The Dwarfs (11 page)

Twenty

Easy come easy go. They are not bothered, these dwarfs. As it should be. They are never at a loss, never at a loose end. The tiniest substances, the prettiest trifles, nourish and sustain them. Now there is a new game, to do with beetles and twigs. There is a rockery of redhot cinder. The hairs are curly and oiled on their necks. Always squatting and bending, dipping their wicks in the custard. Home methods are the best.

I stand wafted by odours, in the shadows. From time to time a lick of flame screws up their nostrils. They yowl, they scutter to the sandpit, pinch, dribble, chew, whimper, gouge, then soothe each other’s orifices with a local ointment, and then, all gone, all forgotten, they lark about, each with his buddy, get out the nose spray, the scented syringe, settle down for the night with ginger beer and a doughnut.

Twenty-one

- You’re a strange boy, said Sonia.

- Am I really?

- Yes.

- Give me your glass.

They edged through the crowd to the table.

- How am I strange? said Mark. Go on. Tell me.

Now I combed her hair, even manicured her fingernails.

- Don’t you know him? Pete said. Big dark bloke, over by the bar.

- No, I don’t, said Brenda.

- Oh yes, said Pete, he’s a very old pal of mine.

- Really?

- Yes. Met him in a Turkish bath. Never looked back since. Drink up and we’ll dance.

- All right, said Mark, I admit it. I’m very strange.

I heard something moaning in my corner, I tried my best to see.

- I am, there’s no getting away from it, exceedingly strange.

It was the mother bedbug, coming for to eat me.

The couples crawled and slid to the beat in the crossed lights of the wall lamps.

- Well, said Pete, this is luxury pure and simple. Oops. This Elaine has plenty of money, eh?

- It’s Baxter, said Brenda. It’s his flat.

- Oh yes, I forgot. This is a concubinary.

- A what?

- A state of affairs, said Pete. A particular set of circumstances obtaining in a particular place at a particular time. The only moral in that is that you can’t be too particular.

- What do you do, anyway, if you’re not an actor?

- If you really want to know, let’s sit down a minute.

- I like the way you dance.

- You know what this is? he said, leading her to the window. It’s a caper. Not only that. I’ve never smelt so many odours in my life. Perfume at war. The suppliance of a minute and so on. Hold here and I’ll get a drink.

- Oh don’t think you can pull that old one on me.

- What old one?

- Looking at my mouth like that, said Sonia. Don’t be so bloody studied.

- Me!

- Don’t shout.

- Me studied! Mark said.

- Now you’re angry.

- Why shouldn’t I be angry?

- You think I’m repulsing you.

- Think! Think! scowled Mark. I think. You think. He thinks.

- I don’t know, Pete said, pouring a drink, thinking got me into this.

- And thinking’s got to get you out.

- I doubt it.

- Sonia, Pete, said Mark.

- Got you into what? said Sonia.

- Bad habits, said Pete.

- Now is grown the very habit of my soul, said Mark.

I can get any woman’s man in town, I can stand him up or lay him down.

- Mark’s making the most of it.

- So are you, said Brenda.

- Christmas comes but once a year.

- Who is Pete?

- Apalomine.

- A member of your clan?

- A member? He’s the witchdoctor.

- What are you?

- The hangman. But there’ll be a new election in the autumn.

- Really?

- And then, Mark said, who can tell? We might all be looking for new jobs.

- Look, said Sonia, are you going to dance? Or I’ll get someone who will.

I know that you know that you know that I know.

- All right, if you want the truth, I’m doing literary research at Cambridge University for students.

- How fascinating, said Brenda. Literary research? But what do you do?

- Do? Pete said. I dig up old manuscripts and give my honest and respected opinion.

- No?

- Yes. Dig, dig. Between you and me - and this is really top secret - you won’t let it out?

- No, really. What?

- We’ve got a special permit to open graves.

- Graves?

- Coffins, Pete said. Tombs. You never know what they’ve taken down with them, these people.

- Like Egyptian mummies.

- That’s right, Pete said. Ever seen a corpse?

- Mark! called Elaine.

- What?

He turned sharply and fell over. The dancers scattered. Sonia, two men and Elaine helped him to his feet.

- All right, all right.

- You looked ten! Elaine said. Didn’t he, darling?

- Did you call my name? Mark said.

- Yes. What’s the Greek god’s name? I’ve forgotten.

- His name is Pete.

- He’s a witchdoctor, said Sonia.

- Will he treat me?

- No, Pete said, mostly they sat on ‘em. You’ve got to lift up the pelvisbone with a pair of tweezers. Big tweezers. Can’t leave fingermarks, you see. Canon law. Well, under the arse it’s even money you’ll find a priceless manuscript. Sometimes, on the other hand, they’ve tied them round the man’s limbs, but the flesh takes no time to rot, so it isn’t much trouble to get them off. One job we did, the manuscripts were fixed by a chain to the bloke’s ankle. We had to send home for a screwdriver to unbolt the nuts. Drink up. The biggest shock I ever had was when a skeleton collapsed on top of me and nearly bit my ear off. I had a curious sensation at that moment. I thought I was the skeleton and he was my longlost uncle come to kiss me goodnight. When my mate hauled me out I felt like Lazarus raised from the dead. Ever felt that? No, well of course you’ve never been inside a grave. You should try it. I recommend it, honest, I mean if you want to taste everything life has to offer. Oh well, you’ll be inside one one day, won’t you? Unless you’re going to be cremated. Or drowned at sea. I’ll tell you what, if you fancy it, I’ll work a fiddle and take you along to my next cemetery job. It’ll be worth your while. You look like a ghost, as it is. That’s your attraction. Death is a crafty customer. But not entirely without virtues, when you come down to it. Yes, my job, taking it all in all, is not uninteresting. What do you think?

Oh now I’m discontented, now I’m discontented here.

- Oh balls, said Elaine, of course it’s a lovely party. What’s to stop it? Baxter’s loaded. But I’m thinking of going into the Park, on the game. I really am.

- You’ll do all right, Mark said.

She paused by a seated man.

- How are you, Don?

He stood and rested against them.

- How many times have you been shagged in the last week? he asked.

- You must never, Elaine husked, closing her eyes and swaying against them both, never, use that word. You must say fucked. It is the only word that becomes a lady.

- I don’t care what I say, said Don. When’s my turn?

- It will come, said Elaine, through sliteyes. Your turn will come. Patience. I had two doctors the other night. In one bed.

- You bitch, said Don.

- General practitioners? Mark asked.

- Well, Pete said, there are occupations and occupations. What’s your occupation?

- You know, said Brenda, stroking his hair.

- You enact. Ever played Mistress Overdone?

- Who?

- Had nine husbands. All done in plastic. Trick lighting. It’s all a matter of the old optique. Either you’ve got it or you haven’t got it. Philosophy doesn’t come into it. Leave that to the wet weather.

Put me in your big brass bed and roll me till I’m cherry red.

- I am an actor, Mark said, only nor-nor-west. When the wind is southerly -

- Well? said Sonia.

- I know a whore from a giblet.

You go to my head, like a bubble in a glass of champagne.

- I’m going blind, Mark said. Can’t you open a window?

- Are you rooted to this spot? Pete said, pouring drinks.

- Where there’s a bar there’s a way.

- Hello, smiled Elaine. I’m your hostess.

- This is a good party.

- Where did you get such curly hair?

- Work of God.

- This man has the most extraordinary occupation, said Brenda, sipping.

- He gropes for trout in a peculiar river, said Mark, collapsing into a chair.

- Can I have a lock of your hair? asked Elaine.

- All rights reserved, Pete said. Sorry.

I went down to St James Infirmary, saw my baby there.

- You weren’t going to tell her what I did, were you?

- Why?

- I told you. It’s top secret. Over to the window. Excuse us. They sat down.

- Look, Pete said. They’re in a mist. Hell’s third circle. Do you like this life?

- I like you, she whispered, kissing him.

- Mind yourself. Look out of this window. London’s flat out on her back. It’s a laughing matter. What time is it?

- Kiss me. Now.

- Upstairs, Mark muttered. Downstairs. Upstairs. In my lady’s chamber. Where are my switzers!

- Shut up!

- Who said that?

- Shut up, said Elaine, on Don’s arm. You’re drunk and dreary.

- Thank you.

Mean to me, how can you be so mean to me?

- The point is, Pete said, women are women. It doesn’t do to forget it.

- No, it doesn’t.

- Errors, errors. Nonrecognition. It’s a capital offence. They’ve left me to prosecute myself. And I’ll tell you what. I haven’t got a leg to stand on.

- I’m a woman, said Brenda.

- You? What makes you say that?

- You don’t think I’m a virgin?

- Mind how you go, Pete said. If I fall, we all fall.

- Don’t drink so much.

- Dignity! Dignity! said Mark, looming.

- Sit down or stand up.

- You can’t have too much of it, said Mark, veering away.

Baby, baby, take your big fat legs off me. It may be sending you honey, but it’s beating hell out of me.

- Come in here, said Sonia.

- What?

- In here.

- Here?

- Here’s some coffee.

- This is a kitchen, Mark said.

- Drink it.

- Too bright. Who made it?

- Take a sip.

The door opened and a man and a girl rushed in.

- Where’s the bin?

They seized the rubbishbin and emptied its contents on to the floor. The man then gripped the bin upside down between his thighs and, waddling to the door, the girl goosing him,
tomtomed across the hall into the gameroom. The door swung shut. Mark skated through eggshells, potatopeel and baconrind to Sonia and kissed her.

- Before you love me, he said, you must learn to run through snow, leaving no footprint.

- Drink it.

- It’s a Turkish proverb.

- Gather round, boys!

Elaine jumped on a chair, skirt at her waist.

- I promised!

She moaned and wriggled to the music, suspenders tight. The crowd humped together, squealing, around her, to the floor; the room plapped into halflight, low from two wall lamps, glowing on her legs, over the ducking heads.

- A ballet for you, she grated.

- Do you like her from this angle?

- Come outside, Pete said.

- Now!

The skirt swung and floated.

- Aaaaaaaaah!

Mark gaped the crisp and shutter of light under his eyelid. Elaine stepped down. By a wall lamp she swayed, slipping off her blouse.

- This is my party.

- Do you like her? Would you like her? asked Sonia.

- Catch it!

Her brassière flipped into the dark.

- Put me, baby, put me in your big brass bed.

She danced alone from shade to light by the wall. Cackles broke, snuffed. The floor beat time. She caressed her breasts. She slid her hands down her briefs to her buttocks, turning. A figure through the shadows pulled her to him. They fell. Mark trod on a glass, staggered by the bar. He clutched to Sonia. They sat. The sofa sonked.

Give me a pigfoot and a bottle of gin, slay me cause I’m in my sin. Slay me cause I’m full of gin.

The room grunted, slapped. Light whimpered across the bodies. Aayi! cried Elaine, I’m dying. Aaaah, said Mark, God knows. Baxter beat on the wall. Slay me slay me slay slay moaning in my corner you go to my head beating hell out of me I know that you know that any woman’s man mean to me why are you so legs off me I’m full of there saw my baby roll me cherry pigfoot roll me red.

- Outside.

Mark jolted the room from the rolling shapes, he and Sonia stumbled into the red hall.

- Here.

He pushed at a door, they closed inside.

- Here.

The bed slumped. He pulled.

- Hey? Blimey.

Pete and Mark sat up, cocked heads, regarded.

- Well, Mark said.

- Well.

- How’s business?

- Mustn’t grumble.

- Bit cramped in this gaff.

- Too true.

- Not a very efficient idea, this.

Sonia pulled away and walked to the door.

- Wait for me, said Brenda.

The door cracked, pale heads whispered through dark, the red light damaged the black, shut.

- You been doing your bit for democracy?

- My flag’s at halfmast, Pete said. What about you?

- I’m past it.

- Well, what about getting out of here?

- Yes, let’s get out of here.

Twenty-two

Look. The moon and the black leaves. I am smelling it out. The bright day is done. My slow dying dead, my dead dying slow, so long in its tooth. That’s the character of it, gentlemen. I am in a nunnery. He has managed to banish me. What he hoped and what he feared. Oh very near the mark. The who? That’s beside the point. Which is quite another thing, distinct, shall I say, from the main issue, from the one pressing and deplorable conundrum. A country train will take you there. I have taken the hint. Shame on all things. I am a bat. He wasn’t free with his booze. That did it. I shall throw my hand in. Chuck it all in. Scrub round it. Under stealth I lived, under stealth I’ll leave. A new order. The fires. The land is black. There’s a blackness on my lids. I am blind.

And now you have come, now at this time have found it is time, it is no longer so. I am cold with the years of you. You came to me in that garden. I told you I was cold. You knew what I said. I am a bat. I must not be a bat. I shall leave you.