CHAPTER 2: THE RED SEA
An hour later
Thomas Barrow's Room
Mrs Crawley was giving Thomas a sponge bath because, as she cheerfully explained, he had been found in a tub of water and his own blood. If bits of dried blood were left clinging to his skin, they would become irritating and unhygienic.
Thomas could barely sit, let alone escape Mrs Crawley. He clenched his teeth and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. If he had known how it was going to be, he would not have bothered to slit his wrists. He simply would have removed his clothes, served dinner naked, and died of embarrassment.
Mrs Crawley had been a nurse and bathed Thomas efficiently. She spoke of the loss of her son and how she had raised her own spirits by helping others. She encouraged Thomas to do the same. But Thomas's thoughts were elsewhere. Mrs Crawley had filled him so full of tea that he did not know how much longer he could hold it. Where the devil was Bates?
At that moment, Bates walked in carrying the day's newspaper.
"Just in time, Bates." Mrs Crawley handed Bates a towel. "You may pat him dry while I make preparations to change his bandages. You'll be changing them yourself next time, so pay close attention. We don't want an infection, do we? After that, I must be off."
Bates did as he was told, but he struggled to contain his amusement over Thomas's predicament. Thomas's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, but Mrs Crawley noticed his suppressed mirth.
"Do you find this amusing, Bates?" chastised Mrs Crawley. "Can't you see this man is suffering?"
"Yes, I can see it plainly," replied Bates solemnly, his eyes filling with tears of swallowed laughter.
"Well, then." Mrs Crawley turned her attention to the bandages, but Bates was certain he saw a smile pass her lips.
Bates paid strict attention to Mrs Crawley's exhaustive bandaging demonstration. Satisfied, Mrs Crawley removed her borrowed apron, assured Thomas that things would look brighter tomorrow, and bade Thomas and Bates good day.
As soon as Mrs Crawley departed, Bates provided the assistance Thomas needed to relieve himself while Bates took his turn to gaze at the ceiling.
Thomas was still dehydrated. No matter how much tea he drank, he felt parched and his head pounded. Bates gave him aspirin and helped him down two glasses of water. He dressed Thomas in fresh pyjamas and combed his hair. "Usually only Lord Grantham receives the full John Bates treatment," Bates remarked. "Tomorrow, you shall have the privilege of a John Bates shave."
Thomas admitted to himself that he felt refreshed. He could not admit to himself, however, how much he enjoyed having Bates fuss over him.
Bates picked up the newspaper, pulled the lone chair in the room to the side of the bed, and sat. "I thought you might rest while I read you the paper. Mrs Hughes will bring your dinner tray later. I saw Mrs Patmore putting aside a few special morsels for you from the family's meal."
Thomas closed his eyes. "Then everyone knows?"
"Nothing travels so fast as ill news," quoted Bates.
Late Evening
Thomas was sleeping. Bates stood and stretched his stiff legs. Dr Clarkson had come and gone. He had assured Bates that Thomas's condition was improving but insisted that he not be left alone for at least a couple of days. Mrs Hughes offered Bates and Anna a room in the house for the duration. Bates was waiting now for Carson, who would sit with Thomas while he and Anna retrieved some necessities from the cottage.
Bates was restless. He glanced about Thomas's tidy room. There was not much to see. On the chest of drawers was a book and a faded photograph in an old frame. Bates examined the photograph. It was of a woman seated on a park bench and a girl standing beside her. They must be the mother and sister Baxter mentioned. Both bore a striking resemblance to Thomas. They had his dark hair and fine features, but unlike Thomas, they radiated warmth and good humour. Bates set down the frame and picked up the book. It was a library book, A Passage to India, from the public collection at the village school. Bates carried it to the chair and sat.
Bates thumbed through the pages absently. He ached to be with his wife. He had always been charmed by Anna's petite figure. Now she was developing the curves of motherhood. The more Anna's small belly swelled, the more his passion for her grew. What the hell was he doing here? A week from now, Thomas would be sitting in the servants' hall, as arrogant and treacherous as ever. Was this a man worth saving? No one would judge Bates badly if he gave up this business.
But Bates knew why he was there. One recent afternoon, Carson had dispatched Bates to the nursery to retrieve a pair of Master George's shoes for repair. There he found Thomas serving pretend luncheon to Miss Sybbie, an assortment of her dolls, and Master George. Nanny was seated in a corner chair, nodding off. Bates observed the domestic scene silently from behind the open door.
"Do we have a savoury today, Mr Barrow?" inquired Miss Sybbie.
"Your favourite, Miss Sybbie, devils on horseback," replied Thomas as he formally offered the plate of imaginary titbits to each guest.
"Do you have a recitation for us, Mr Barrow?"
"Yes, Miss Sybbie." Thomas stepped in front of his audience. "The Grand Old Duke of York," Thomas announced. Miss Sybbie and Master George clapped enthusiastically, and Thomas bowed deeply.
"The Grand Old Duke of York" (Thomas saluted)
"He had ten thousand men" (Thomas held up ten fingers)
"He marched them up to the top of the hill" (Thomas stood tall and marched in place)
"And he marched them down again." (Thomas crouched but continued to march)
"When they were up, they were up" (Thomas marched standing tall)
"And when they were down, they were down" (Thomas marched crouching)
"And when they were only halfway up" (Thomas stood bent over at the waist)
"They were neither up nor down." (Thomas shrugged broadly)
Thomas repeated the recitation and gestures while Miss Sybbie and Master George spoke the words with him. With each recitation, they quickened the pace until Miss Sybbie and Master George were squealing with delight, and Thomas was gasping for breath.
Bates could delay his assigned task no longer. He knocked at the nursery door. "May I interrupt?"
Thomas took a formal stance and announced, "Mr John Bates, Valet to the Earl of Grantham."
That same night, Bates observed Thomas working late to finish the tasks he had not completed while entertaining the children. Bates thought about the many times he had seen Thomas giving "horsy" rides to Master George and the many times later when he watched Thomas totter down the corridor trying to work out the kinks in his back. Who was this man, a marvel to the children but a pariah to the servants? "Damn you, Barrow, who are you?"
Thomas stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. Bates froze, and Thomas fell back asleep.
Bates was becoming impatient. Carson should have been there by now. Bates leaned back in the chair and thought about how happy Anna and the prospect of fatherhood made him. With his love of children, Thomas must be anxious to begin a family of his own. Bates stopped himself. Thomas was a confirmed bachelor; there were to be no children in his future. Bates knew of men like Thomas who had married and had families and conducted double lives. Bates had little sympathy for such charlatans. Thomas was a clever, attractive man. He could have deceived some innocent girl into marriage but had chosen a lonelier path. He had led an honest life in that regard, at least.
Bates thought about the penalty Thomas faced if he were ever caught by the police in a compromising situation. Two years at hard labour. He could not understand why a man would want to make physical love to another man, but he could not understand he should be punished for it either. He thought about the life Thomas had to endure. No family. No children. No hope. He tried to imagine how he would feel if he were to lose Anna and his unborn baby. "Barrow, what are you doing to me?" he whispered.
Bates heard the familiar sound of Carson's heavy footsteps in the corridor and quickly took out his handkerchief and dabbed his eyes.
Night
Thomas sat on the beach and let the warm water wash over him. Why is the water red? wondered Thomas as the waves rolled over his legs and belly. This must be the Red Sea!
Each new wave rose higher, first to his waist, then to his chest, now almost to his neck. Soon it would be over his head. Thomas closed his eyes and waited.
"Thomas, what are you doing here?"
Thomas opened his eyes. A woman seemed to be floating in front of him. He could not see her clearly, but she was wearing a tea gown, and her long dark hair danced about her face.
"Who are you?"
The woman showered him with a sparkling laugh. "Tadpole, don't you know me?"
Only one person called Thomas by that name. "Mum? Mum, what's happened to you?"
"What a question!" laughed Mum.
"I only meant ... I've never seen you with your hair down."
Mum had been an industrious woman. Every day of Thomas's childhood, she was dressed and making breakfast when he woke up and working on the books for his father's clockmaking business when he went to bed. Her hair was always in a pompadour, and she was always dressed in a shirtwaist and a long skirt. Thomas knew she would not have owned anything as frivolous as a tea gown.
Mum called him Tadpole, but only when they were alone. She called him Thomas in front of the family, and Mr Barrow in front of everyone else. The other boys' mums embarrassed them with kisses and pet names in public. Mum would shake Thomas's hand and say, 'Good day, Mr Barrow,' before she hurried off to her busy day. When Thomas behaved badly, Mum called him Mr Frog.
"Mum, is this Heaven? Are you an angel?"
"Do you see wings, Tadpole?" Mum had taught him to be observant and to use his head.
"No, Mum."
"I do live in Heaven, but this most certainly is not Heaven. We're on the beach at the Red Sea. What are you doing at the Red Sea, Thomas?" Mum demanded.
"Mum, I'm ... I'm going to Hell! Please help me!"
"There is no Hell, Tadpole. There are only people waiting to get into Heaven."
No Hell? That did not sound right, but Thomas knew he could count on Mum to tell him the truth.
"Mum, may I ... am I able to touch you?" Thomas longed to feel Mum's arms around him.
"No, Tadpole. You may not touch me because you're still alive. You must stay alive, Tadpole. You're not ready for Heaven!"
"Are people's bodies restored in Heaven? Are they young again? Can they not feel pain?"
Mum laughed. "You haven't changed, Tadpole. Always full of questions. As a matter of fact, I stubbed my toe on the way here, and it hurt like the dickens."
Thomas was shaken. "There's pain in Heaven?"
"It would be unbearable if every day in Heaven were perfect. After all, we're there for an eternity, aren't we?" Mum laughed again. "What we don't have in Heaven is fear. Without the possibility of death, people have no use for it. And where there's no fear, there's no hatred."
"Mum ... you mean no one in Heaven would hate me for being ... no one would hate me?"
"One step at a time, Tadpole. Heaven is a long way off for you. You have a lot of work to do first."
"Oh, Mum, I want to be with you." Thomas could not hold back his tears. Each tear splashed loudly into the Red Sea.
"Now, Mr Frog, none of that," Mum scolded gently. "There are no shortcuts, Thomas. No more visits to the Red Sea. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mum."
"What kind of man have you become, Tadpole?"
Thomas had never lied to Mum. He swallowed hard and spoke honestly. "You would be ashamed of me, Mum. I'm not a kind man. I've hurt others," Thomas confessed.
"Do you mean fisticuffs?"
"No, Mum, not fisticuffs. I mean I've lied and cheated and twisted everything to my own benefit! And I don't like women; I like men!"
"There's no need to raise your voice, Mr Frog."
Perhaps she did not understand. "Mum, I said, I don't like women."
"Yes, Tadpole, I heard you."
Thomas was going to have to speak plainly. "I mean I have sex with men."
"Yes, Tadpole, that's lovely. Now tell me, dear, have you done anything in your life of which you are proud?"
Lovely? That's lovely? Thomas was baffled.
"Thomas, I asked you a question. I can't drift about here all day."
"I didn't hear the question, Mum."
"Have you ever done anything for someone else's benefit?"
Thomas thought hard. "During the war, I tried to help a blind man learn how to live without his sight."
"Yes, and he speaks highly of you Tadpole. Anything else?"
"I took a beating for a man I liked, and I saved a woman from a fire."
"Those are the actions of an altruistic man, Tadpole."
"No, Mum. I didn't think before the beating or the rescue. I acted without thinking."
"Don't you see, darling, when we act without thinking, we are our true selves. You only have to be your true self, Tadpole."
"But, Mum, I don't know what that means. I don't know how to begin."
"You begin by going to each person you have harmed and making amends," instructed Mum.
"Do I beg forgiveness?"
"Mr Frog! You do not beg forgiveness. You may forgive others, but begging forgiveness is only talk. You make amends by doing, not talking. Talk is cheap, but it takes money to buy whiskey."
Thomas was trying his best to understand. "Mum, do you mean I must make amends by giving away my money?"
"Thomas, you're smarter than that! You mustn't be so literal. You'll have difficulty in Heaven if you're always so literal. You don't make amends by paying with money; you make amends by paying with yourself."
"Myself? But Mum ... no one wants me."
"Make amends, Tadpole. If you don't know how, then ask for help. Ask the people to whom you've caused the greatest harm. Who would that be, Tadpole?"
Thomas could not think, and clouds were thickening around him. "I don't know. Bates and Anna?"
"Then you must ask Bates and Anna for help, Thomas. And don't lose your arms."
"What?"
"Your arms, Tadpole. They're floating away. Hurry, Thomas, swim after them!"
Thomas looked at his arms. They had come loose from his body and were floating away on the Red Sea. He tried to swim after them, but he could not swim without arms.
The water was becoming rough. Thomas watched transfixed as a red wave peaked and crashed over him. When the water receded, his arms were nowhere to be seen. "My arms!" he screamed. "Mum, I can't find my arms!"
"Get ahold of yourself, man!"
Thomas's eyes popped open. A giant was looming over him, and a girl was screaming.
"Mr Barrow, stop that caterwauling immediately and tell me what's wrong," demanded Charles Carson.
"My arms! I've lost my arms!" cried Thomas, waving his arms desperately.
"I see," Carson replied calmly. "I think we've found them, Mr Barrow. Let's put them away for safe keeping." Carson leaned over from his great height, straightened the tangled blanket and pulled it up over Thomas's arms.
Thomas pushed himself into a sitting position. "I didn't know where I was. I'm sorry, Mr Carson. I forgot myself."
Bates flung open the door, breathing heavily, "What's wrong? I heard screaming!"
"Mr Barrow had a bad dream," and the matter was dismissed as far as Carson was concerned. "I trust you and Anna are settled, and I am free to go home to my wife now."
Bates was still catching his breath. "Certainly, Mr Carson. Please tell Mrs Hughes that Anna and I appreciate her letting us stay here."
"Of course. I'll leave you then." At the door, Carson turned to Thomas. "I hope to see you back to work soon, Mr Barrow." And he was gone.
Bates smiled. "I do believe Mr Carson just wished you well."
It had been a long, difficult day. Bates was tired and his limp was more pronounced than usual as he approached the bed. He leaned his cane against the wall and regarded Thomas. "You're sitting up on your own, Mr Barrow. I suppose my baby doesn't need me anymore."
Was Bates leaving? Panic took hold of Thomas's senses. His heart pounded, his throat tightened, and his ears buzzed. He felt as though he were suffocating.
Bates patted Thomas's shoulder and eased himself onto the chair.
Bates was staying. Thomas leaned back against the iron headboard and forced himself to breathe deeply. "I had that dream again. That same dream with my mother."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I remember what she said now."
"Do you want to tell me?"
"Talk is cheap."
"Yes ... well ... still, I'm a bit curious."
"No, she said, 'Talk is cheap!'"
"Oh." That was an odd message for an angel to deliver.
Thomas saw Bates's disappointment. "No, Bates, she said ... she said ..." Thomas spoke with difficulty; he was utterly drained, and his head was pounding again.
"I know, son. You'll tell me when you're ready." Bates stood and took an extra pillow from Mrs Crawley's stash to make Thomas more comfortable. "Why don't you call me John when we're in your room ... or when you come to our cottage for dinner."
Thomas had never been invited to anyone's home ... at least, not since he was a boy. He did not know what to say, so he said nothing.
Bates picked up the newspaper and sat down again. "Shall we pick up where we left off? Let's see … the Scopes trial in the States?"
"Yes ... John ... that's a good one." Thomas settled back and closed his eyes. "Americans!"
