not be sick, I will not be sick. The train says it for me, rattling on the tracks. I’m too old to throw up on trains now, I used to do that when I was eight. Dad took me to Alexandria, bought me candy and oranges and lemonade, I ate too much, don’t think about it, it makes me ill to think about it, Dad said it wasn’t my fault it was his, but I always used to feel sick even if I didn’t eat, today Elene bought chocolate but I said no, thanks, I’m pretty grown-up to say no to chocolate, kids never say no to chocolate, look, I can see the pyramids, one, two, and the little one makes three, this must be Giza. Where are we going? He was supposed to take me to school. Then he got out the knife. It’s curved. He’ll cut off my head, where’s Dad? I should be in school, we have geography in the first period today, a test on the Norwegian fjords, I learned it all last night, I needn’t have bothered, I’ve missed the test. They’ve already finished it by now, Mr. Johnstone collecting up the papers, You call that a map, Higgins? Looks more like a drawing of your ear, boy! Everybody laughs. Smythe can’t spell Moskenstraumen. Write it fifty times, lad. Everyone is glad he isn’t Smythe. Old Johnstone opens the textbook. Next, the Arctic tundra. I wish I was in school. I wish Elene would put her arm round me. I wish the man would stop looking at me, staring at me like that, so pleased with himself, I think he’s crazy, where’s Dad? If I don’t think about the knife, it will be just as if it wasn’t there. I mustn’t think about the knife. If I concentrate on not thinking about the knife, that’s the same as thinking about the knife. It’s impossible to deliberately not think about something. How does anyone stop thinking of something? Accidentally. Accidental thoughts. All thoughts are accidental. There, I stopped thinking about the knife for a second. If I see a policeman, I’ll rush up to him and yell Save me, save me! I’ll be so quick that he won’t be able to stop me. I can run like the wind, I’m quick. I might see an officer. I might see a general. I’ll shout, Good morning, General! He’ll look at me, surprised, and say Well, young fellow-me-lad, you’re a fine boy! Pardon me, sir, I’ll say, I’m Major Vandam’s son, and this man is taking me away, and my father doesn’t know, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I need help. What? says the general. Look here, sir, you can’t do this to the son of a British officer! Not cricket, you know! Just clear off, d‘you hear? Who the devil d’you think you are? And you needn’t flash that little penknife at me, I’ve got a pistol! You’re a brave lad, Billy. I’m a brave lad. All day men get killed in the desert. Bombs fall, Back Home. Ships in the Atlantic get sunk by U-boats, men fall into the icy water and drown. RAF chaps shot down over France. Everybody is brave. Chin up! Damn this war. That’s what they say: Damn this war. Then they climb into the cockpit, hurry down the air-raid shelter, attack the next dune, fire torpedoes at the U-boats, write letters home. I used to think it was exciting. Now I know better. It isn’t exciting at all. It makes you feel sick.
Billy is so pale. He looks it. He’s trying to be brave. He shouldn‘t, he should act like a child, he should scream and cry and throw a tantrum, Wolff couldn’t cope with that; but he won’t, of course, for he has been taught to be tough, to bite back the cry, to suppress the tears, to have self-control. He knows how his father would be, what else does a boy do but copy his father? Look at Egypt. A canal alongside the railway line. A grove of date palms. A man crouching in a field, his galabiya hitched up above his long white undershorts, doing something to the crops; an ass grazing, so much healthier than the miserable specimens you see pulling carts in the city; three women sitting beside the canal, washing clothes, pounding them on stones to get them clean; a man on horseback, galloping, must be the local effendi, only the richest peasants have horses; in the distance, the lush green countryside ends abruptly in a range of dusty tan hills. Egypt is only thirty