In the Lion's Den

Australia and the Cottage

Bess

Simon dropped on the cot with a sigh.

"Now your mother will well and truly have my head."

"She should have mine though. Simon, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have... I made it all so much harder for you. I... should have gone to London with Grady, and let you hide on your own, you could have made it, I shouldn't have given you that drunken notion of marrying on the spot, I..."

"Bess, stop. What is done is done. Could have, would have, should have won't help us now."

"If you know anything that will help us, now would be a very good time to do it."

"You know what I mean. Ruminating about what we did wrong will just make it all worse."

"You're right of course", I said with a sigh.

And then I didn't know what else to say.

We sat next to each other, in a respectful distance, and a very awkward silence stretched between us.

I would have liked to reach out to Simon, give him some kind of comfort, but of course there was none.

From time to time I tried to catch his eyes, but he looked away.

As did I, when I felt his head turn towards me.

After what felt like an hour, Simon eventually spoke:

"Bess, I don't want you to sit at home and wallow when this is over."

Right now, I wanted nothing more than to go home and wallow, preferably with my mother present to comfort me.

"Find something to do. Accept one of those invitations you got during the war - the United States, Barbados, Australia - or all of them for that matter. Travel, explore, try to be happy, don't put your life on hold."

And I knew that Simon meant more than travelling the world.

Each of the places he named was linked to a man I had helped or gotten to know during the war.

Sergeant Leiceter - the Australian - had even asked for my hand in marriage.

And I thought Simon must have realised that, as he still sent those cards with a Kookaburra bird asking if I had changed my mind.

Instead of answering his request, I asked: "And you? Will you try to be happy?"

"Who could ask for happiness, when he has a title and wealth?"

His bitter voice wrenched my heart.

Now I did reach out to touch his hand and whispered: "You would deserve it, much more than anybody else I know."

He turned to look at me, his face tender.

"I have been happy Bess, you and your parents have seen to that. And now... I don't know. With time, if I don't mess up any more, if I find a way to make amends and if that bloody shellshock gets better... I might... find myself... content, maybe. But it will never be the same."

"There's an awful lot of "if" in this sentence."

He smiled sadly at that remark.

"Are you going to tell Marianne about your struggles?"

"You think I should, do you not?"

"To be honest, yes."

"But... she already has so much to bear, I could not... burden her even more."

"Simon, I think you do not appreciate how strong she is. She seems frail and delicate, yes, but she is stronger than you think. And you will burden her with it, whether you tell her or not. It will be easier for her to bear, if she knows what is behind it. And how to help you out."

"You would have to teach her that, I don't know how you do it."

I smiled wryly.

"I doubt she'll take any advice from me for now... Cold water seems to be very effective... A kiss as well, I dare say."

A little smile played on his lips.

The few kisses we had shared played in my mind.

I remembered each and every one of them.

And I wished ... but no.

The memories I had would have to do.

"I want you to have the cottage."

"Simon, you just wanted me to go to Australia or Barbados..."

"Yes. And I want you to have the cottage. A place to come home to, if all of this doesn't work out. A place of your own."

"A place where everything will remind me of you."

"It's a selfish wish, nevermind, I'll sell it back to your father and he shall decide what to do with it."

"No, I... I would very much like to have it."

And somehow it felt like a comforting thought, growing old as a spinster, a widow that had never been married, amidst his books and memories, waiting for the day when he would just come around the corner to visit me.

He would never come, of course.

But if he wanted to, if he could, he would always know where to find me.

"I... I don't have anything of mine that I could give you now, that would remind you..."

"It's best if you don't. You will be forever imprinted in my heart, in more ways than you can imagine, Bess."

We did not kiss again.

But he wrapped his good arm around my shoulder and I rested my head on his chest, and somehow I found a light sleep.

I woke up startled as I felt strong hands clutching my body tightly, while a voice I only faintly seemed to know cried out in Urdu: "Please, no, I didn't do it, I don't want to die, I didn't do it, I don't want to die."

It was dark around me, and only slowly the memory of last night came back and it dawned on me that this was Simon, no stranger, who was holding me, clinging on to me, acting on some terrible nightmare.

"Simon?"

I tentatively spoke his name, trying to get him out of whatever state he was in.

"Simon!" a little stronger, but he did not wake up, still groaning in Urdu.

"Simon, wake up!"

I repeated the words in Urdu, and that seemed to somehow reach him.

"Simon, you did not do it, and you are not going to die."

My heart pounded in my chest.

Slowly he seemed to come back to consciousness.

"Bess?"

"Yes, I am here Simon."

I changed to English.

"I am here and you are not going to die. I am not going to die. We will get out of here, alive and well and live our lives and be alright."

I tried to sound as if I believed what I said.

The part about not dying, yes, we would make it out here and the rest, well, I didn't really want to think about it.

"But don't you see Bess, I am going to die. Everything I ever cared about, everything I worked for, everything that was ever actually mine, I will lose it all. Everyone I ever loved... I'm dying, I'm losing my whole life..."

He broke into tears, raw, uncontrollable sobs.

Now it was my turn to console, to take him into my arms and care for him.

I soothed his shaking body with my caress, mumble words of affection that would last only the night, but this night they would last.

"I'm here right now, it's alright, don't be sorry, it's not your fault, I am here, I am here now, you are safe with me now, and: you're not going to die."

Slowly he relaxed, then fell asleep again.

When I woke up next, Simon was gone, and the sun was shining into the little window high up in the wall of the prison cell.

The sun should not shine on a day like this.