THE MIND HAS MOUNTAINS Page 11

  ‘There’s a hell of a lot up there beside the moon, believe me! It quite staggered me when I started flying; I’d never given that sort of thing a thought before, but when I looked at a star map. . . .’

  ‘But this is something that has to be done alone!’ Norris shouted angrily. ‘And that makes it very much more dangerous than anything you’ve ever done.’

  ‘A fighter pilot. . . .’

  ‘A pilot is in radio contact with the ground all the time. And he has instruments to tell him where he is.’

  ‘They didn’t all come back, you know,’ Phillimore said huffily.

  There was a pause. Phillimore thought he had scored a point, but eventually Norris said, ‘Would one want to return all that much?’

  ‘Some weren’t given the option.’

  They observed a few moments’ silence, then Phillimore said, ‘It makes me annoyed when people talk like that. “They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old. . . .”; all that poetic nonsense. Most of them would have given a lot to have had the chance. And then, there’s the suggestion that there is something wrong with those of us who survived. . . .’

  ‘It’s the survivors I’m writing about in this book.’

  ‘Then I could probably give you a bit of help. You were too young to be in it, weren’t you? It wasn’t so easy, coming back to Civvy Street. . . .’

  ‘They live in a small village in the shadow of the Downs; a village very like the one I live in. A few of them have worked in a town on the other side of the ridge, but communications are getting worse and the journey is becoming increasingly hazardous. . . .’

  ‘I sometimes feel like that myself. I said to my wife the other day, “Is it worth it?” When . . . if I get the job with West Sussex, it will be even farther to travel.’ He stared at his knuckles, bruised with much rapping. ‘That’s only in my worst moments, of course.’

  ‘News of other places is difficult to get but there are disturbing rumours and four horsemen have been seen riding in the vicinity of Mount Caburn. . . .’

  ‘My wife took a tumble up there once. You’d have thought it would have put her off riding, wouldn’t you? Not a bit of it. . . .’

  ‘The forests are spreading. . . .’

  ‘No fear of horses, just trains.’

  ‘AND THE WOLF IS BACK!’

  This succeeded in arresting Phillimore’s attention, but upset Norris himself who pressed his hands to his face. Phillimore glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, but there was no one there who could have prompted this strange remark. Norris dragged his hands away slowly, stretching the skin so that his face was momentarily out of shape. He said, ‘I thought I was over that. It’s a week since it last happened.’ He looked round the room. ‘There’s no one here.’

  Phillimore was by now feeling like a man who has caught the wrong train and, having failed to act purposefully and get out at the next stop, is too unnerved to get out at the following one.

  Norris said, ‘Why aren’t there any people here?’

  ‘Perhaps there has been a bomb scare?’

  ‘But someone is supposed to blow a whistle on each floor. Who blows the whistle on our floor?’

  ‘Spiers.’

  ‘I would have thought they’d have given that job to you with all your war-time experience.’

  ‘It was considered that senior officers were away at too many meetings.’ Phillimore picked up Norris’ agenda and studied the sketches which Norris had made in the margin. ‘I read somewhere that this was the way Matisse, or one of those fellows, worked. He would do a really good drawing, absolutely recognisable, and then take all the work out of it, so to speak, so that at the end he’d be left with just this lumpish mass. Can’t see the point of it myself.’

  ‘You don’t think the last sketch is more powerful?’

  ‘Your Little Miss Muffet, or Huber, or whatever she calls herself, wouldn’t like it, very much. There is no relationship between this and and that monstrous thing!’ He stabbed an accusing finger at the last sketch.

  Norris looked at the last sketch unhappily. ‘Yes, you’re right. I have pared away the superficiality but there’s nothing left, just another Bride of Frankenstein. Perhaps one shouldn’t try to commit this sort of thing to paper.’ He screwed up the sheet and threw it on the floor.

  ‘That’s your agenda!’ Phillimore protested.

  But Norris was already sketching in the margin of the minutes of the last meeting, without apparently being aware of what he was doing.

  A voice from the door said, ‘Two people who don’t read their notices!’ Madge Conroy went on, ‘The Education Committee is meeting in Committee Room Number One because there is no heating in here. It’s terribly crowded, the press think it’s a put-up job to discourage members of the public from attending, and there are all the signs of a disagreeable meeting. It won’t help if two senior officers are discovered holding their own meeting in here!’

  ‘And why not? I vote we adjourn for six months.’ Norris seemed unsurprised and not in the least concerned. After they had pushed their way into the committee room and taken the seats reserved for them, Norris began another sketch of Phoebe Huber on the back of the report of the Further Education Sub-Committee. He seemed completely unconcerned and Phillimore wondered whether his inappropriate behaviour might be the result of drug-taking. While he was trying to get a look at Norris’ eyes the Chairman of the Education Committee said, ‘When we have our officer’s attention, perhaps he can answer that question.’

  Several people turned to look at Phillimore and Madge Conroy passed him a note. While Phillimore rose to answer a question arising out of the minutes Norris screwed up another sheet of paper and dropped it on the floor. At this moment it appeared to occur to him that he was behaving oddly and he glanced furtively round the room. It was a large room, but not as large as the Council Chamber, and at present it was overcrowded. The dark blinds had been drawn across the windows thereby blocking the escape route for the wandering eye and turning the people in on themselves. The strip lighting above the long table was bright and threw no shadows; its unwholesome light perverted nature and even faces that bloomed with health in daylight now appeared touched by corruption, the skins livid and a rot of purple shadow beneath the eyes. Norris, who had seemed so strangely elated in the cold, empty Council Chamber, now began to look apprehensive. He bent down to retrieve the screwed-up piece of paper, moving with the peculiar, lunging awkwardness of the person who hopes to elbow panic out of the way. People turned to stare at him as he straightened the paper out on his knees. Phillimore lost the thread of his discourse. Norris scribbled, ‘What questions are we expecting?’ and thrust the crumpled paper at Madge Conroy. Phillimore sat down looking annoyed. Madge Conroy passed a note back to Norris. ‘With any luck—none.’

  Within ten minutes County Councillor Hillman was on his feet. Hillman, who saw himself as in the direct line of descent from the prophets, often found it necessary to draw the attention of his fellow members to disagreeable truths. He was never more portentous in his manner than at this moment.

  ‘We are considering a scheme for the provision of sixth-form colleges.’ He spoke in the deep, mournful voice of one who has lighted many a hopeful scheme to dusty death. ‘And I am very concerned that, before we do anything irrevocable, we should have before us the fullest possible information on the schemes which were considered and turned down in favour of the sixth-form college scheme.’

  ‘This has been gone into very carefully already,’ the Chairman pointed out. He was a sensible man and found it hard to deal with men like Hillman who were beyond the reach of sense.

  ‘The information we were given was considered very carefully, Mr. Chairman,’ Hillman conceded. ‘It is the information which may not have been given with which I am concerned. I have been a member of South Sussex Education Committee for twenty years, Mr. Chairman, twenty years; and I don’t want it to be said that when considering such an important matter, a matter of vital impor
tance to the children in this area, we failed in any way, in any way at all. . . .’ As no one wished to be on record as in favour of failure he was allowed to continue uninterrupted, although there were glum faces on all sides: Hillman’s ability to hold up a meeting indefinitely was well-known, as was his opposition to the sixth- form college scheme.

  ‘What is it that you had in mind?’ the Chairman asked uneasily?

  ‘All I ask, Mr. Chairman,’ Hillman raised one hand as though to ward off possible intervention by an unseen presence, ‘all I ask, is that by the next meeting of this Committee our officers should present us with a report giving up-to-date details of alternative schemes now operating in other areas, that within the next month they should visit those areas and discuss with their opposite numbers how these schemes are operating, with particular reference to. . . .’

  Mather sat with his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him on the table; a little smile played about his lips as he savoured what he afterwards referred to as ‘Hillman’s last stand’.

  Madge Conroy made urgent signals to Norris; and Phillimore, sufficiently moved to take a brief interest in the dilemma of another man, whispered, ‘Ask where the extra staff are coming from!’

  To Phillimore’s dismay Norris immediately jerked to his feet. It was not usual for an officer, other than the Chief Education Officer, to speak at a meeting of the Education Committee unless asked to elaborate a point; it was certainly not usual for an officer, even the Chief Education Officer, to dismiss a member’s request with the unelaborated statement, ‘my section can’t possibly do that’.

  While Hillman summoned his cumbrous resources to deal with this outrage, the Chairman, who had a respect for Tom Norris, said mildly, ‘I appreciate that officers are under some pressure at this moment.’ He looked invitingly at Norris. Phillimore also looked at Norris. Norris was, in Phillimore’s view, an indifferent performer at committee meetings, lacking the energy and strong sense of purpose which Phillimore saw himself as possessing. Tonight, however, there was a change so great that Phillimore had the hallucinatory sensation that it was not Norris who was standing beside him. The man was so charged with energy that Phillimore was actually afraid to risk physical contact and edged to one side of his seat, thereby pressing his thigh heavily against that of the County Treasurer’s representative. Norris looked ahead as though he was concerned not with the Chairman and the members of the Committee, but with something beyond the limited confines of Committee Room Number One, and he spoke as one who cannot long tarry with fools.

  ‘We haven’t the staff to undertake any extra work. As you know, because of the reorganisation it has been the policy not to replace staff who leave; but the volume of work has increased and. . . .’

  ‘I fail to understand,’ Hillman was recovering but he was not yet in full cry, ‘why the volume of work has not decreased as a result of the reorganisation. After all, this Council will not be in being this time next year; that must make some difference.’

  Norris said curtly, ‘The work in the Schools Section is mainly concerned with schools, and they will continue in being. So will children.’

  The County Treasurer’s representative sniggered and then heartily blew his nose.

  ‘Mr. Chairman!’ Hillman thundered. ‘It is surely the duty of our officers to carry out our wishes.’ There was a rumble of agreement. ‘If they complain of overwork, then they must give up their private amusements. We all have to do that. I noticed a poem by Mr. Norris in last week’s Listener. It isn’t something I would normally refer to, but. . . .’

  ‘I think we must allow our officers a little relaxation.’ The Chairman cocked an eyebrow at Mather who merely smiled non-committally in the manner of one who is above the cut and thrust of debate.

  ‘In all my long experience in the world of business. . . .’ Hillman had spent his working life as a clerk in an insurance company, never rising higher because of an inability to co-operate with other people. ‘. . . I have never known a request of this nature to be refused, and I very much hope that we are not going to allow the standards of local government to fall so far below, so very far below. . . .’

  There was something disruptive in the atmosphere that night. However else could one explain the zest with which Marsden suddenly entered the fray? ‘Perhaps Mr. Norris might be asked to fetch the previous report on this matter, Mr. Chairman?’ Marsden tilted his chair back at a dangerous angle and gazed upwards as though seeing the document actually taking shape on the ceiling. ‘As I recall it ran to thirty-three pages, excluding the three appendices, one of which ran to eleven pages. It will give members some idea of what is involved if something more comprehensive is now being requested.’

  Norris left the room; he did this so abruptly that he almost knocked over one member who had arrived late and was sitting near the door.

  Hillman said sarcastically, ‘It would be interesting to hear what our chief officer has to say on this matter.’

  Had Marsden kept quiet it was probable that eventually Mather would have supported Norris; but it was plain to the officers present that he would not condone Marsden’s intervention. Official hearts sank as he began, ‘I must tell you, sir, for I have to be honest with you, that I have every sympathy with Mr. Norris. . . .’ Hillman sat back, arms folded; his grim face relaxed into a smile, and he nodded his head as if sagely acknowledging a point which no reasonable man could be expected to contest.

  Phillimore was uneasy. If Norris continued to behave in this abrasive fashion members would be thoroughly out of temper with their officers by the time they got to the Further Education Sub-Committee report which contained one or two contentious items on which Phillimore was anxious to obtain approval. When it became apparent that Mather intended to take his time in selling the pass Phillimore got up and eased his way out of the room. He reckoned he had at least ten minutes in which to persuade Norris that, as his cause was lost anyway, it would be better not to stir up any more trouble. Committee Room Number One was on the first floor. Phillimore, by force of habit, turned in the direction of the main lifts and then remembered that, as it was now half-past six, the lifts would not be working. He came out at the head of the wide staircase and paused for a moment, gazing down at the baronial splendour of the entrance hall and wondering whether West Sussex would have anything to offer more grand than this. Then he turned into a narrow corridor which led to the back stairs. He had reached the first floor landing when all the lights went out.

  The darkness was complete and for a few moments he was robbed of his senses, there was neither sight nor sound, no smell or anything for the hands to touch. He was utterly alone, Ellis Phillimore, balanced on a platform just large enough to take his two feet; and nothing else, no stairs, corridor, building, just vast, empty, black space. After several palpitating moments the darkness became less dense and he edged towards his right, eventually touching what proved to be the banister rail. He was half-way down the stairs, moving very cautiously and bent almost double, when he collided with someone who was ascending with equal caution. Nose to nose inspection revealed this person to be Tom Norris.

  Their conversation began in a conspiratorial whisper but rapidly increased in volume.

  ‘Have you reported it?’ Phillimore asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it. The porter’s cubby hole has a telephone, hasn’t it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to report,’ Norris replied, medium loud. ‘I’ve turned off the main switch, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘You are constantly telling me I’m joking. Life seems to be one long joke to you. Did you think that was a joke of Hillman’s?’

  ‘There’s no need to shout.’

  ‘He counted on surprise. He won’t get away with it the second time round.’

  ‘You deliberately switched off the light in order to deprive Hillman of the element of surprise. Is that what you are telling me?’

  ‘What else could I do? I
couldn’t have him wasting my life like that.’ Norris sat down on the stairs. There was a confused noise from the direction of the committee room where members experienced the revelations of the dark and animosities long- suppressed found cogent expression.

  Phillimore said, ‘We must do something about this. . . .’

  Norris grabbed his arm and jerked him down beside him. ‘Not until they’ve gone.’

  It was too dark for resolute action and Phillimore allowed himself to be dissuaded. In the distance the night porter’s voice could be heard raised in shrill protest; he was a confused old man and appeared to think he would be blamed for the blackout. It was apparent from those of his remarks that were intelligible that he could not be relied upon to do anything about restoring the service.

  ‘Suppose they suspect something?’ Phillimore asked grimly. ‘What are you going to say then?’

  ‘I had a reason for leaving the room. What about you?’

  ‘That’s blackmail!’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve made a great discovery which you have been privileged to share.’ Norris was formidably cheerful. ‘We have long officers’ meetings at which we try to devise ways of “sabotaging” their more ridiculous projects. And yet it’s so simple. We think in metaphors instead of being literal; we talk about “switching off”, but we never actually do it. Our trouble is that we operate on one level all the time and there are many levels and many planes of existence.’ He grabbed Phillimore’s arm. ‘Come on! Confess! Aren’t you just a little excited?’

  To sounds of scuffling, cursing, exhortation and a few small gallantries, members were inching into the corridor. Phillimore, who was thoroughly frightened, said, ‘I must tell you that I cannot in any way associate myself with this.’

  ‘What’s the use of talking about joining a private army if you haven’t even got the nerve to pull out a fuse?’

  ‘The idea of joining a private army is to maintain law and order, not to create anarchy.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it! You’ve got to confuse the enemy. Hillman is the enemy. He thinks poetry is a private amusement. What else could I have done?’