The Libyan Letters

V

It wasn't until several weeks later that Mr Hassan overheard little 'K' addressing the Englishman by name.
'Havers?' he repeated, narrowing his eyes and pronouncing the first syllable with a Celtic-sounding guttural flair. 'But a letter came addressed to that name about a year ago. The number of the house and the name of the street were mine but this strange, foreign-sounding name was of course unfamiliar to me. I showed it to all my neighbours to see if anyone had heard of this Havers but no one knew anything', he said excitedly. 'I meant to take the letter to the post-master but I was so busy at the shop that I forgot all about it. It must be here somewhere', he said, rummaging impatiently in a battered tin box full of old documents.
'Aha!' he shouted triumphantly pulling out a crumpled envelope and holding it up for all to see as though he had just performed a startling conjuring trick.
Reverently cradling the letter in both hands he held it out to Havers.
'Sorry old chap, 'fraid you'll have to do the honours', said Havers, inclining his head and smiling patiently.
'Ah, of course, of course, my apologies – would you like me to open it and read it for you?'
'I'd be awfully grateful if you could open it and lay it flat on the little table there for me, old boy', replied Havers, trying to contain his bafflement. He was thinking of the few weeks he spent in this house, or rather in a slightly larger one with a caved-in flat roof that had stood on this spot in 1941. They were the last weeks of his life, spent billeted here, supposedly well behind the front line and in a reasonably well-defended sector to boot. He had written several letters with this as the return address. But why would someone wait 80 years to reply to one of them. Unless perhaps they were senile. Maybe that was it.
But as soon as Mr Hassan opened the letter, and long before he'd read its startling contents, Havers saw who it was from ... saw that long unspoken name with burgeoning joy and amazement.