AFTER WE FINISHED LUNCH, I suggested we walk down to the Wallace Collection.
“I don’t think it’s very far from here. Your father and I loved it when we were here the first time. Our hotel was right around the comer from the Wallace Collection; I can show it to you afterward.”
“Let’s take a cab,” Mark said.
“I think we should walk. It’s not raining for a change. Let’s stroll down.”
We asked the waiter in the hamburger place how far it was to Manchester Square. He said it was a ten-minute walk. I explained to the children that English people reckoned distances in terms of time because they didn’t have our geometrical block system.
“Also they don’t have our attitude toward walking,” Mark said. “Ten minutes means half an hour.”
We strolled off and just as we began to fail physically, we came upon Manchester Square.
“There it is,” I cried triumphantly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I have a stomachache,” Bruce said.
“My feet hurt,” Mark said.
“I feel good, I want to see the Museum,” Eric said. “Are there any wax figures there?”
“No, of course not,” I replied irritably. “Do you think I’d ever take you to see wax figures again? There’s some really lovely armor and some beautiful pictures … and the building itself ….”
“Oh, goody, armor,” Eric said. “I love armor.”
We went inside.
“I feel sick,” Bruce said. “My stomach hurts. I want to go home.”
“We’ve come this far,” I said. “Why not look at it? You’ll love it.”
“Just a lot of pictures and some armor?” Mark asked.
“And the building itself,” I said. “Look around. And some French furniture, of course.”
“Oh, furniture, furniture,” Bruce said. “That’s all you care about, furniture.”
“Why don’t you smack him one?” Mark asked.
“My feet hurt, my stomach hurts, and all you care about is furniture,” Bruce said.
“Let’s try to be quiet,” I said. “Everyone is looking at us. Oh, my, look at this beautiful painting. And what do you think of this clock?”
“If I ever talked to you that way, you’d smack me,” Mark said.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bruce said.
“Ask the man,” I said.
“I want to see the armor,” Eric said sweetly. “Oh, what a lovely place.”
“Eric likes this place,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “If I don’t sit down, I’m going to faint,” Mark said.
“I don’t think you should sit there,” I said.
“Why not? There’s no cord over it or anything. It’s a chair, isn’t it?”
“Here, you can’t sit there,” a guard cried, darting forward. “You can’t sit on that chair.”
“I told you,” I said.
“I’m going to faint,” Mark said.
“Shall we go upstairs? They’ve got Gainsboroughs….”
“How can I look at paintings when I’m going to faint?”
“Oh, here’s Bruce,” I said cheerfully. “Feeling better?”
“No, I’m not,” Bruce said, scowling. “I feel worse. My stomach hurts and I want to sit down.”
“Why don’t you both go out in the courtyard and sit on a bench?” I suggested. “I’ll show Eric the armor.”
I showed Eric the armor for quite a while. He seemed to admire it.
“Oh, look at the big horse,” he said. “Look at the armor on the big horse. Look at the big curved sword. Did they cut off people’s heads with it?”
“That must have been the intention,” I replied. “See how beautifully it’s carved?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Eric said suddenly.
“Oh, dear. It’s right down that way, I think.”
“I can’t go by myself. I’m afraid of Hamlet’s uncle.”
“Hamlet’s uncle isn’t in the bathroom. I mean the lavatory. He isn’t anywhere. I mean he’s in Madame Tussaud’s…. No, he isn’t, I didn’t mean that—”
“I want Mark to go with me,” Eric said loudly.
“Shhh,” I said.
We sought Mark out where he sat in the courtyard with Bruce on an institutional-looking oak bench. It was drizzling.
“I want to go home,” Bruce said.
“Shhh,” I said. “Eric has to go to the bathroom.”
“So what?” Mark said.
“Shhh. He wants you to go with him, Mark. He’s afraid.”
“He’s afraid? In broad daylight? In a museum?”
“I’m afraid of Hamlet’s uncle,” Eric said.
“You are not,” Mark said.
“He is too,” I said.
“He’s crazy,” Mark said.
“That’s beside the point,” I replied. “The point is, the child is frightened and you’re old enough to understand, you’re sixteen years old….”
“Hurry up,” Eric said.
“Why am I only fifteen if I want to do something interesting and sixteen if you want me to do something?”
“You’re all crazy,” Bruce said. “Look at that man staring at us.”
“Mark!” I said.
“Oh, all right. Come on, you miserable hateful little brat.”
“Mommy!” Eric called back loudly. “He’s pulling me!”
“Shhh. Stop pulling him.”
Bruce and I were left alone in the drizzle.
“You see this interesting courtyard,” I said. “This used to be somebody’s house, imagine that, and the lady left it as a museum to the public. These horrible benches were not here when the lady lived here, of course. It must have been beautiful then.”
“I’m getting all wet,” Bruce said.
“I can’t help it,” I responded testily.
“Yes, you could too help it,” Bruce said. “We didn’t have to come to this awful place.”
“No, not England. I love England. You hate it, but I love it. I mean this awful place.”
“I thought you would like it,” I said sadly.
“Well, I don’t,” Bruce said. He got up and went back to the lavatory. I sat on the bench in the rain and read one of Mark’s rock and roll magazines until they all came back.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” I asked.
Eric said he did. Suddenly I felt rather tired.
“We’ll do it next time,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We walked around the corner and passed the hotel where Jordan and I had stayed on our first visit to London. I pointed it out to the children; it looked much better to me than it had the first time.
“Oh, it’s lovely, Mommy,” Eric said. “Can we stay there now?”
“Hey, it’s cool,” Mark said.
“You stayed in this awful dump?” Bruce asked. “What for?”