Life_ An Exploded Diagram - Mal Peet [84]
Enoch Hoseason surveyed the array of newspapers and magazines. Under his hot gaze, the lewd covers of Tit-Bits and Reveille might have smoldered and flamed. He selected a newspaper at random and held it up. The jittery mix of maps, photographs, type, and headlines confused him. He opened the paper and beheld a photograph of a towering, apocalyptic explosion capped with a halo of cloud. (It was, in fact, a picture of a British nuclear test, a bomb exploded on Christmas Island, in the Pacific.) As he gazed at it, understanding rumbled through him like divine indigestion. He turned to Amos, his eyes moist.
“The prophecy, brother! Remember? ‘The seed of the fire is already in the hands of men. It shall become a mighty tree that groweth up to heaven.’”
He jabbed the photograph with his forefinger.
“‘And all shall be consumed in the leaves and branches of its burning.’ It is upon us, Amos. It comes!”
“Amen!”
Enoch seized up another couple of newspapers and shook them in his fist, his eyes glazed by inspiration.
“What price now, ye sneerers and jeerers?” he crowed. “What price your proud vanities?”
“That come to a shillun and five pence all tergether,” Janice said cautiously.
AT 11 LOVELACE Road that evening, George sat with a forkful of fatty pork halfway to his mouth. The chap on the telly was using a pointer to indicate a series of circles on a map with Cuba at its center. Little things like pointy footprints represented Russian ships. Some of them were very close to the part of the circle that seemed to matter most.
“Ruddy hell,” George said.
“Eat that up before that get cold, George,” Ruth said. “That was the best chop in Dewhurst’s.”
Soviet missiles being trundled through Red Square. Khrushchev watching from a balcony, flanked by slab-faced men in gangster hats. A clip of a nuclear explosion unfurling its monstrous corona.
“George?”
“For Christ’s sake, Ruth. Aren’t you listening to this?”
“No, I ent. Thas all a load of old squit. Wha’s Cuba got to do with us? Up till now, I dint have any idea where it even was. And don’t tell me you did, neither.”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” George said fiercely. “Some of us takes a bloody interest.”
A man had appeared on the screen who looked a bit like a policeman. He spoke calmly as he held up a booklet with an illustration of a smiling family on the cover.
“This little publication will show you how to defend your home and your loved ones against nuclear attack. It’s not as difficult as you might think. Most of the materials you will need are easily available. At the present time there is no need to be alarmed. But we ask you to read this book, which you can get free from your local post office or library.”
The camera angle shifted. The sort-of policeman turned his head and put on a sort-of smile.
“This country of ours has come under attack before. But our courage, our resolve, and our absolute commitment to freedom have sustained us and will do so again.”
Another voice said, “That was a public service announcement on behalf of . . .”
George swallowed his pork and turned to his son.
“What you think of that, then, Clem?” He grinned sickly. “You reckon we ought to build a shelter, or what?”
Clem had left his chop untouched, a small gesture of protest at having to share a table with the wrecker of his love nest. Since Saturday, he had observed a vow of angry silence toward his father, but now he gave voice to his bitterness.
“Makes no difference either way.”
“What d’you mean by that?”
As though speaking to a wearisome pupil, Clem said, “If there is a nuclear war, that’s it. We’re all dead, one way or the other.”
“Not necessarily,” George said, pointing at the telly with his fork. “Not if we take precautions.”
Ruth said, “Me and Mum spent night after night under the stairs, during the war. Oh, that was horrible, wunt it, Mum?”
Win said nothing, concentrating on her piece of