Page 127 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

Tomorrow, Saturday, there would be a protest march in London, if London was still standing in the morning. Jasper would be there as a reporter for St. Julian's News, the student paper. Jasper did not really like doing news reports: he preferred features, longer, more reflective pieces, in which the writing could be a little more fancy. He hoped one day to work in magazines, or maybe even television.

But first he wanted to be editor of St. Julian's News. The post came with a small salary and a sabbatical year off studies. It was much coveted, as it practically guaranteed the student a good job in journalism after graduation. Jasper had applied but had been defeated by Sam Cakebread. The Cakebread name was famous in British journalism: Sam's father was assistant editor of The Times and his uncle was a much-loved radio commentator. He had a younger sister at St. Julian's College who had interned with Vogue magazine. Jasper suspected that it was Sam's name, not his ability, that had won him the job.

But ability was never enough in Britain. Jasper's grandfather had been a general, and his father had been on course for a similar career, until he made the mistake of marrying a Jewish girl, and in consequence had never been promoted above the rank of colonel. The British establishment never forgave people who broke their rules. Jasper had heard it was different in the United States.

Evie Williams was in the kitchen with Jasper, sitting at the table, making a placard that read HANDS OFF CUBA.

Evie no longer had a schoolgirl crush on Jasper. He was relieved. She was sixteen now, and beautiful in a pale, ethereal way; but she was too solemn and intense for his taste. Anyone who dated her would have to share her passionate commitment to a wide range of campaigns against cruelty and injustice, from apartheid in South Africa to experiments on animals. Jasper had no commitment to anything, and anyway he preferred girls like the impish Beep Dewar, who even at the age of thirteen had put her tongue in his mouth and rubbed herself against his erection.

As Jasper watched, Evie inscribed, inside the O of OFF, the four-branched symbol of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Jasper said: "So your slogan supports two idealistic causes for the price of one!"

"There's nothing idealistic about it," she said sharply. "If war breaks out tonight, do you know what the first target of Soviet nuclear bombs will be? Britain. That's because we have nuclear weapons, which they need to eliminate before they attack the United States. They won't be bombing Norway, or Portugal, or any country that has the sense to stay out of the nuclear competition. Anyone who thinks logically about the defense of our country knows that nuclear weapons don't protect us--they put us in danger."

Jasper had not intended his remark to be taken seriously, but Evie took everything seriously.

Evie's fourteen-year-old brother, Dave, was also at the table, making miniature Cuban flags. He had used a stencil to paint the stripes onto sheets of heavy paper, and now he was attaching the sheets to small sticks of plywood with a borrowed staple gun. Jasper resented Dave's privileged life, with wealthy, easygoing parents, but he worked hard to be friendly. "How many are you making?" he asked.

Dave said: "Three hundred and sixty."

"Not a random number, presumably."

"If we don't all get killed by bombs tonight, I'm going to sell them at the demonstration tomorrow for sixpence each. Three hundred and sixty sixpences are one hundred and eighty shillings, or nine pounds, which is the price of the guitar amplifier I want to buy."

Dave had a nose for business. Jasper remembered his soft drinks stall at the school play, staffed by teenage boys who worked at top speed because Dave was paying them a commission. But Dave did badly at his lessons, coming at or near the bottom of the class in all academic subjects. It drove his father wild, for in other respects Dave seemed bright. Lloyd accused Dave of laziness, but Jasper thought it was more complicated. Dave had trouble making sense of anything written down. His own writing was dire, full of spelling mistakes and even reversed letters. It reminded Jasper of his best friend at school, who had been incapable of singing the school song, and found it hard to hear the difference between his one-note drone and the melody the other boys were singing. Likewise, Dave had to make an effort of concentration to see the difference between the letters d and b. He longed to fulfill the expectations of his high-achieving parents, but always fell short.

As he stapled his sixpenny flags together, his mind evidently wandered, for apropos of nothing he said: "Your mother and mine can't have had much in common when they first met."

"No," said Jasper. "Daisy Peshkov was the child of a Russian-American gangster. Eva Rothmann was a doctor's daughter from a middle-class Jewish family in Berlin, sent to America to escape the Nazis. Your mother took my mother in."

Evie, who had been named after Eva, said: "My mother just has a big heart."

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Jasper said half to himself: "I wish someone would send me to America."

"Why don't you just go?" said Evie. "You could tell them to leave the Cuban people alone."

Jasper did not care a damn about the Cubans. "I can't afford it." Even living rent-free he was too broke to buy a ticket to the United States.

At that moment the woman with the big heart walked into the room. Daisy Williams at forty-six was still attractive, with big blue eyes and fair curls: when she was young she must have been irresistible, Jasper thought. Tonight she was dressed modestly, in a midblue skirt with matching jacket and no jewelry; hiding her wealth, Jasper thought sardonically, the better to play the part of a politician's wife. Her figure was still trim, though not as slim as it used to be. Picturing her naked, he thought she would be better in bed than her daughter, Evie. Daisy would be like Beep, ready for anything. He was surprised to catch himself in such a fantasy about someone his mother's age. It was a good thing women could not read men's minds.

"What a nice picture," she said fondly. "Three kids working quietly." She still had a distinctive American accent, though its edges had been worn smooth by her living in London for a quarter of a century. She looked with surprise at Dave's flags. "You don't often take an interest in world affairs."

"I'm going to sell them for sixpence each."

"I might have guessed your efforts had nothing to do with world peace."

"I leave world peace to Evie."

Evie said with spirit: "Someone has to worry about it. We could all be dead before this march begins, you know--just because Americans are such hypocrites."

Jasper looked at Daisy, but she was not offended. She was used to her daughter's abrasive ethical pronouncements. Mildly, she said: "I guess Americans have been badly scared by the missiles in Cuba."

"Then they should imagine how other people feel, and take their missiles out of Turkey."

"I think you're right, and it was a mistake for President Kennedy to put them there. All the same, there's a difference. Here in Europe we're used to having missiles pointed at us--on both sides of the Iron Curtain. But when Khrushchev secretly sent missiles to Cuba he made a shocking change in the status quo."

"Justice is justice."

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