CHAPTER 108: BATES
Bates had been looking forward to a good swim but had not anticipated the crush of sheiks and flappers for whom the lido was a prime gathering place. Unwilling to abandon his health routine, he stepped off the pool's edge and dropped into the water, mocking his erstwhile fear of drowning. He set to scouting a clear channel through the sea of swimming costumes and the unblushing moderns who wore them and caught sight of Thomas among the bright young things. Bates waved his arms, but there were too many arms. He called out, but his voice was lost in the babble that engulfed him.
Keen on having a swim with his little brother, Bates turned towards the steps, but a diving platform stood where the steps had been. Confused, he watched a trim young man climb onto the platform and prepare to dive. Bates squinted against the sun, and the lad's face came into focus. Dark hair fell over the fellow's eyes in an appealing, boyish fashion. He was a handsome thing. He was Thomas. Confusion turned to admiration as Thomas spread his arms and executed an elegant, effortless swan dive. He resurfaced with his usual aplomb, turned to Bates, and smiled. That's when something peculiar happened. His smiling lips pursed and stretched forward until his elongated face resembled that of a fish. No, not a fish. An eel. Bates watched, transfixed, as the eel swam in and out and among the myriad pairs of legs, his pursed mouth rhythmically opening and closing.
Bates looked about, but no one seemed interested in, or bothered by, this transformation. Thomas slithered through the water until he was snout-to-face with Bates. He flashed his toothy grin, turned, and swam towards the edge of the pool with ever increasing speed. Bates tensed. Thomas was going to smash headlong into the side, and Bates would be left with nothing but a lifeless eel for a brother. He need not have worried. At the last possible moment, Thomas vaulted into the air in a grand arc, spouted water from his mouth like some living fountain, and plunged into the pool. He re-emerged and floated on his back alongside Bates. "How was that?"
Bates was astounded. He had not known that eels could leap ... or speak, for that matter. "It was glorious."
"Swim with me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I'm not an eel."
"Would you like to be?"
Bates meant to answer, certainly not, but it came out, "Yes."
"Follow me."
Bates did not want to follow, but what choice did he have? He took a deep breath and pushed off the side. He was surprised by how easily he kept pace with Thomas as they maneuvered through the crowd.
Thomas grinned with his eel lips. "See? You and I are exactly alike."
"We're nothing alike," protested Bates.
Thomas did not hear, or he pretended not to hear. "Let's have some fun." He took off towards the end of the pool. Bates did not have to think; his body knew exactly what to do. He mirrored Thomas by swimming towards the opposite end. As he swam, he realized that his arms were no longer stroking. He no longer possessed arms. He peered through the water at his body and saw only an eel belly and an eel tail. He was pleased that things were beginning to make sense.
The two eels turned to face each other from opposing ends of the pool. At the same instant, they propelled themselves forward. The speed enthralled Bates. As the two neared each other, they leapt into the air in perfect unison, slapped their bellies together as they arched backwards, and spouted water. At the moment their bellies touched, Bates felt an exquisite sensation shoot through him to his very tail. He understood at once that he and Thomas were electric eels. He fell blissfully back into the water. Too blissfully. He forgot himself and belly flopped with a loud splat and lay there stunned.
"What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Pooh. Keep swimming."
"What?"
Bates opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of his dimly lit cabin. He looked up to find Thomas standing over him and his wife's legs dangling from the upper bunk.
"Are you hurt?" demanded Anna. "Thomas, where's the ladder?"
"No! Stay where you are!" exploded Bates. The room fell silent. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout."
Thomas stooped. "What happened? A bad dream?"
Bates nodded and called to the upper bunk. "I was dreaming and fell out of bed, Anna. There's no need for you to come down and make a fuss."
"Then you're not hurt, Mr Bates?"
"Only my pride, Mrs Bates. Did I wake the toddlekins?"
Thomas chuckled. "It would be easier to wake the dead." He hooked a hand under each of Bates' arms and helped him to his feet. "What were you dreaming?"
"I don't know. I ... was being chased."
"Your past is catching up to you."
"No, it was nothing like that. I was in the water."
"The water?" Thomas seemed amused. "Drowning or swimming?"
Bates sat on his bunk. "Swimming."
"You were being chased in the water?"
"Yes ... by ... a mermaid."
"A mermaid! Men don't swim away from mermaids, John."
"Mine does!" countered Anna. "Let him be, Thomas, and go back to bed."
"Yes, Mum." Thomas climbed into his bunk. "Isn't it a good thing you took the lower berth, John?"
"Thomas, don't!" scolded Anna sharply.
"Yes, Mummy," answered Thomas, but his tone was contrite.
Berth assignment had been a sore point during their first night on the ship. There was no argument that Thomas should take an upper with the children below. Bates intended to take the opposite upper as any proper husband would, but Anna would not hear of it. "I won't risk you falling off that flimsy ladder, John."
If being relegated to the lower bunk had not been humbling enough, Bates managed to surpass himself by tumbling out. He sat quietly as he tried and failed to find the humour in the situation. He reached under the bunk for his shoes and slipped them on.
Thomas pursed his lips in that way of his, eel or no eel. "What are you doing?"
Bates held his finger to his lips and pointed to Anna's bunk. "I'm going to get some air," he whispered.
"Don't be angry," Thomas whispered back. "I was only teasing about the bunks. I didn't mean anything by it."
"I'm not angry, Pooh." Bates stood and pulled on his coat over his pyjamas. "Only a bit embarrassed. I'll be fine in the morning." He took his hat from its hook. "Go back to sleep. The children will be all over you in a few hours."
"Shall I leave the light on for you?"
"If it won't keep you awake."
"I'll leave it on."
Bates took Old Ram from its resting spot and opened the cabin door. "Goodnight, Pooh."
"Goodnight."
Bates closed the door behind him and joined the few passengers on deck who, for one reason or another, were not asleep in their cabins. He located the tin of mints in his coat pocket and compulsively tossed six in his mouth. His tongue pushed them about as he selected an isolated deck chair and plopped himself down. The chilled night air slowed his rush of thoughts until he was able to choose one on which to focus.
Why did I lie to Thomas about my dream? Bates tossed three more mints into his mouth and sighed. He knew why. Because sharing the dream would have crushed its magic. He closed his eyes and tried to find his way back to the water, but it was too late. The dream was shattered and the bits blown away. Try as he might, he could not conjure any of it, not even the titillation of electric current running through him. It was just as well. The dream had made Bates behave awkwardly with Thomas, and Thomas had noticed.
"Fight with the wife?"
A stout stranger stood before Bates. His wavy salt and pepper hair added at least two inches to his modest height and his chubby, dimpled cheeks made him instantly likable. "Beg pardon?"
The stout man laughed heartily. "I say, has your wife banished you?"
"No, I'm ... the victim of cabin fever."
The man lit on the neighbouring deck chair. "Lucky you. My wife tossed me out for nagging her to eat."
"Oh?"
"She starves herself for that god-awful garçonne look. I don't know why. She's skinny as a toothpick now. Nothing like the woman I married. Those were the days, weren't they, old man? When a woman was proud to show off her curves."
Bates shared the stranger's sentiment. "Take heart. My wife's in the fashion business, and she says curves are coming back."
"Well, tell her to get on with it before I find myself married to a skeleton." The man stopped chuckling only long enough to confide, "She lies in bed at night counting her ribs." The man pushed his heft to his feet and held out his hand. "Hanson's the name. Sid Hanson."
Bates shook the offered hand. "John Bates."
"Bates," repeated the man. "We're getting a game together for exiled husbands in the lounge. Care to join us?"
"No thanks. I'll be heading back to bed soon."
"That's right. You haven't been deposed." The man called back as he headed towards the lounge, "Feel free to join us if you change your mind."
"I will." Counting ribs. Bates had heard that phrase before. He shivered and pulled up his collar. I laid there at night, counting my ribs. Bates tried to clear his mind of the unwelcome words, but they refused to decamp. A walk will distract me. Accompanied by Old Ram, a faint moon, and those damned words, he paced along the deck rail. Counting my ribs ... counting my ribs. Bates trudged to the beat of it. Counting my ribs ...
It was on another chilly night when Bates first heard those words. He could remember waking as he did every night to relieve himself and brewing a pot of tea afterward. It was the family's first night in the modernized cottage where Lady Mary had insisted they move. It was part of her tacit campaign to keep the Bates & Barrow clan at Downton. The cottage had not only a proper, indoor bathroom but a true upper floor with a room for Timothy and another for Thomas. Emilia would share her brother's room as soon as she could manage the stairs.
When was that? Two years ago? Three? The wire had been removed from Thomas' mouth only the day before. That was something Bates could not forget. Between the joy of two firmly planted front teeth and his new avuncular quarters, his little brother had not been able to contain himself. He spent the day dashing up and down the stairs with Timothy on his shoulders, arranging and rearranging furniture. He paused only to admire this or that with Anna and share a conspiratorial giggle.
Bates recalled his amusement that night as he sipped his hot tea and listened to Thomas cursing his way down the stairs. He hoarsely greeted Bates at the table. "Aspirin!"
"Sit. I'll get it."
Thomas eased himself stiffly into a chair. "It's happened."
"What?"
"I'm old."
"Ha!"
"I am. I can't move."
"You did too much. You always overdo."
"Then why didn't you stop me?"
"Because when I try to stop you, you do twice as much."
Thomas downed the aspirin as he eyed Bates. "Why are you up at this hour?"
"Because I truly am old. You'll find out."
"Oh, that. Then why do you insist on drinking tea at night? It only makes things worse."
"Because I can't have the hard stuff and a smoke."
Thomas paused a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Shush, Pooh. I don't want to wake Anna."
Thomas nodded and stifled his amusement.
"Tea?" asked Bates.
"Why not? My bladder still works."
"You're tempting fate." Bates held out a tin. "There's one last biscuit."
"You take it."
"We could share," offered Bates.
"You can't fool me, you old goat. Ginger nuts are your favourite. Go on, enjoy yourself."
"You're a good little brother, Pooh." Bates tousled Thomas' dark mane and gave his silver streak a playful tug.
Thomas did not grumble or laugh as he usually did. Rather he stared intently at the lone biscuit. "Isn't that Mrs Patmore's?" he asked.
"That's right, tin and all. Mrs Patmore appreciates a sincere compliment."
"Does she? I suppose I've been silent too long."
"Hmm?"
"Never mind." Thomas tapped the tin thoughtfully. "John, can you spare a little time for your little brother?"
"Pooh, you know you don't have to ask," Bates chastised lightly. "What's on your mind?" He dipped his biscuit and took a bite to settle the apprehension rising in his gut. Thomas had been coping well since the kidnapping. Mostly. Not always. Especially at night.
"Are you certain it won't be a problem ... my living here? You and Anna won't have any privacy."
"Is that all that's worrying you?"
Thomas shrugged.
"Do you think we'll have any privacy without you? Timothy doesn't know the meaning of the word. Now, he'll be running into your room in the mornings instead of ours."
Thomas smiled faintly. "I look forward to it."
"Anna says you're her only hope of finishing that sewing course of hers. She depends on your help with the toddlekins. With everything."
"Design course, John, not sewing."
"I know. I forget sometimes."
"John, I'm grateful to you and Anna, truly, but ... "
A new thought occurred to Bates. "Pooh ... don't you want to live here? Did we push you into it?"
"No, John," Thomas answered quietly. "That's not what I'm trying to say." He took a long sip of tea. "I should have fond memories of the old place. Dinners, playing with Timothy, Emilia's birth." He took another sip. "It's the place I had my breakdown, John. It's the place I attacked you that night we were both drunk. My memories are polluted."
Bates understood. His years of drunkenness had spoiled many a memory. "We have a new home now, and those memories have no place here. You can build new memories to take to the states."
"That's what I'd like ... only ... "
"You're dilly-dallying, Pooh. Come out with it. Tell me what's on your mind."
Thomas nodded. "Do you remember when Anna and I came to see you swim with Garland our last morning in London?"
"Of course I do. It isn't often that I have reason to show off."
"It isn't often that I feel as though I've truly been a help to you, but I felt it then. I thought I'd bust the buttons right off my waistcoat."
"You had a right to. Who else but my little brother could have found a way to force me into the water, devil that you are?"
"John, do you remember my pulling Garland aside and giving him advice about improving your strokes."
"That's right. Garland wondered how you knew so much about swimming. I asked you later, but you never answered."
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"I want to tell you now."
"Tell me what?"
"How I learned so much about swimming."
"That's it, then?" Bates recalled losing his patience. "You want to tell me about swimming? What's so urgent about that?"
Thomas shrugged and dropped his eyes to his tea. "Never mind," he mumbled.
Bates sighed. When was he going to learn. "I'm sorry, Pooh. Clearly, this isn't about swimming."
"No."
"What is it you want me to know?"
Thomas slowly, deliberately, finished his tea and set down the cup. "Not here, John. Anna might wake up. I couldn't bear for her to know."
"Your room?"
"If you don't mind. Nothing wakes Timothy."
Bates followed Thomas up the stairs, each step jostling the butterflies in his stomach. He knew that anything this difficult for Thomas to tell was going to be unpleasant to hear.
