Tom rose when Mary returned. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“He had to go to his regiment. He said to let you know how sorry he is.”
Hilda slumped. “But what took so long?”
“He couldn’t leave until there was a gap in the bombing.”
“He’s mad,” said Tom.
“It isn’t as close as it seems down here. They’re bombing the docks.”
“Perhaps we should all go up,” said Hilda. “One would hate to miss out on the action.”
Mary said nothing.
“I was worried sick,” said Tom. “I’m sorry. I know it’s silly.”
Mary sat down with him. “I was only upstairs.”
“I should have come up, I know. I was just—”
Mary took his hand to show that it didn’t matter. Now that she was back in the basement she began to shake. They waited, down in the dark.
After an hour Mary said, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a song?”
Zachary’s father cupped his hands. “Any of my boys awake over there?” Some answering calls came. “Well how about a tune?” he asked them.
There was nothing for a moment, while the sounds of explosions rumbled on. Then a lone, low voice came.
The Lord He thought He’d make a man
These bones going to rise again
More voices joined.
Made him from mud and grains of sand
These bones going to rise again
Zachary’s father joined in, with his eyes closed, and now Zachary too.
The Lord He spoke with monstrous voice
These bones going to rise again
Shook the world down to its joists
These bones going to rise again
The voices rang in the basement. On the bench beside Alistair’s empty place, Hilda glowered at Mary. The city shook. Mary held Tom close and ran her fingers through his hair.
“It will be all right,” she said. “You and I, we will be fine.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And tomorrow we’ll all fix the mess, and on Monday everyone will go to work as usual.”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do on Monday morning?”
“I don’t know,” said Tom. “Inspect all the schools. Check for damage.”
She squeezed his hand. “Good.”
“Then I suppose I will organize repairs as necessary, and check again that the open schools have adequate provision of shelters.”
“That’s good, darling.”
Eve took the needle, Adam took the plow
These bones going to rise again
That’s how we’re all working now
These bones going to rise again
“And what will you do on Monday morning?” said Tom.
“I shall stand in front of my class and tell them none of this palaver is an excuse for not having done one’s homework.”
“You could say that to Zachary now. He might use this time.”
She lowered her voice. “I go easier on him than the others. I think he might have something wrong with him, you know.”
“Beside being the wrong color, you mean?”
She stared until she was sure he was only teasing her, and when he grinned she jabbed him in the ribs. “You dog!”
“So what do you suppose is wrong with him?”
“You’ll scoff, but I’ve researched it and I think he has word blindness.”
Tom groaned. “No such thing.”
“But really. I’ve read papers on it.”
“By crackpots, I’m afraid. Oh, I know you mean well but just think about it. How can one be blind to something that is right there on the page?”
She let her hands fall from his, and sighed. “I don’t know, darling.”
“Right there in front of one,” he said, picking up her hands again and opening her palms like a book. “No farther away than this.”
“They say the eye sees, but there’s a blind place in the mind.”
“And I say it is lack of effort. You must hold him to the same standard as everyone else. Because where should it stop, this fashionable clemency, once we allow that there are things we can see and yet be blind to?”
The singing voices swelled in the cellar and the bombs gave the percussion, and the great injured city went farther into night.
“Oh, I don’t know, darling. I don’t know where it will stop.”
—
Alistair woke in the gray hours. The all-clear was sounding a huge C-sharp across the city. His body found coffee on its own. London created itself in concentric ripples widening from the warm white cup.