dorothea knew. She reclaimed the puppy from Freddy and cuddled her for a few minutes, and then she said,

‘Wait here, Freddy. I have to go to Humphrey.’

She walked to his room with Rabbit in her arms. She knocked on his door and entered without waiting for a come-in. Humphrey lay on his bed, face buried in his pillow, and his body heaved as he wept.

‘Oh!’ said Dorothea, and rushed to the bed. She sat down and placed a hand on his back as if to steady him, but all that did was instigate a volley of the most desperate, heart-broken sobs.

‘Humphrey, I —’

Humphrey lifted his face from the pillow and turned it away from her, so that she could not see it but only hear.

‘Go away! Just go away, please! Your pity only makes it worse!’ the voice was shattered. The words, however, were vehement, filled with a passion as she had never known in him. And she knew then of the vastness and strength of his love, and of the pain she had gouged into his being. She returned to Freddy, and for the first time since his reappearance, doubt clouded her mind.

‘How can we ever be happy, causing him such grief? How can we live under the same roof?’

‘We can’t,’ said Freddy. ‘We won’t. We’ll find our own place, build our own family. Humph will surely find someone else.’

‘He won’t,’ said Dorothea. ‘I know him.’

‘Then he’ll marry his stamps. He’ll find happiness there.’

Dorothea frowned at Freddy’s flippancy, and said nothing. Freddy met her eyes, saw the critique in them.

‘Aw, come on; I’m only joking. Let’s go into the yard and show Rabbit around.’

And so, with a click of their fingers, they put Humphrey behind them.