The Stone Gryphon, Part 1: Oxfordshire 1942
Chapter 12 Crossroads Part 1
In which we find out what Polly thinks about all of this.
Polly Plummer did not like hospitals. The only thing that would bring her to the Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford was that it had a patient who liked them even less.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" A sweet little nurse was trying to stop her. Well, phooey to that.
Polly kept walking down the antiseptic hallway.
The nurse was running after her. "Ma'am! Excuse me!"
The little thing ran up from behind and actually tried to put a restraining hand on Polly's shoulder. Simon did not like that one bit.
"Yes? May I help you?" Polly said, turning around, exasperated.
"Excuse me Ma'am, but dogs are not allowed in the hospital." Petunia, her Shorthair cat, mewed from inside the bag slung over her arm. "Or cats," the nurse added.
Simon disagreed. He did not understand the words; tone was another matter and he understood the nurse with all the profound sensitivity of his kind. He was too well trained to do more than grumble but, very faintly, Polly heard a thrumming in the spaniel's chest all the same.
"Certainly they are," Polly said briskly. "These animals are certified patient rehabilitative specialists, trained in therapy for convalescent soldiers. You will excuse me, as I have a patient to see."
She continued down the hall, daring the nurse to challenge her. She would not. They never did, not in the face of her devastating presentation of assertive, confident English Maiden (Ha!) aunt. It was all in the delivery. Regiments would part before her, especially if she was wearing a Mac and Wellies, and carrying an umbrella and a large, swinging carpet bag. Polly could not wait until she was able to dye her hair blue.
Peter and Edmund asserted that Otters should be enlisted in the Royal Navy. Polly thought a battalion of bus touring English Maiden (Ha!) aunts could probably clean Berlin of Nazis.
Knocking crisply on the door, she did not wait for a response and just pushed it open.
Regrettably, Polly did not anticipate that the High King would be in the room. Blast. She didn't care what Richard Russell thought of her manners. The High King of Narnia, on the other hand, well, his opinion mattered a great deal to her.
"Excuse me, Peter. I hope I am not intruding," she said with a slow, courteous nod. Peter was sitting on the window sill; Richard was, of course, in the hospital bed.
Peter jumped to his feet. "Aunt Polly!" He crossed the room in two gigantic strides, clasped her about the shoulders, and delivered a most Narnian kiss on both her cheeks.
She had to look around the enormous shoulders blocking her view. "Hello, Richard. You're looking quite peevish today."
"Don't you ever knock?" Richard boomed out.
"I did knock."
"Then maybe you should wait for a response."
Peter was wearing his patchiest jacket, last year's trousers, and the shirt that never stayed tucked in. His mother and Headmaster must despair of that. Nonetheless, Polly had to resist the urge she always felt to drop to a curtsey, which appallingly, her mind and body still remembered how to do. "It is wonderful to see you, Peter. Should I come back later?"
"No, of course not."
"And here, I thought you were coming to see the man exiled to the hospital bed!"
"Oh, hush, you," Polly scolded Richard. "I'm here now."
The High King bent down to one knee. "Good day, Simon. How are you?" The spaniel wriggled his stub tail as fast as he could, all quivering. "Hello Petunia," Peter said to the bag. The bag meowed back.
Really, Peter could teach something of deportment to King George.
"I could have been indecent and you would still come barging in like a U-boat running a blockade," Richard snarled.
"You weren't, so stop complaining, and if you were, it is nothing I haven't seen before and it would have been a good laugh."
"Don't say such things around Peter!" Richard cried, with real feeling. "He'll start doing it again and give me a headache."
Peter rose, giving her another warm squeeze and a cheerful grimace that only she, and not Richard, could see.
"It?" she repeated. "Don't be ridiculous, Richard. What on earth could Peter do that would give you a headache?"
"He knows well enough. Seeing one of those sly expressions of his is almost enough to make me summon that nurse for an aspirin, except then it would start all over again the moment she walked in the room."
"You are in a state," Polly said, with a glance at Peter. Peter shook his head, smiling. Yes, she supposed there was something very knowing about his expressions. As she knew as well, Polly had not attended to it much.
She opened the bag and Petunia poked her head out. Surveying her surroundings, the tabby immediately spied the prime location, and jumped out, right on to Richard's bed. As the cat daintily made her way up toward his chest, Simon sauntered over and nosed his head under Richard's hand for some ear scratches.
Richard's scowling expression softened, one hand now stroking Petunia and the other relenting to the spaniel's demands.
"And now it is time for me to go," Peter said. "Richard, I will try to come by tomorrow."
"Thank you, Peter, as always. I would like to hear more about the barn owls, if you can spare the time."
He spoke as kindly as Polly had ever heard him; Richard had certainly never been so deferential to his students. So what magic had Peter worked here?
"Of course."
"Peter, are you going back to Digory's office?"
The High King nodded.
She didn't wish to impose, but Peter would gladly oblige. "Would you mind terribly letting Digory and Mary know that I'll just meet them at the pub and they shouldn't wait for me?"
"Certainly. I will see you before you go back to Whipsnade?"
"Oh yes. I'll probably stay the night with Mary at the House."
Richard grumbled from the bed; Polly ignored him.
Peter administered a scratch to Petunia, a rub to Simon's head, shook Richard's hand, and her own. The room was much larger when he left.
Polly put her bags and umbrella down and went over to Richard. "Budge over, Petunia." She sat on the edge of his bed and gave her old friend the once over. "For all your complaining, you don't look that bad, Luv." She kissed his dry cheek soundly.
"It's a good day today, for all that I'm here. Listening to Peter always helps." Richard squeezed her hand and now she did feel the weakness there and the tremor beneath. "Seeing you is about the best medicine there is, Bird."
"What a lot of tosh that is, you old goat."
Richard squinted, and looked at her closely, his mouth forming a thin, contemplative line.
"What?" Polly asked. "You look like you've swallowed a lemon."
"I've been lying here doing nothing, hoping to see something interesting out the window, and waiting for some idiot to make me urinate in a cup or suck more of my blood in vampiric rituals. But, I can now say it's been worth the bother as I've just confirmed the theory, after seeing you with Peter. You are in on it with him and Digory."
It? Oh dear. There was only one it she, Digory and Peter all shared.
"Except…" Richard trailed off, mulling something over.
This was alarming. She had known Richard for over thirty years, he had known Digory for nearly as long, and Richard was just now noticing the Narnia within them? Peter. It had to be something about Peter that had ignited it.
"What are you talking about, Goat?"
"Don't take that tone with me. Mary's thought Digory's had a Secret for years. She and Asim have got it all wrong though. Actually, they are just focused on a different part of the Secret. "
Good Lord. Polly had always worried about that angle. Digory was a terrible liar, was very close to Mary, and she and Asim were both too curious by half.
He put a finger to her lips to silence the protests. "Don't worry. I told Peter the same thing; I've not discussed it with either of them."
Taking a deep breath, Polly grasped his trembling hand more tightly. For a man with dementia, Richard was uncommonly sharp, though that was part of the nature of the disease. Days like this would simply become less and less common, and then disappear entirely as Richard's intellect and sense eroded to nothing. Through gritted teeth, she muttered, "Could you please speak plainly?"
Grinning fiendishly, for a moment Richard looked far too much like the daredevil, sunburnt explorer she would have followed the length of the Nile if crocodiles hadn't eaten their guide. "You gave yourself away, Bird. You, of all people, deferring to a boy a third your age. Digory does the same thing, you know."
Well, there is that. Strange way to come at it, though.
"You were looking for it, weren't you?"
"In my moments of lucidity, yes." He pointed at his field book with his free hand. "After spending so much time with Peter, I made a note of it at some point, the curious coincidence of Digory's interest in Saint Francis of Assisi and your life work for the Wildlife Trust and the ZSL. I was reviewing my notes with Peter right before you came and that put me in mind of it."
"That bit about the owls. You tricked Peter, didn't you? Somehow." Polly was wishing Edmund was here with a knife. Or Lucy. She glanced over to the armchair where her umbrella dangled; it was in reach and she could stab him with it.
But, Richard, the old cagey bastard put a shaking hand to her face and tried to smooth away the seething anger. "I manipulated him, yes. I think he's forgiven me for that. But, I'd like to think God granted me a boon, too. I just wanted to see, for a little bit, as Peter does, before I forget it all."
Petunia came up under his arm, insisting on her strokes. Simon rested his head on the clean, white sheet, a bit of spaniel drool leaking from corner of his sagging mouth.
"You put it like that, and Peter couldn't refuse you, could he?"
"Oh, he could have. Ask him about it if you want. Point is…" Richard trailed off again, frowning. "Well, I suppose there's only one explanation."
"You're being alternately clever and ambiguous, Goat. Is that the dementia, or to provoke me?"
"The dementia, I think. Sometimes, I see so clearly, it hurts. And then I don't remember what it was that was so clear."
He pulled both hands away from their tangled arms and began petting Simon and Petunia again. "What was confounding me is that you learned what you did the normal way, on the hard road, as an amateur naturalist. I know that, since we traveled some of it together. Peter has the interest as you and Digory do, but also especially incredible, unknowable information. I can only conclude that while yours and his experiences had some similarity, his experience was also very different than yours. Longer perhaps, or more intensive. Yes, there's the whole incongruity of his age, but dwelling on that makes my head hurt, so I just take that on faith."
Her heart could break for it, again and again, over and over, the loss of this amazing man to the world. Yet, Richard was not asking anything, nor even really speaking specifically of Narnia. Peter must have been playing a very interesting game to have managed this compromise. If possible, her opinion, of both men rose even higher.
"Peter is a remarkable young man," Polly felt she could say, should say.
"Not so young," Richard remarked. Again he interrupted her. "As I told him, I don't care. And…" He stared at her closely then snorted, with something akin to disgust, or it might be amazement. "You've got it too, that same starry eyed, Peter-can-do-anything look as Digory. Have any of you ever thought how the man could possibly bear the weight of all these expectations?"
Polly was so offended, she could barely begin. "Really, Richard, that is uncalled for. You hardly know Peter; Digory and Peter's family love him very much."
"Then why have they all charted this ridiculous education for him? I thought you might see it differently, but you've got the same view as Digory, that Peter can do anything he sets his mind to."
"Of course he can," Polly responded tartly.
"Forget it, Bird. There's no point. I see that. But, please, can you make a promise for me?"
"That rather depends on the promise, Goat."
"When the time comes, try to help Peter, would you?"
"I really don't see…"
"Don't argue, just promise. There may not be anyone else who can help him except you."
"I don't have to promise that. If Peter is ever troubled, which I really doubt, I'll be there, and so will many others."
"I don't care about the others. I want you there. Maybe you could steer him toward work with the Trust, or the ZSL…"
"Peter hates zoos," Polly interrupted. "Even Whipsnade. And I'm not going to be steering him anywhere, Goat. Peter knows his own mind better than any man I've ever met."
The man had the gall to wag his head at her, just the way he always used to, when he was right, she was wrong, and they were stranded in the middle of the Okavango Delta without a canoe and no gin for the quinine. Petunia started kneading the blanket, pulling threads up with her claws, purring madly. Simon on the other side was trying to climb on to the bed, but he couldn't get his back paws on the rungs to clamber up.
"Stop it, you," she scolded. "I'm still sitting here."
"And another thing" Richard said, sliding his hand over Petunia and fondling Simon's ears.
"Yes?"
"Keep Peter away from Copeland, or any other respecting biological scientist. That's important. The more I think on it, the less I like it. Peter's more wary than he was, but they are smarter than he is. They'll suck him dry."
Like you did? Polly could not believe she had not foreseen this. She didn't expect Digory to have anticipated it; but she better understood Richard, his manipulative guile, and his formidable knowledge. Yet, Peter did not need anyone's protection. He was an adult and could make his own choices. He and Richard plainly had come to some sort of understanding. She'd heard Richard's respectful plea as Peter had left the room. Richard was grateful for what Peter chose to give, and was losing his mind.
She let out a breath, mirrored by Simon. "That hadn't occurred to me, but I see your point. Yes, I'll try to be alert for that. I'll discuss it with Digory, too. Any other commandments, Luv? We do have work to do, so can we wrap up your management of other people's lives?"
"Yes. It's about Mary."
She glared at him. Polly hated it when he tried to do this. "Don't you dare. There's nothing I can do there. She is not a child, I won't treat her as one, and I'll smack you if you so much as try to do it yourself."
"I'm the one with dementia, and she's the one who's delusional."
"Luv, what do you expect? She's not yet thirty, she's loved you since she was ten years old, she thinks everyone lives forever, that science can answer every ill, and that any obstacle is merely a personal inconvenience to be overcome with hard work, good planning, intuitive brilliance or some combination of the three."
Richard smiled fondly, and abandoned his ministrations to cat and dog to again take her hands in his shaking ones. He kissed both her knuckles. "That's a superb description of my wife. You forgot brute force application, however. Some obstacles require weaponry or explosives to resolve."
"Asim usually handles that and so I did not mention it."
As Richard sighed, Polly saw some of the colour bleed from his face. "We both were well aware of the risk. I'd have never married her if I didn't think Mary understood what I wanted if something like this happened."
Polly had no doubt of that. There was probably some agreement tucked into a file in Richard's office, with a copy in Mary's and another with their solicitor detailing his expectations in the event of illness and debility. Getting Mary to follow it was another matter. What would Richard do, divorce his wife because she would love him as he became an infant before her eyes? Actually, Polly decided she would not suggest that. Richard would divorce Mary in a heartbeat to avoid that outcome.
"I'll try to watch out for her. But Mary will do what Mary will do, and she's never going to shut you up and run away to the Americas, even if that is what you want her to do."
"She's going to moulder, Bird. I can see it. She'll lock herself in at Russell Hall, me with her, and spend years there, shrinking."
"The War is having that effect on all of us, Luv. There's plenty of personal growing that can still be done here, at home, and you and I both know they'll be even more to do when the War finally ends. And, to be blunt, Mary needs to do some growing up, though it pains me that it will be in this way."
It was strange how when they discussed Mary, she and Richard both would become so sentimental. It would infuriate Mary, Polly well knew. Mary was all about raw passion, wide vistas, grand gestures, and limitless possibilities. She'd yet to come to appreciate the small things and gentle intimacies, the thumb on the cheek, the kiss on the palm, the birdsong at dawn.
"Bird," Richard said heavily, now returning again to caress spaniel and cat. "I really think sometimes that stealing one of Asim's guns and putting a bullet in my head would be a great service to everyone."
"No, Luv. Don't do that. Promise me? When He calls me Home, I want to know you'll be there too."
Now there were tears, hers and his. Simon was trying to climb into the bed again, Petunia was purring fit to shatter, and Polly had two handkerchiefs out.
Polly finally slid off the bed, blew her nose, and retrieved her satchel. "We were going to talk about Castor fiber, remember?"
With some scrambling, Simon now took Polly's place on the bed. That was for the best, Polly thought firmly. Otherwise there would be more sentiment, tears, hand holding, and caressing of old flesh, and really it wasn't a natural state for either of them.
"Did you steal my notes back from Copeland?" Richard was reaching for another, older notebook at his bedside table. The beaver book.
"Yes, I have everything. I need you to go through it, and tell me what it all means. I'm sorry Mr. Patel isn't here, but I'll meet with him later."
"Asim has him doing something for someone, somewhere that we aren't supposed to know about."
Which could be re-bricking a general's shattered greenhouse or consulting on a factory assembly line at a top secret munitions facility. With Asim and Mr. Patel, one never knew, so it was better to never ask.
"I have no idea what you said, and don't repeat it please." Polly briskly opened her own notebook. "We've got space at Whipsnade. The bombs left some lovely craters that we can turn into ponds."
"It's getting the specimens that will be the problem. I've seen them in Norway and Bavaria."
"Richard, we are not going to try running behind Nazi lines to extract breeding pairs of C. fiber. What about C. canadensis? I'm sure Julian Huxley could help us get some pairs from the Americas." Polly added for emphasis, "once the War ends."
Really, Richard would have them running blockades for beavers - which made that idea of using otters in the Royal Navy even more amusing.
"I know the arguments; I still insist they are different species. Compare those specimens at the Museum, and you'll see it too. We shouldn't introduce a non-native species here. No beaver is better than the wrong one."
"Goodness, you've become absolutist in your old age."
Polly is here because Priscipixie and Miniver have mentioned her. So, let this be a warning to you – when someone writes in a review something like, "Oh, will we see Polly?" I tend to say, "You know, that's a really good idea." Digressions Is Us. I had assumed at the story's inception that Polly was involved in animal conservation, but, as with Susan, hadn't intended on doing anything with it. Now, I'm wondering myself about Polly's trip on the Nile where the crocodiles ate the guide and the Okavango Delta with no gin for quinine. I have assumed that both Polly and Digory have brought their experience at Narnia's creation forward into their adult lives in very significant, but very different, ways. Digory is contemplative, working to construct a philosophy and theology that encompasses respect for all beings and Creation at a level deeper than "aren't they cute animals." Polly approaches it from a more active, conservationist point of view.
Julian Huxley was the brother of Aldous Huxley and the grandson of Thomas Henry Huxley. Thomas Henry Huxley was "Darwin's Bulldog," and in 1860 he debated Samuel Wilberforce about the theory of evolution by natural selection at the very same Oxford Natural History Museum Richard and Peter have visited. J. Huxley was an important figure in, among other things, the founding of the World Wildlife Fund, African wildlife preservation, and UNESCO; he was also for a time the head of the London Zoo.
Chapter 13 Crossroads Part 2 and 3 to follow
In which we find out what Peter, Mary, and Asim think about all of this.