The Adjacent (51 page)

I tried to filter him out, because I was thinking, almost wistfully, that this place would soon be in my past, it would represent a finite period, a transition from one way of life to the next. I wanted it to end now – I was restless to be away. I stared around at the night-dark town, now so familiar to me, the air heady with the fragrance of night-scented flowers. I was thinking that one day I would miss this place. I listened to the constant sound of the traffic, music coming out of an open door somewhere close by, and behind everything the constant rasping of the insects.

A bell rang inside the building, requesting the audience to return to their seats. Gerred placed his glass of beer on the parapet of the balcony. He had drunk less than half of it.

‘Doesn’t Ruddebet look beautiful on stage?’ he said as we turned to walk back inside, moving along slowly with the other people.

‘She’s a lovely girl,’ I said.

‘It feels strange to me that Ruddebet should be somewhere inside this building at the moment. I can’t see her, speak to her – she’s a star. This morning we sat side by side in the kitchen, eating breakfast together.’

‘Has she said anything to you about the show?’

‘Not very much. But since you and I spoke – it’s been easier. I don’t ask her about it, and although she still doesn’t say much we’re a lot friendlier now than we were. Almost like the old days. I’m really grateful to you, Mellanya.’

‘And I’m grateful to you too,’ I said. ‘For different reasons.’

He would never know what they were. We followed the crowd down into the warm interior of the building and took our seats again. We were close to the front of the auditorium, only a few rows away from the stage. I fanned myself with the programme booklet. Gerred was close beside me, his arm resting against mine, soft and warm. I tried unobtrusively to ease away, but the seats were narrow and I too was pressing against the person next to me on the other side.

The second half of the show began with a loud roll of drums and a brassy fanfare. The dancers returned and then the comedian. I was interested only in seeing the magical act and I began to feel impatient. All around me other people were fanning themselves in the airless heat. There was a monologist, some piano duettists. A close-harmony quartet came on, performing in front of the curtain. Behind it I could sense movement as the next act was made ready.

The comedian returned, and thankfully without attempting jokes announced the second appearance that night of the act we had all come to see: Thom the Thaumaturge!

As the curtains opened there was a loud bang and a flash, and a cloud of orange-coloured smoke mushroomed above the stage. Thom emerged from the smoke, waving his arms and hands in a mystical way. He launched straight into a series of tricks, producing flames, handkerchiefs, candles, billiard balls and bouquets of paper flowers, all seemingly from nowhere. One trick made the audience roar with laughter: a lighted cigarette appeared from inside his mouth, the smoke bursting out around his head. He worked swiftly and expertly, soon filling the top of his table with all the colourful materials he had produced. He performed in silence, occasionally fixing the audience with a non-committal stare. He always smiled at the completion of the trick, as if communicating to the audience his own delight at what he was doing. We clapped enthusiastically.

He was costumed as we had seen him before: he presented a dazzle of bright colours with glints of reflected light from his shining, bejewelled clothes. Although his face was made up with heavy streaks of coloured greasepaint, it was easy for me to see beneath. He looked so like Tomak! I did not dwell on the thought.

We were not kept waiting long for the climax of his show. Two stagehands appeared and moved the table of effects offstage, then at Thom’s bidding a half-curtain upstage was raised, to reveal the wicker basket we had seen earlier.

The stagehands scraped the heavy basket forward, placing it centre-stage, exactly at the point Thom indicated. The men left the stage.

Now alone, Thom strode to and fro by the footlights, eerily lit from below, the chiaroscuro of coloured lights making his appearance mysterious and sometimes sinister as he prowled across the stage. He made a speech describing what he was about to do – he gave away no details but emphasized the years of concentration and meditation required of him as preparation for what we were about to witness, the dangers inherent in the presentation, the uniqueness of the illusion.
He asked the audience to remain silent throughout the performance, so great was the need for exact movements and physical balance.

In the orchestra pit the drummer began a quiet, continuous roll. You could sense the tension spreading through the audience, the anticipation, the curiosity about what was going to happen.

Thom reached down through the top opening of the basket and pulled forth a strong-looking rope. It was obviously heavy, but by looping it around his forearm Thom showed that it was just a normal rope. When he had pulled most of it from the basket he held it in both hands, then with an expansive gesture of his arms he threw it upwards with great strength.

He backed quickly away, protecting his head and neck as the heavy rope snaked down.

As he collected it up again he made a self-effacing remark to the audience, about how tricks sometimes don’t work the first time. There was a nervous laugh in response to this, almost an expression of relief, but Thom raised a warning palm, reminding us of his need for silence and concentration.

He made a second effort to throw it upwards – again it fell.

On this third try the rope briefly took on a rigid, vertical appearance, wavered for a moment but collapsed once more to the stage.

At a signal from Thom to the orchestra pit the drum roll grew more urgent, louder, then subsided again. He made a fourth attempt and this time the rope, by some magical means, remained vertical. It swayed slightly but stiffly in the lights shining down on it from above.

Thom moved swiftly about the stage, gesturing towards the mysteriously rigid rope, bowing towards the audience, beaming as we all applauded the astonishing sight.

As our applause died away Thom returned to the basket, and again reached down through the opening at the top. Ruddebet rose up from inside, her slim body unfolding sinuously as she stood upright. Thom helped her step out of the basket. As he held her hand they went towards the footlights and took another bow.

The drum roll took on a more urgent note.

I was able to see Ruddebet closely and clearly for the first time ever, and I was stunned by the unexpected flow of intense emotion her appearance induced in me. I could not help the feeling – I saw her as the young rival who had snatched my lover away from me. It went against everything I had thought through in recent days, but I could not help that. She seemed to me to embody all that I thought I was not. She was so graceful, lithe, beautiful, filled with life’s bounty,
smiling and enjoying the blaze of lights and the rising sound of the music. The drum was now accompanied by a throbbing double bass note, a heartbeat. Ruddebet ran lightly around the stage, one hand constantly reaching towards Thom, a happy smile on her face. I envied her but I also admired her and wanted to know her, perhaps grow to like her, discover whatever there might be that we had in common. I could not stop watching her.

The illusion moved into its next stage. Thom took hold of the stiffly vertical rope, leaning forward, using both hands to try it, gripping it low down close to the neck of the basket, the other hand reaching higher. He flexed the rope, testing its solidity. The top of the rope rotated in a tight circle.

Ruddebet tossed some white powder on the palms of her hands, clapped them together, then blew away the surplus in a cloud that drifted into one of the beams from the spotlights.

With a confident, athletic motion she strode across the stage, leaned down so that she could pass Thom’s hands where they gripped the rope, then seized it with both of her own. Gracefully, she took her weight on her arms and raised herself.

Within seconds she was halfway up the rope, already above Thom, holding it with both hands. One knee was crooked tightly around it, with the other leg swinging up to raise her to the next position.

Thom released his hold and moved back from the rope. Now Ruddebet was unsupported. I knew that Gerred was tensing beside me, his knuckles protruding whitely. I laid my free hand on his, felt the slick of perspiration on us both, the uncomfortable warmth of our skin.

Maintaining her poise, Ruddebet raised herself in small stages, allowing her body to twist around the rope, but managing by turning her head swiftly to keep her attractive smile flashing towards the audience.

Thom stood beneath her, almost directly below, next to the basket, both his arms raised and his fingers extended, as if exerting some kind of magical influence on her. In fact it was obvious that the young woman was a natural athlete, agile and strong, entirely without any need of sorcery to help her climb.

The music was growing steadily louder – now there was a sharp, eerie note playing from the synthesizer. The colour of the stage lights changed suddenly – while Ruddebet was still picked out by a brilliant white spotlight the rest of the stage was illumined with a green glow.

Thom moved away from her, turned towards the audience and for a moment had his back towards Ruddebet. It was in that instant that the disaster happened – something went wrong with the stability of the rope. It buckled and collapsed beneath her, snaking down. Ruddebet crashed to the floor of the stage, landing hard on her head or shoulder, her body twisting around. She made a horrible involuntary shout or cry, loud over the music, and lay still.

The music died away. The drum roll ceased.

You could hear the shock searing through the audience – first a sudden mass intake of breath, then groans and shouted words you could not pick out. I stood up, as did many other people, and pushed in haste past the two or three people between me and the aisle.

I saw Thom rushing across to Ruddebet’s unmoving body, bending over her, reaching down with his arms.

I yelled, ‘Don’t try to move her! Leave her!’ Thom did not appear to hear me, so I shouted again, ‘I know what to do! Don’t touch her!’

Other people from the audience were already moving towards the stage, but I was suddenly steeled with unshakable determination. I elbowed people aside, headed for the side of the orchestra pit, where a short flight of steps gave access to the stage. Two men rushed on to the stage from the wings. I clambered up, shouted at them not to touch her. I reached the stage, stumbled on the last step, and in a clumsy staggering motion I reached Ruddebet’s prone body.

Thom was holding one of her hands.

‘Stand back!’ I shouted. ‘Let me do this! I’m a nurse.’

I shoved myself in front of him, trying to block him. I bent over Ruddebet’s body – she was still breathing. I called her name and her eyelids fluttered. She clamped them tightly closed again. People were already pushing around me. Again I yelled at them to give me space. Ruddebet’s head was slightly tipped to one side, but it did not seem as if her neck was broken. I could see no blood, no obvious injuries.

‘Please call an ambulance now!’ I said to the people clustered around.

‘I called one already,’ someone said. ‘It’s on its way.’

Then a voice said, ‘I’m a doctor! Make way, please!’

I glanced up – it was a tall woman, strongly built, with a prominent jaw and a high forehead. She was wearing an all-white garment.

‘Move back, please!’ she said to me.

‘I’m a nurse,’ I said.

‘Good. Let me see her.’

The woman doctor knelt down alongside me and ran her hands
lightly over Ruddebet’s head, neck and shoulders. Then she carefully tested her arms and legs. Ruddebet gasped with pain, saliva spilling from her open mouth.

‘Everyone else, please move off the stage!’ the doctor said. She continued her examination with deft and careful movements of her hands.

‘I believe she has fractured her hip, but there is no sign of concussion.’ The doctor was speaking softly to me. ‘She has a dislocated shoulder, and perhaps a broken arm. Her ribs might have been damaged. I don’t think there is any internal bleeding. Do you agree?’

‘Yes,’ I said, although my own examination of Ruddebet had been much more superficial.

‘Bring a blanket,’ she said to one of the stagehands. ‘No one must touch her. Is there any morphine in the building?’ she said to me.

‘In the first-aid cabinet. It’s locked, but I have the key.’

I stood up, turned towards the wings. Gerred had pushed his way through the crowd of people, and was heading for Ruddebet.

‘Please stay away,’ the doctor shouted. ‘Move back!’

‘This is my daughter,’ Gerred said.

I said, ‘It’s true. I know the family.’

‘All right,’ she said to him. ‘Your daughter has been badly hurt but I don’t think her life is at risk.’

I was already on my way to find the first-aid kit. The key to the locked cupboard was still on my own ring, and somehow I had taken it out without realizing I was doing so. I rushed into the darkness of the backstage area, found the cabinet, took out the sealed carton with the emergency morphine.

Thom was standing by the side of the stage as I hurried back. He had thrown off much of his stage costume, but his face was still covered in the garish stage make-up. He looked desperately at me, but I brushed past him.

I gave Ruddebet a shot of the morphine and she cried out with agony. It was terrible to hear, but soon she was breathing steadily again. The paramedics arrived then. I stood back to let them get on with their job. Under the watchful eye of the doctor Ruddebet was placed on a wheeled stretcher and taken away. Gerred went with them, his hand resting lightly on the side of the stretcher. He did not look back at me. Ruddebet was sleeping.

THE DOCTOR ASKED ME TO WAIT ON THE STAGE, CLOSE TO
where Ruddebet had fallen, then went away to telephone ahead to the casualty department at the hospital to inform them of her diagnosis. Thom had disappeared. The theatre staff had ushered everyone away, and now the auditorium was empty. All the stage lights were extinguished, replaced by the house lights high in the ceiling. The cooling fans whined somewhere above or behind me. I was alone on the dimly lit stage, looking down at Thom’s wicker basket, the fallen rope. I could not help feeling responsible for what had happened, as if my obsession over Tomak and his relationship with Ruddebet had somehow led up to the accident. Of course I knew that Ruddebet had already taken the job with Thom before I was aware of her, that this show, this illusion, this accident, all would have taken place whether I was there or not. But I still felt complicit.