‘Ow!’
The straw wriggled and a red head emerged.
‘I said it’s rude.’
‘Sorry, sir. I…’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
Abe waited a short moment, then shrugged. ‘If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind leaving.’
‘No, sir.’
The red head attached itself to a skinny kid, who slid down the straw pile and landed with a soft thwack. ‘Sorry, sir.’ The kid, whom Abe recognised as the autograph-hunter from earlier, glanced across into a corner of the barn, then brushed himself off, ready to leave. Abe followed his glance. There was a bucket of warm water there, soapy and still steaming, a bath sponge floating on the surface.
‘Wait.’
The kid stopped.
‘You came to clean her?’
The kid nodded. ‘Doesn’t matter, sir. I can do it later. Sorry.’
Abe shook his head. The gesture meant: Don’t leave yet.
‘D’you have a name?’
‘Lundmark, sir.’
‘Your ma and pa think of giving you a first name to go along with that?’
‘Yes, sir. Bradley. Brad.’
‘Mind if I use it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘OK, Brad, now I’m not over-fond of this “sir” business. I’m not in the army now and I don’t want to be. If you want to call me something, I’m happy with just plain Abe. If that’s too much for you, you can call me Captain. Understand?’
‘Yes. Yes, Captain.’
‘Good.’
There was a pause. The slatted evening light was moving round, bringing new parts of the airplane into view and hiding others. Abe found a cobweb he’d missed before and brushed it away absent-mindedly.
‘We’ll start at the nose.’
Abe brought the bucket over to the plane and the two of them began to wash her, nose to tail, removing the dust and the flaking paint and the burned-on oil and the scatter of straw-dust and insects. For about fifty minutes they worked mostly in silence, changing the cleaning water from a pump in the yard outside. Then, as the light began to fade, Abe threw down his sponge.
‘Hell,’ he said. ‘That’s not too bad. For a moment back there, I thought the landing was gonna turn out rough.’
Still clutching his sponge, the kid turned to Abe. ‘You’ve smashed up worse ‘n that?’
‘Yeah, plenty worse.’
The kid’s eyes, which had been large before, grew moon-shaped and moon-sized. Abe, irritated with himself, added sharply: ‘Anyone who flies enough will have a few bad smashes. Most machines fold up pretty easy. The accidents mostly look worse than they are.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Captain.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘You ever been up in a plane?’
Brad Lundmark shook his head, the way he might have shaken it if the Archangel Gabriel had asked if he was acquainted with Paradise.
‘If you got some time to help me out here over the next week or two, I’ll give you a ride. What d’you say?’
‘Oh, yes! Sure thing, Captain! Gee! I promise I’ll –’
‘Hey, hey, it’s OK. It’s only a plane ride. If I’ve got any cash left after we’ve fixed her up, I’ll give you a couple of bucks a day as well, but no promises.’
Abe rummaged in the rear cockpit and brought out a fur-lined sleeping roll which he threw out under the wing. Lundmark looked shocked.
‘Captain, there’s a boarding house just down the block. You can’t –’
Abe pulled his shirt off, took the sponge and the bucket of water, and scrubbed himself hard all over. He sluiced water through his close-cropped grey-blond hair, until it stuck up in spikes, and rubbed hard at the back of his neck, where there had been a line of sweat and grime.
‘That’s better.’
Abe fiddled in his luggage for a spare shirt, which he pulled on. Lundmark noticed that the cuffs and collar were old and worn.
‘Brad?’
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘I gotta have food. Poll here’s gotta have fuel. She’s got some pretty bad hospital bills coming up. One thing I can’t afford to spend money on is a bed.’
Lundmark shook his head. ‘That ain’t right. If you explained who y’are to Mr Houghton at the hotel, why I’m sure he’d –’
‘He’d tell me to pay for my bed just like anyone else. Brad, I’m gonna lie under the wing of my airplane. Can you think of a better place for a guy to sleep?’
Lundmark shook his head.
‘No, Captain. Say –’
But what he was about to say, Abe would never know. There was a minor commotion in the yard outside. Somewhere a small dog barked angrily. Then four men appeared in the barn door against the violet air. They were dressed in dark suits and ties, which they wore with Sunday stiffness. One of the men – six feet plus, mid-fifties, lean, intelligence in his face, moustache – spoke.
‘Good evening to you, Captain Rockwell. My name’s Gibson Hennessey, owner of the General Store down there. On behalf of the town, I’d like to apologise for being so neglectful earlier. I want to assure you that we didn’t mean no disrespect. It wasn’t ’til the kid here informed us who you were, that we realised we had a hero of the United States in our midst.’
Abe’s blue eyes gave nothing away, but his mouth possibly hardened a little before he answered. ‘I didn’t feel no disrespect, Mr Hennessey. I didn’t exactly let you know I was coming.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘And I’m plenty happy with the barn here.’
The second of the men laid his hand across his chest. He was a plump man, fat and buttery. “Low me to introduce myself. Ted Houghton’s my name, proprietor of the Independence Hotel and Bar, only these days I ain’t got a bar. I’d be only too honoured, if you’d accept my hospitality for the duration of your stay.’
‘Right, and any assistance we can give in getting your airplane all fixed up, you just ask.’
The two sides fought gently for a minute or two. Abe wanted no fuss. He just wanted to fix up his plane and move on. But there was no escape. Surrounded by the four dignitaries, Abe was escorted back to the centre of town, feeling like a prisoner on his way to the jailhouse.
‘The folks here wanted to show their appreciation…’ murmured Hennessey, as a crowd of two hundred people stood and cheered Abe’s arrival. A collection of schoolkids performed a rendition of the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’. A man, whose name Abe didn’t catch, made a truly dismal speech of welcome. Abe was expected to reply at length, but he just stood on the hotel steps and said, ‘I’m mighty grateful to you all. Thank you.’
There was another round of applause. Half the schoolkids thought an encore of the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ was in order, but luckily the effort sputtered quickly out. Abe was bundled into the hotel where he was the guest of honour at a five-course dinner, ending with a vast sponge cake in the very approximate shape of an airplane.
By eleven o’clock, Abe had finally escaped to his room.
He