had last chanced upon in the writings of Sigmund Freud. I had always thought bad luck was what Felix really suffered from, the bad luck to have enlisted in the Hertfordshire Regiment and to have served on the Western Front, where, by losing his sanity, he was only responding logically to the madness of his situation. Conversely, I had had the good luck to enlist in the King's Royal Rifle Corps, which happened to be based in Winchester and to have close links with the College OTC. I had served in the safe if disagreeable backwater of Macedonia, where one was more likely to die of malaria than enemy action and where, as if to prove the point, Max had been shot by one of our own men. I had returned cynical, selfish and intact, whereas Felix had returned like a parcel crushed in the post the fastening unravelled, the contents either missing or mangled, the blame shrugged off with official disdain.
I walked the quarter of a mile from Napsbury station to the hospital wondering whether I had been wise to come. I had not seen Felix for four years. Judging by his deterioration during previous such intervals, it was impossible to feel optimistic about what I would find. None the less, I pressed on, bracing myself for the gloom which always seemed to pervade the sprawl of red-brick ward-blocks and out-buildings. Recent storms had added a sodden and wind-lashed despondency to the scene, but the day was dry and along the paths that wound between the fir trees one or two patients were to be seen, fitfully a-tremble and aimlessly wandering.
I entered Felix's ward full of foreboding and noticed the nurse's surprised expression when I said who I wanted to see. He was fetched from a crowded sitting-room where a wireless was playing loudly and emerged looking faintly resentful. He was as thin as ever, but more stooped and tremulous than I recalled, a strange mixture of the dashing young soldier and the querulous old invalid. But he recognized me at once. He had always done so, even when hopelessly vague about the identity of others. He recognized me and threaded his arm through mine.
"Come to.. . Come to take me for a walk, Gewgaw?" He had dubbed me "Gewgaw' when I won my scholarship to Winchester, infuriating me with his explanation that Dr. Johnson's definition of a gewgaw 'splendidly trifling, showy without value' fitted me exactly. I resented it no more, merely marvelled that he still remembered.
"A walk sounds like a good idea," I replied, catching the nurse's nod of approval. We headed slowly towards the exit. "How have you been, Felix?"
"I caught a cold."
"Rather like the government."
He frowned at me, then said: "Is Mr. Asquith ill?"
Not having the heart to tell him Asquith" was long since dead and gone, I mumbled, "Not exactly," and led him out into the grounds. "What shall we talk about?" I ventured, as we inched our way along a tree-shaded path.
"Any .. . Anything."
"I'm sorry not to have seen much of you lately."
"I expect.. . you've been busy."
"Yes. I have." I smiled. "Buying and selling parts of the Florida Everglades as building land. Striking deals between Canadian brewers and New England speak-easys. Sitting on the board of half a dozen high-sounding investment trusts. Riding the boom -and the bust. Oh yes, I've been very busy. Lately, I've even tried my hand at match-making. And match-breaking."
He stared at me uncomprehendingly. "They won't give me any matches."
"I expect they're worried about fires."
"They want to keep me ... in the dark."
"The staff, you mean?"
"No. The enemy."
Thinking he meant the Germans, I said, "The war's over, Felix."
"That's what they want you ... to believe. But it isn't. The squirrels know. They see them." A squirrel was at that moment scurrying across the path ahead of us. "They see them in the trees."
"Who do they see?"
"The enemy .. . following me ... waiting for ... their chance."
I looked around. "Nobody's following us."
He smiled at me, indulgently as it seemed,
I walked the quarter of a mile from Napsbury station to the hospital wondering whether I had been wise to come. I had not seen Felix for four years. Judging by his deterioration during previous such intervals, it was impossible to feel optimistic about what I would find. None the less, I pressed on, bracing myself for the gloom which always seemed to pervade the sprawl of red-brick ward-blocks and out-buildings. Recent storms had added a sodden and wind-lashed despondency to the scene, but the day was dry and along the paths that wound between the fir trees one or two patients were to be seen, fitfully a-tremble and aimlessly wandering.
I entered Felix's ward full of foreboding and noticed the nurse's surprised expression when I said who I wanted to see. He was fetched from a crowded sitting-room where a wireless was playing loudly and emerged looking faintly resentful. He was as thin as ever, but more stooped and tremulous than I recalled, a strange mixture of the dashing young soldier and the querulous old invalid. But he recognized me at once. He had always done so, even when hopelessly vague about the identity of others. He recognized me and threaded his arm through mine.
"Come to.. . Come to take me for a walk, Gewgaw?" He had dubbed me "Gewgaw' when I won my scholarship to Winchester, infuriating me with his explanation that Dr. Johnson's definition of a gewgaw 'splendidly trifling, showy without value' fitted me exactly. I resented it no more, merely marvelled that he still remembered.
"A walk sounds like a good idea," I replied, catching the nurse's nod of approval. We headed slowly towards the exit. "How have you been, Felix?"
"I caught a cold."
"Rather like the government."
He frowned at me, then said: "Is Mr. Asquith ill?"
Not having the heart to tell him Asquith" was long since dead and gone, I mumbled, "Not exactly," and led him out into the grounds. "What shall we talk about?" I ventured, as we inched our way along a tree-shaded path.
"Any .. . Anything."
"I'm sorry not to have seen much of you lately."
"I expect.. . you've been busy."
"Yes. I have." I smiled. "Buying and selling parts of the Florida Everglades as building land. Striking deals between Canadian brewers and New England speak-easys. Sitting on the board of half a dozen high-sounding investment trusts. Riding the boom -and the bust. Oh yes, I've been very busy. Lately, I've even tried my hand at match-making. And match-breaking."
He stared at me uncomprehendingly. "They won't give me any matches."
"I expect they're worried about fires."
"They want to keep me ... in the dark."
"The staff, you mean?"
"No. The enemy."
Thinking he meant the Germans, I said, "The war's over, Felix."
"That's what they want you ... to believe. But it isn't. The squirrels know. They see them." A squirrel was at that moment scurrying across the path ahead of us. "They see them in the trees."
"Who do they see?"
"The enemy .. . following me ... waiting for ... their chance."
I looked around. "Nobody's following us."
He smiled at me, indulgently as it seemed,
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