In this chapter, the author recollects the memories of his early life. The author was startled awake in his Soho attic by an unknown US soldier in uniform sitting at the end of his bed. Anatole had, on an impulse – he seems to have surprised himself as much as me – taken the opportunity of a week's leave and a free place on a military transport plane to pay him a visit. The next few days were a little wild. He located a school contemporary, and through him found an instant girlfriend whom he equally impulsively decided to marry. Of course, he could not quite take his decision at face value; but then he was as much father's son – nervous, intolerant of delay or hesitation – as he was of their cautious, even suspicious mother. And he dismissed his older-brother scepticism with almost oedipal impatience. Anyway, it was all over in a week.