North Star

'My ideological convictions, presuming I have any, are my own concern.'

He nodded. 'Perhaps. But there are things I don't understand and I would appreciate your co-operation.'

'What about?'

'Why you suddenly decided to come up here, for instance?' The academic air had receded, the pale eyes watching me. 'You know the Hull police were waiting to interview you — a question of intimidation.'

'I had nothing to do with that.'

'Then what were you doing there?' He didn't seem surprised at my not answering. 'Lucky you were,' he murmured. 'For the little girl, anyway.' He paused, letting the silence run on. Finally he said, 'Would you like to tell me about it?'

'Not your department,' I said. 'You're not from Hull.' That question about ideological convictions… 'What department are you — Special Branch?'

He smiled. 'Let us say I am a police officer who knows quite a lot about you, has learned more since he has been here and now wants to know what the hell you're up to.'

'Do I have to be up to something?' But he'd see it differently, of course. Once a man has been in trouble with the police… 'You're part of the Establishment,' I said. 'You don't have to worry about finding a job. It's always there. But for others it's different. Do you find that difficult to understand?' I was being sarcastic, but it didn't seem to upset him.

'You don't have to worry about a job either, Randall. You're not just a trawlerman. You're a highly intelligent, highly trained individual. But your record, if I may say so, is a somewhat unusual one.' He picked up the top page of the file, leaning back with it in his hand. 'This is a summary. Shall I read it to you?' He did not wait for me to reply, but went straight on: 'You were born on 2nd April, 1937. Your mother, Muriel Caroline Randall, taught in kindergarten in Aberdeen. In November 1938, following the Munich crisis, she took a course in nursing at Glasgow Infirmary. There she met Henry Wilkin Graber, a wealthy American businessman. In fact, she was one of the nurses who looked after him when he was brought into the hospital in February 1939 following a car accident. Shortly after his return to the States he offered her the job of governess to his two children. She turned him down then, but just over a year later, in July 1940, she took passage on one of the refugee ships to the States. That was after the fall of France, so presumably her concern was for you. Would that be right?'

'You work out your own answers,' I said.

He smiled. 'I'm only trying to get at the motivation. Your father, for instance. Have you ever visited Shetland before?' And when I shook my head, he said, 'Now, suddenly, you go to West Burra, where he was born, and start making enquiries. Why?'

'A man ought to know something about his father,' I murmured.

'He was a Communist. But you knew that before you came up here.'

'Yes.'

'Where is he now?' He was leaning forward, his eyes on my face.

'Don't be silly,' I said. 'You've been to Hamnavoe. and to Ground Sound too. You know damn well he died just before Madrid fell to Franco's forces.'

He nodded. 'Of course. The plaque. Who put it there?'

'I've no idea.'

'Your mother perhaps?'

'I don't think so.'

'And you're an only child — no brothers or sisters.'

'No.'

'But it was somebody who knew him well, eh? That line from Browning — the conflict within himself. Are you sure you've never met him?' My bewilderment must have shown, for he added, 'The plaque was sent to the Clerk of the Presbytery of Shetland in 1958 by an anonymous donor with instructions where it was to be placed and a sum that more than covered the cost of the work.'

'I only saw it just over a week ago. I had no idea how it came to be up there.'

He stared at me for a moment, looking me straight in the eyes. He was still staring at me when he suddenly said, 'Are you a Communist?'

'No.'

'But you believe in Communism?'

'I also believe in Christianity.'

He smiled and I caught a flicker of interest, even sympathy, in those pale eyes. 'And there is a difference between the Christian faith and the Christian church. Is that what you mean?'

I shrugged.

'Just as there is a difference between the Communist ideal and Communism itself, say the Russian brand?'

'You don't need to get me down to a police station to state the obvious.'

He laughed, leaning back in his chair and relaxing again. 'Well, let's get back to your file. And please pick me up if they've got it wrong at all. In January 1941 your mother took up residence in Graber's house on Rhode Island. You were then three-and-a-half years old. Did you like Henry Graber?'

'I don't remember.'

'And you don't remember your father either?'

'No.'

'Yet you accepted the one and rejected the other. Was that because of your mother's marriage? Were you jealous of Graber?'

I reached into my pocket for my pipe, realized it wasn't there and heard him say something about the physical relationship of a mother and her only son. 'For Christ's sake, where's this leading?' I demanded angrily.

His strangely quiet face looked suddenly grim. 'I'll tell you where it's leading — to your record. It's here in this file, two dozen separate items at least — shop floor convener, agitator, union organizer and militant.

You've been in prison, you've been charged with inciting others to create a disturbance, resisting arrest, intent to cause grievous bodily harm, and in your public speeches, your writings, in the way you have incited pickets and moved bodies of strikers, you've demonstrated a degree of violent reaction to or from something that is quite abnormal. Now, let's get back to your mother's marriage. It was her second marriage and Graber's third. The date is given here as 5th November, 1944 — is that right?'

I nodded. 'I think my stepfather was very lonely. His wife had just died.' But it had started before then. 'She had been ill for a long time — a mental illness. And my mother-' I checked myself. No point in telling him about that moment of appalment when, as a little boy, I had discovered she didn't regard me as her entire world. 'It was natural enough, I guess.'

'But a shock to you?'

'I imagine so.'

'He had an explosives and small arms factory and made a fortune out of the war. Is that why you suddenly left home?'

'I wanted to travel.'

'To Calcutta — Dusseldorf?'

I felt my muscles tense, the past turning over in my mind. 'My God, you've done your homework.'

'Not me,' he said. 'It's all here.' And he reached for the second file. 'You were educated very expensively — the Phillips Exeter Academy, then Princeton. At Princeton you studied economics. Do you remember a Professor Hansbacher?'

as I nodded, the thick glasses, the round beaming face leaping to mind, his brilliant lectures on the nature and defects of capitalism.

'You should, because he remembered you. One of the cleverest students I ever had. That's how he describes you. He was a Communist, wasn't he?'

'I've no idea. I was just a kid.'

'That was what he was accused of. He lost his job in the McCarthy witch-hunt.' He leaned towards me. 'You were at an impressionable age. He must have had considerable influence on you.'

'He had a very logical, very clear mind.'

'A brilliant teacher, in fact. Yet within a year you left. Why?'