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Vyalov snatched up the knout, and Lev cowered away. Vyalov screamed: "Never even think about that! It's against the will of God!"
Lev was amazed. Every Sunday he drove the Vyalov family to church, but he had assumed religion was a sham for Josef. The man lived by dishonesty and violence. Yet he could not bear to hear mention of abortion! Lev wanted to ask whether his church did not prohibit bribery and beating people up.
Vyalov said: "Can you imagine the humiliation you're causing me? Every newspaper in town reported the engagement. " His face reddened and his voice rose to a roar. "What am I going to say to Senator Dewar? I've booked the church! I've hired caterers! The invitations are at the printers! I can just see Mrs. Dewar, that proud old cunt, laughing at me behind her wrinkled hand. And all because of a fucking chauffeur!"
He raised the knout again, then threw it away with a violent gesture. "I can't kill you. " He turned to Theo. "Take this piece of shit to the doctor," he said. "Get him patched up. He's going to marry my daughter. "
Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - June 1916
Billy's father said: "Can we have a chat, boyo?"
Billy was astonished. For almost two years, ever since Billy had stopped attending the Bethesda Chapel, they had hardly spoken. There was always tension in the air at the little house in Wellington Row. Billy had almost forgotten what it was like to hear soft voices talking amiably in the kitchen-or even loud voices raised in the passionate arguments they had used to have. The bad atmosphere was half the reason Billy had joined the army.
Da's tone now was almost humble. Billy looked carefully at his face. His expression told the same story: no aggression, no challenge, just a plea.
All the same, Billy was not prepared to dance to his tune. "What for?" he said.
Da opened his mouth to snap a retort, then visibly controlled himself. "I've acted proud," he said. "It's a sin. You may have been proud, too, but that's between you and the Lord, and it's no excuse for me. "
"It's taken you two years to work that out. "
"It would have took me longer if you hadn't gone in the army. "
Billy and Tommy had volunteered last year, lying about their age. They had joined the Eighth Battalion of the Welsh Rifles, known as the Aberowen Pals. The Pals' battalions were a new idea. Men from the same town were kept together, to train and fight alongside people with whom they had grown up. It was thought to be good for morale.
Billy's group had done a year's training, mostly at a new camp outside Cardiff. He had enjoyed himself. It was easier than coal mining and a lot less dangerous. As well as a certain amount of grinding boredom-training often meant the same as waiting-there had been sports and games and the camaraderie of a group of young men learning new ways. During a long period with nothing to do he had picked up a book at random and found himself reading the play Macbeth. To his surprise he had found the story thrilling and the poetry strangely fascinating. Shakespeare's language was not difficult for someone who had spent so many hours studying the seventeenth-century English of the Protestant Bible. He had since gone through the complete works, rereading the best plays several times.
Now training was over, and the Pals had two days' leave before going to France. Da thought this might be the last time he saw Billy alive. That would be why he was humbling himself to talk.
Billy looked at the clock. He had come here only to say good-bye to his mother. He was planning to spend his leave in London, with his sister Ethel and her sexy lodger. Mildred's pretty face, with her red lips and bunny teeth, had remained vividly in his mind ever since she had shocked him by saying Fucking hell, are you Billy? His kit bag stood on the floor by the door, packed and ready. His complete Shakespeare was in it. Tommy was waiting for him at the station. "I've got a train to catch," he said.
"There are plenty of trains," Da said. "Sit down, Billy. . . please. "
Billy was not comfortable with his father in this mood. Da might be righteous, arrogant, and harsh, but at least he was strong. Billy did not want to see him weaken.
Gramper was in his usual chair, listening. "Be a good boy, now, Billy," he said persuasively. "Give your da a chance, is it?"
"All right, then. " Billy sat at the kitchen table.
His mother came in from the scullery.
There was a moment of silence. Billy knew he might never enter this house again. Coming back from an army camp, he had seen for the first time that his home was small, the rooms dark, the air heavy with coal dust and cooking smells. Most of all, after the free-and-easy banter of the barracks, he understood that in this house he had been raised to a Bible-black respectability in which much that was human and natural found no expression. And yet the thought of going made him sad. It was not just the place, it was the life he was leaving. Everything had been simple here. He had believed in God, obeyed his father, and trusted his workmates down the pit. The coal owners were wicked, the union protected the men, and socialism offered a brighter future. But life was not that simple. He might return to Wellington Row, but he would never again be the boy who had lived here.
Da folded his hands, closed his eyes, and said: "Oh, Lord, help thy servant to be humble and meek as Jesus was. " Then he opened his eyes and said: "Why did you do it, Billy? Why did you join up?"
"Because we're at war," Billy said. "Like it or not, we have to fight. "
"But can't you see-" Da stopped and held up his hands in a pacific gesture. "Let me start again. You don't believe what you read in the newspapers about the Germans being evil men who rape nuns, do you?"
"No," said Billy. "Everything the papers ever said about coal miners was lies, so I don't suppose they're telling the truth about the Germans. "
"The way I see it, this is a capitalist war that has got nothing to do with the workingman," Da said. "But you may disagree. "
Billy was amazed by the effort his father was making to be conciliatory. Never before had he heard Da say you may disagree. He replied: "I don't know much about capitalism, but I expect you're right. All the same, the Germans have got to be stopped. They think they're entitled to rule the world!"
Da said: "We're British. Our empire holds sway over more than four hundred million people. Hardly any of them are entitled to vote. They have no control over their own countries. Ask the average British man why, and he'll say it's our destiny to govern inferior peoples. " Da spread both hands in a gesture that meant Isn't it obvious? "Billy boy, it's not the Germans who think they should rule the world-it's us!"
