Chapter Seven: Early April 1940

John sighed as he peered into the opened side of the film projector, using his penlight to take a careful look around. Dust caked the inside of the device, making it so that he would definitely have to clean it out before he even thought about turning it on. He reached into his bag that was sitting opened on the floor and grabbed a dry paintbrush to begin sweeping out the inner mechanisms.

"What'cha doing?" asked a tiny voice. John looked out of the corner of his eyes to see two of Clara's students, a boy and a girl, standing near him, way too close for them being the only three in the room. It would have been best had they left, but considering he was currently in the back of the classroom they were temporarily calling home he felt it would have been an unwise thing to shout them off.

"Making sure we don't die in a fire," he grumbled instead.

"Why would we catch on fire?" the little boy asked. John just kept on squinting at the little gears and sprockets as he dusted.

"Because film sometimes does that if you're not careful, especially the stock I'm going to put in here later," he explained. "Now don't you have some rope to jump or footballs to kick?"

"But you're much more interesting than football," the little girl said. She strained herself to stay in one place while still looking around John and into his bag to read the label on the film reel. "Schneewittchen…? What's that?"

"Don't worry; you'll like it," John said.

"Isn't that German? Are you a German?" the girl asked, seemingly ignoring his comment. John paused his cleaning and finally looked at the children, his face set in unamused self-restraint. He leaned closer to the kids, prompting them both to lean back nervously.

"You try getting your hands on a personal copy of one of the greatest works of cinematic art the English speaking world has ever seen without it costing you an arm and a leg." He scowled sourly and leaned back, returning to his dusting. "I got it from a German woman in Edinburgh who, for the record, had an Irish mam. Besides, that was a couple years ago at this point."

"Oh," the little boy mused. "So then Miss Oswald isn't dating a German spy. That's boring."

"Now what would make you say I'm dating your teacher?" John asked. He finished sweeping out the dust and put it away in his bag, only to bring out a smaller-tipped paintbrush and a container of grease to oil the gears.

"You're here almost every night Miss Oswald is, and we saw you and her kissing last night in her office," the boy said. "You're not married, so that means you're just her boyfriend, right?"

"I'm not her boyfriend," John hissed. The kids had all looked very much in dreamland the previous night when he finally arrived at the school, which might have led him and Clara to not shut the office door as firmly as they usually did. At least they had very strict guidelines for themselves while at the school and kissing was all the children had been able to see. "Do I look like a boy to you?"

"Then are you her manfriend? 'Cause you're not just her friend because just-friends don't sit really close and kiss," the girl replied. John stopped greasing a gear and looked at her.

"What's your name?"

"Barbara, and this is Jack."

"Well then Barbara, Jack, why don't you two run along so I can finish up before Miss Oswald brings the rest of your classmates back in? Get the last bits of sunlight on your face while you can."

"Do you need any help?" Jack asked. "We're good at helping, and Barbara even wants to be a teacher too." John went back to greasing.

"I'm sure you are both excellent helpers; now shoo."

The two kids stood there silently as John finished the final gear. He stood up from his chair and stretched before going back down into his bag and grabbing the film reel canister. Barbara and Jack stayed put.

"I told you to go outside," John frowned. "Where is Miss Oswald, anyways?"

"Outside," the children said in unison. They both watched as John threaded the film stock through the projector and aligned it along the sprockets. John tried to ignore them, but their collective gaze both annoyed and unnerved him.

"I'm starting to think that you two are here just to irritate me," John growled.

"Why do you like Miss Oswald?" Barbara asked. "The two of you don't seem a lot alike."

"I like her because…" John started before trailing off, thinking for a moment about how to fit his rationale into words appropriate for a stranger's child. "I like Miss Oswald because when I'm with her I feel very happy… she makes me feel like I can do anything. She is clever and smart and very loving and caring."

"The kissing part helps too, doesn't it?" Jack asked. John sighed in defeat.

"The kissing part doesn't hurt, no."

It was then that the rest of the students began to stream into the room, bringing with them a roar of excitement. Barbara and Jack finally joined their classmates by helping them clear their desks from the middle of the room and laying out the sleeping mats in front of the projector. Clara came in not long after, carrying a sheet and some clothes pegs borrowed from a supply cupboard.

"Thank you for helping me do this for the kids," Clara said as John took the sheet from her and began to fasten it to the blackboard. Since the room had not been used until her arrival, it had yet to be fitted with a projector screen.

"They need some arts and culture in their lives, and this is cheaper than the cinema," John shrugged. He and Clara then went into her office and began to remove the couch from it. They brought it to the back of the classroom, behind the students' mats and to the right of the projector. "I'm just glad that I remembered I even had this."

"…and in the right format too." Clara put down her end of the couch and watched John as he slid it deftly into place. "I didn't know they distributed feature-length films for use in school projectors."

"Here's the thing: they don't," he grinned, giving her a knowing wink. He then proceeded to wade through the sea of children and make his way towards the lights as Clara double-checked the drawn curtains. "Okay, okay, settle down you little pudding-brained monsters or no film for you tonight."

The class collectively gasped and the room fell silent as John reached the switch. He shut off the lights and took the penlight from his pocket, waving it around to make sure he did not step on any children as he hopped back over them. John flicked on the projector and waited for the credits to finish before joining Clara on the couch. He put his arm around her as she snuggled into his side, pulling the blanket draped over the back of the couch down and over them. Smoothing it out, he tucked the blanket behind her hip and under his leg in order to keep it in place.

"I don't know if I appreciate that this is an illegal copy," Clara whispered into John's ear as a storybook appeared on the makeshift screen and the children became entranced by the narration. John turned towards her and left a light kiss on her lips.

"I'm just frustrated that no one has been able to get a copy of Pinocchio over here," he murmured. "That, and I hear that there's supposed to be another animated film coming later in the year that's pure art mixed with orchestra music. Too bad we're not likely to see either until after the war. Wouldn't that be great though? Art to music, music to art… changing the game like this movie did."

"That sounds like the artist in you unable to contain himself," Clara smiled while rolling her eyes. She rested her head on John's shoulder and sighed contently as she watched the princess sing to birds fluttering around. Everything felt so calm it was almost as if she was not at work.

The children, all captivated by a movie many of them probably had not have seen when it was at the cinema, were calm and occupied and were going to go to sleep that night easier than on most. Clara and John would have to wait until a few more tiny heads found pillows before they got around to the activity she remembered best about going to the cinema, but at least it was not going to be a bad wait. She smiled to herself as John kissed the top of her head and ran his hand up and down her arm; Snow White was meeting her prince, which felt oddly satisfying to Clara. She then paused.

"John?"

"Yes, Clara?"

"I know I probably should have asked you before, but why do you have this film?" She leaned in so that her voice could just barely whisper over the clacking of the projector. "No kids, not even ones you mind on Wednesdays, and yet this film is adorable."

"I told you: this is art," John insisted. Clara pressed her face in John's chest and snickered.

"Don't give me that," came her muffled reply.

"No… it's true." He gently lifted her chin up so he could look at her, then brought his hand away so he could gesture at the screen. "What those blokes did is tell a story more complicated with moving pictures than anyone in the entire Empire or the former colonies have before. These are all hand-drawn people and things, each deliberately penciled and inked and put to words and music. These aren't silent silhouettes… they're actual things… and it's beautiful."

Clara studied the glint in John's eye coming off the projector screen. There was excitement there, but there was also sadness deep underneath. It was curious, she thought, to be so genuinely in awe of something, yet to be so unhappy as well.

"You know," he continued, "I thought that, maybe, one day, after I retired, I might try to do something like this. Just myself, no one else; if a German woman can take three years making cutouts I think I can take four or five doing this. I don't know if I will now though."

"Why not?"

John bent his neck, hovering behind Clara's ear. "Art used to be the only thing that made me happy. Now, not so much." He kissed her lightly and began to leave a soft trail across her face until he found her nose. Playfully, she tried to nip at his in retaliation though eventually settled for pulling down his face as they leaned into one another's kiss.

The wicked stepmother cackled, only to be met with a chorus of "eewww" from the children. Clara opened her eyes to look at the screen but was instead met with a number of her students staring at her instead.

"The show is that way," she said, pointing towards the front of the room. Most of the kids turned back but one little boy shuffled his way over and looked up at them curiously. "What is it, Jack?"

"Miss, did you know your manfriend is a German spy?" the little boy asked, his voice very hushed. John threw his head back and groaned while Clara tried to not laugh.

"A German spy? Nonsense. Go back to the movie."

"He's a German spy; Barbara and I can tell, so be careful," Jack said. He crept up onto the couch so that he could whisper directly into his teacher's ear. "Dad says people have to put their money where their mouth is, which sounds like nonsense, but I think is has something to do with where people put their mouths. I wouldn't put your mouth on a spy if I was you, Miss Oswald."

"Jack, he's not a spy…"

"…but you're back here being like Mum and Dad! I don't think I could handle us having to be big brothers and sisters to a baby spy…"

Clara took a deep breath and held it, slowly exhaling before turning to the boy and hissing, "For the last time, go back to the movie."

"…but Miss…"

"Mr. Smith is not a Nazi spy, you are going to be placed in a home soon, and I am not having any babies—not any time soon anyways. Now go."

The boy grumbled and returned to his mat. Once he was down Clara's head snapped in the direction of John, who had gone beet-red.

"What did you tell them?" she hissed.

"N-nothing… they just saw I hadn't changed the original label yet, is all… I didn't think any of them knew what German looked like…"

"Well once we are back in the office you are going to tell me everything you said to those kids, you hear me? Right down to where that thought about babies came from."

"I never said anything about—" John began, only to be cut off by Clara's hand covering his lips. He quieted and settled back down, allowing her to curl back up into his side and draw the blanket closer as Snow White was brought into the forest. Babies had been the last thing on his mind; how daft were these children? Him and babies… Clara… they had just been kissing

Never did he have to sit through a film that made him so uneasy before this.