And her son Johnny was constantly in the papers, speaking against this war, and she felt he was right. Yet Johnny had never been right, she was sure of that, but suppose he was right now?
Julia, without telling Wilhelm, put on her hat, the one that concealed her face best, with its close-meshed veil, and chose gloves that would not show every mark she associated politics with dirt and took herself off to hear Johnny speak at a meeting to oppose the Vietnam War.
It was in a hall she thought of as communist. The streets around it seethed with young people. The taxi put her down outside the main entrance, and as she went in young people dressed like gypsies or hoodlums stared at her. The ones who had seen her arrive by taxi told each other she must be a CIA spy, while others, seeing this old lady there was not one person here over fifty said she must be here by mistake. Some said that with that hat she must be the cleaning lady.
The hall was full. It seemed to heave and swell and sway. The smell was horrible. Immediately in front of Julia were two heads of greasy unwashed blonde hair what girls could have so little self-respect? Then she saw that they were men. And they stank.
The noise was so loud that she did not at once see that the speeches had begun. Up there were Johnny, and Geoffrey, whose clean well-ordered face she knew so well, but he had Viking's hair, and stood with his feet apart, and his right hand pounding the air, as if stabbing something, and he was sneering agreement with what Johnny was saying, which was variations on what she had heard so often, American imperialism... roars of agreement; the industrial-military complex groans and boos; lackeys, jackals, capitalist exploiters, sell-outs, fascists. It was hard to hear, the roars ofagree-ment were so loud. And there was James, so much the public man, large and affable, who had become a cockney, and there was a black man beside Johnny she was sure she knew. A lot of people up there on the platform. Every face was alive and elated with conceit and self-righteousness and triumph. How well she did know all that, how it frightened her. They swaggered about up there, under strong lights, spilling out their phrases which she could anticipate, each one, before it arrived. And the audience was a unit, it was whole, it was a mob, it could kill or run riot, and it was aflame with hatred, yes that is what it was. Yet strip off the stupid cliches, and she was agreeing with them, she was on their side; how could she be, when they were foul, they were frightful; yet the violence of war was everything she hated most. She was finding it hard to keep upright she was standing against a wall, and surrounded by Yahoos who might as well be carrying clubs. She took a long last look up at the platform, saw her son had recognised her, and that his stare was both triumphant and hostile. If she did not leave he might be making her a target for his sarcasms. She pushed her way through the crowd back to the door. Luckily she was not far away from it. Her hat was knocked awry, Julia believed deliberately. She was right. The muttering that she was a CIA spy was following her. She tried to hold her hat on, and at the door saw a large young woman with a big face reddened by excitement and by alcohol. She had a steward's badge. Recognising Julia she said loudly for the benefit of her colleagues, 'Well, what do you know? It's Johnny Lennox's ma.' 'Let me get past,' said Julia, who by now was beginning to panic. 'Let me out.'
'What, can't you take it? Can't you take the truth? sneered a young man whose smell was literally making her sick. She held her hand over her mouth.
'Julia,' said Rose, 'does Johnny know you're here? What are you doing? Keeping a check on him?' She glanced around, grinning, for approval.
Julia had got through the door, but the outer room was full of people who had not got in.
' Make way for Johnny Lennox's ma, shouted Rose, and the crowd opened. Out here, where the speeches were being relayed, was less of the atmosphere of a mob, of imminent violence. Young people were staring at Julia, at her hat, which was crooked, and her distressed face. She got to the outer door. There, feeling faint, she clung to the door frame.
Rose said, ' Julia, do you want a taxi?'
'Julia,' said Rose, 'does Johnny know you're here? What are you doing? Keeping a check on him?' She glanced around, grinning, for approval.
Julia had got through the door, but the outer room was full of people who had not got in.
' Make way for Johnny Lennox's ma, shouted Rose, and the crowd opened. Out here, where the speeches were being relayed, was less of the atmosphere of a mob, of imminent violence. Young people were staring at Julia, at her hat, which was crooked, and her distressed face. She got to the outer door. There, feeling faint, she clung to the door frame.
Rose said, ' Julia, do you want a taxi?'
I don't remember asking you to call me Julia, said the old woman.
Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs Lennox, said Rose, glancing around for approval. And then, laughing, 'What shit.'
'The ancien régime, I guess,' said an American voice.
Julia had reached the edge of the pavement. She knew she was going to faint. Rose stood on the steps behind her and said loudly, ' Johnny Lennox's ma. She's drunk. '
A taxi came, and Julia waved, but it was not going to stop for this disreputable old woman. Rose ran after it, shouting, and it did stop.
' Thank you, said Julia, climbing in. She still held the handkerchief to her face.
Oh, don't mention it, please, said Rose daintily, and looked around for laughs, which she got. As Julia was driven away she heard through the windows come bursts of applause, derision, shouts, chanting, ' Down with American imperialism. Down with...
Rose took this lucky opportunity, when Johnny made his way out, to waylay Comrade Johnny the star and say to him, like an equal, 'Your mother was here.' 'I saw her,' he said, not looking at her: he always ignored her. 'She was drunk,' she dared, but he pushed past, not saying anything.
Sylvia had not forgotten her promise. She had made an appointment for Julia with a certain Doctor Lehman. Wilhelm knew him and that he was a specialist in the problems of the old. ' Our problems, dear Julia.'
'Geriatrics, said Julia.
What's in a word? You can make an appointment for me too.'
Julia sat in front of Doctor Lehman, a quite likeable man, she thought, if so young in fact he was middle-aged. German, like her? With that name? Then, Jewish? A refugee from her kind? It was remarkable how often she found herself thinking these thoughts.
He had an impeccable English voice and accent: evidently doctors did not have to talk cockney.
She knew he had taken in a great many facts about her from watching her walk to the chair, and that he would have heard more from Sylvia, and that since he had analysed her urine, taken her blood pressure, and checked her heart, he knew more about her than she knew herself.
He said, smiling, ' Mrs Lennox, you have been sent to me because of problems to do with old age.'
' So it seems, she said, and knew he had not missed the resentment. He smiled a little.
'You are seventy-five years old.' ' That is so. '
' That isn't very old, not these days. '
She succumbed with, 'Doctor, I sometimes feel I am a hundred.'
'You allow yourself to think you are.'
This was not what she had expected, and, reassured, she smiled at this man who was not going to oppress her with her age.
' There is nothing wrong with you, physically. Congratulations. I wish I were in as good a shape. But there you are, everyone knows doctors don't follow their own advice. '
Now she allowed herself to laugh, and nodded, as if to say, Very well, now get on with it.
I see this quite often, Mrs Lennox. Somebody who has been talked into feeling old when it is too early for them. '
Wilhelm? wondered Julia. Did he...
' Or has talked themselves into feeling old. '
Have I done that? Well... perhaps I have. '
I am going to say something that may seem shocking. '
No, doctor, I don't shock easily. '
' Good. You can decide to become old. You are at a crossroads, Mrs Lennox. You can decide to get old and then you'll die. But you can decide not to get old. Not yet. '
She sat thinking, and then she nodded.
I believe you have had a shock of some kind. A death? but it doesn't matter what. You seem to me to be showing signs of grief.'
You are a very clever young man. '
'Thank you, but I am not so young. I am fifty-five.'
You could be my son. '
Yes, I could. Mrs Lennox, I want you to get up from that chair, and walk away from the situation you are now in. You can decide to do it. You are not an old woman. You don't need a doctor. I am going to prescribe you vitamins and minerals. '
' Vitamins!'
'Why not? I take them. And come back in five years time and we'll discuss whether it is time for you to be old. '
Hazy golden clouds were throwing down brilliants that scattered around and on the taxi, exploding into smaller crystals, or sliding down the windows, and their shadows made dots and splodges which imitated the theme of Julia's little spotted veil that was held on the crown of her head with a serious jet clasp. The April sky of sunshine and showers was a cheat, for in fact it was September. Julia was dressed as she always was. Wilhelm had said to her, 'My dear, liebling, my dearest Julia, I am going to buy you a new dress.' Protesting and grumbling, but pleased, she was taken around the best shops, where he enlisted the aid of superior, but then charmed, young women, and Julia ended up with a claret-coloured velvet suit indistinguishable from those she had been wearing for decades. Upright inside it she was supported by thoughts of the tiny silk stitches on collar and cuffs and the perfectly fitting pink silk lining which she felt as a defence against barbarians. On the seat beside her Frances was doubled low in the task of changing her stockings and sensible shoes for high-heeled ones and black sheers. Otherwise, her working clothes -Julia had picked Frances up from the newspaper were clearly expected to be adequate. Andrew had said there would be a little celebration, but they mustn't dress up. What could he mean? Celebrate what?