A Manx Tale

Chapter 2: What We Know About People

Chapter 2: What We Know About People

Cyril took Caroline’s hand as they ran across the green, mainly to avoid the harsh winds blowing in from the sea. Tummies full from a dinner of kippers—a local specialty at The Black Dog Inn—the pair decided on a leisurely walk before bedtime. Caroline had never had kippers for dinner, only breakfast—being the well brought up English lady she was—but nothing could match the Manx kippers served fresh from the sea and smothered in butter. In a very short time, she’d grown to crave them.

The couple had gone some distance when they came upon a large neighborhood square consisting of several blocks of houses surrounded by barbed wire and patrolled by sentries. This was Hutchinson Internment Camp, one of the many such places scattered about the isle. Since the beginning of the war with Germany, the camps were deemed necessary “in defense of the realm and in order to detain anyone suspected of being a danger to the public safety.”

“Listen,” Caroline said, grabbing Cyril by the arm and stopping him from moving on. “Is that Bach?”

“Sounds like it. A violin for sure.”

“And notes from a piano,” she said. “It’s coming from one of the open windows. “Wish we could get closer, take a look inside. If only—”

“Uh—huh. That’s the reason for the barbed wire, love. It’s to keep them from getting out. Not us from getting in.”

“I know,” she said. Caroline brushed his cheek with one of her long, lacquered nails. She loved the lean look of his face, the longish dark hair touching his coat collar, even his beaked nose lent him character and made him quite sexy. Even if it does remind me of that chap who plays Sherlock Holmes in the cinema. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“About every hour on the hour.”

She nudged him in the ribs. “Don’t press your luck, fella,” and then she pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

“Maybe we should cut this walk short,” he said. “I think I’m working up an appetite.”

“We’ve already eaten, silly.”

“I wasn’t thinking about food,” he said.

She jabbed him a bit harder in the ribs. “In time. In time. Just a few more minutes.” She craned her neck and looked upward to the second floor. “Someone has etched a bird in that blackened window. Such beautiful detail. Edward would appreciate the art here. And the music. I read in the local news that Hutchinson is known for its exhibits, concerts, and even theatrical productions. You’d never know it, would you?”

Cyril shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly anxious to start home. “Well, they have to do something to occupy their time.”

“And that’s the point, isn’t it? Just marking time.” Caroline grew misty eyed and turned away looking out toward the green. “This is the view they see day after day. The wire fence, the street with people walking by free to do whatever they please, and then beyond the road the blasted sea. I’d go crazy.”

“Most probably, love, but you aren’t an enemy alien. Come on, let’s turn back.”

Caroline couldn’t let his remark go. Hadn’t she always spoken her mind? “I think it’s wrong, this whole internment program. It’s demeaning.”

“What would you do then, love?” he said. “Take a chance on letting people with connections to enemy countries roam our streets and plot against us?”

“No, of course not, but many of the detainees are Jewish and confirmed anti-Nazis. What harm can they do? They’ve left their countries for sanctuary and not to conspire against us. Many are even naturalized British citizens.”

“You’re only repeating propaganda, what oppressed people always say. Besides, it’s not what we know about people, but what we don’t know that would terrify us if we did.”

“Sounds like a quote from a boring philosophy professor past his prime, or maybe something you’d read in a fortune cookie.”

“In our business, we know people aren’t always what they seem,” he said.

“Yes. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Sometimes I hate what we do in name of King and Country. All the lying and subterfuge. But I still think the practice of locking people away without any rights based on where they were born or—”’

He shook his head. “I should know better than to argue with you. Besides, there are reasons those individuals are locked away, as you say. Someone thought they were a threat to our government. Besides, they do have it quite nice. They all have their roles inside. Some are house leaders, cooks, and even orderlies who make their lives run smoothly. They have jobs in the camps based on life skills.”

“Right,” she said, “and they offer art classes, lectures, watch movies, and live the high life. It’s all one big game of happy families. Yes, husband mine, I’ve heard that government propaganda as well. They might as well be chained to the wall behind prison walls for all we care.”

“Thank you, Alexander Dumas.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Listen, dear heart, little by little and once they’ve been vetted, we’ve started letting them out, sending them back to—” He fell quiet a moment. Then, “Are we arguing?” he asked. “Is this our first marital quarrel?”

“Could be.” She turned away from him and leaned back against the fence. “This just feels wrong. Someday—”

“Someday these policies will make sense, and we’ll be glad then we had them in place,” Cyril said. He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. “We need to go back. It’s getting cold.” The night had turned damp. A misty fog hovered above the sea and was moving in to shore.

“Cold, yes,” she said absentmindedly, wondering about one of the houses near the end of the block. “At least the others have some light peeping though. What do you make of that one completely in the dark?

“Probably unoccupied,” Cyril said. “Come on. Let’s get hopping.”

“Yes, you must be right. It just looks so…I don’t know. Forlorn,” she said, and shivered. “There’s a local myth about the fog. Want to hear it?”

“You can tell me about it later. Much later,” he said practically dragging her along.

“And you know something else?” she asked.

“No. What?”

“In my head I know you’re right. With so much hate and misery around us, we can’t afford to take risks. It’s just some of the internees don’t belong in there.”

“I know,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yes, but I still believe quite a few of them do...belong in there. For now.”

“Then why let me go on as I did,” she said, “especially knowing I would agree with you in the end?”

“It’s more fun when you get your dander up.”

“You, too,” she said. “Do you think it will lift its lovely head again anytime soon—your dander, I mean?”

“I wouldn’t be in the least surprised.”

“I’m thinking a good old fashioned spanking is just what I need,” Caroline said, “in the privacy of our room, of course.”

“You know,” he said, “I was thinking the exact same thing.”