The demon did a twirl and sailed back to where Doris was standing, arms folded, looking like a brush with her thin body and tufted head.
'We're going to have trouble with this flood myth stuff. I know it's supposed to have happened a long time ago -if it happened at all — and I know we're only making a movie, but have you ever known someone to have the power and not use it?' and with a bright flash, the creature was gone.
'I hate them elementals,' spat Doris. 'Always popping up being cryptic and pretending they're doing you a favour. «Flood myths», what's all that about anyway ... ?'
When Gloria woke up the sun was streaming through her window. She could hear her mother clattering about with the pots and pans down in the windbreak, a smell of fish rising on the breeze. She slithered down the rope and poured herself a cup of tea. 'There's a note for you here,' said Mrs Munde. 'I've got to get up to the house, so I'll leave you to it,' and she put on her hat and coat and disappeared. Gloria slit the envelope and saw the gilded Noah crest. There was an address inside, a train timetable and instructions on how to find her destination from the station. Once she had arrived, the note said, she'd be given full board while collecting the necessary wild life. She was to be back by Friday week with all the animals, so that Noah could start the extra scenes. She packed her bag and set off.
When Gloria arrived at the station she became intensely aware of the bookstall. Suppose she were to pick up another innocent-seeming paperback which turned out to have life-changing properties? She settled for something with lots of stars on the front which called itself A Journey to New Worlds. She'd never read any science fiction but she knew that next to romance it was the most popular genre.
Gloria's carriage was empty, so she was able to study the notices without attracting attention. All railway passengers have a deep fascination for notices of the most trivial kind. They find this embarrassing, and will go to any lengths to disguise their obsession from fellow passengers with the same obsession. Gloria took in the exhortation to leave the train clean and tidy and felt suitably awed by the dire warnings against frivolously pulling the communication cord. She even took out her handkerchief and shone up the little plaque which the seat coverers had left as an indication of their handiwork. It was a brass plaque and gleamed very nicely when she'd finished. Then, after a quick inspection under the seats and in the luggage hammock just in case there was anything nasty or interesting she should know about, Gloria settled back to enjoy the journey and her science fiction thriller.
It wasn't actually a thriller, although it was about space. Space and the new physics. There is no such thing as objective experiment, it said, because the observer always affects whatever he observes. Subject and object are only arbitrarily split for the purposes of limited investigation. Gloria didn't want to hear this. As far as she was concerned for the time being, subject and object, herself and what she did, were very much split. She wanted to keep it that way, otherwise how was she ever going to make the most of her second stage? She put the book in her bag and looked out of the window instead.
Train travel always gave Gloria a sense of power. She liked to imagine that the world was a stage set laid on for her to pass through. She watched the fields and winding river slip past, not caring where she was going, only enjoying the journey for what it was. She had always dreamed of buying a Rail Rover and going off to exotic places with a knapsack and penknife. Now that she was starting a new life she might get round to doing it; a sort of celebration.
The rhythm of the train made Gloria sleepy after her tumultuous day and late night, and although she didn't fall quite asleep she realised she couldn't be quite awake either. She was standing at the bottom of a bright mountain. She tried to climb it but kept slipping down again. A crowd had gathered, and told her that she couldn't possibly get up there because the surface was made of glass and she was wearing the wrong shoes. Then she felt a twitching in her stomach which got stronger and stronger. An eagle flew out and, picking her up, carried her to the top of the mountain. Disgruntled, the crowd evaporated and Gloria found herself alone. She heard a little cough and saw the orange demon balancing on a crag.
'What's going on?' she demanded.
'Just a word from your sponsors. Did you grow out of the eagle or did the eagle grow out of you?'
'I don't know,' said Gloria crossly. 'This is a bit much.'
But the demon had gone and the train pulled in at Gloria's station.
After half an hour's walk through red soil and golden palms Gloria, having followed her instructions faithfully, found herself standing outside a huge arch which had the inscription 'Bees Of Paradise' chiselled into the moulding. With a jolt she realised where she was: she'd read about it in Vague. This was the famous rest home and health spa that belonged to Bunny Mix.
She walked under the arch and came into a garden where it seemed like afternoon. The air was heavy with the scent of bee-attracting flowers, and there were statues of famous people and famous animals who had saved lives. Then, at the end of the garden, she saw a white house glittering in the sunshine. It was beautiful in an oppressive kind of way. Oppressive because there was too much of everything - flowers of every kind, tame llamas skipping up and down the steps, and playful fountains spouting coloured water.
Gloria sat down on one of the marble steps and waited. She felt too overwhelmed to ring the bell. There was a noise like someone pushing a tea trolley and Bunny Mix appeared at the top of the steps on a pair of diamante roller skates. The rest of her was swathed in a kind of weatherproof chiffon and her hair had been scraped into bunches. She threw out her arms, looking just as she did in all the publicity photographs.
'Darling, you're Noah's zoo person aren't you? He said you'd be here. I've got all the cages ready and a list of instructions and, of course, you won't be working by yourself. I know all about your mother. Noah speaks very highly of her. Now, you've caught me on the hop a bit here, so why don't you go into the dining room and have some of my delicious honey toast while I finish my morning exercise. These skates do wonders for the calves. Soon I'll be with you.'
She glided off and Gloria set out to find the dining room. A few round tables were spread with cloth and flowers. It was light and airy and Gloria decided she might as well fortify herself in peace. A waiter brought her toast and tea - there seemed to be no choice in the matter. Gingerly she took a bite. It was actually quite normal toast, though she knew that it cost a fortune. Bunny Mix claimed it to be the most famous and efficacious cure in the world. She said it rehabilitated your metabolism. Gloria ate three pieces, and was just starting to relax when there was a rush of wings about her head and a large bat-like creation dropped into the seat beside her.
'Marlene!' gasped Gloria. 'What are you doing here?'
'I've just come to ask you the same thing. I'm here to recuperate from my little op. You must tell me how the film's going. Come on, let's go for a walk. I can't stand talking over food.'
She took Gloria by the arm and they set off towards the lime trees.
'I'm here to collect some animals,' Gloria began. 'I've only just arrived and I don't really know what's going on. Bunny Mix is coming to explain as soon as she's finished her morning exercise.' (At that moment they caught sight of the rabbit of romance flashing across the patio on her roller skates.) 'But how are you?'
'Oh I'm very well. I got a letter today offering me a new commission for my ceramic work. I've been asked to design a little oven for people who want to commit suicide with some grace, not with their hair full of last week's boiled-over stew. My oven will not be used for cooking, only for exits. It will be exclusive and fitted in your own home by craftsmen.'
'My friend Doris would be interested in that,' said Gloria. 'She's an organic philosopher and she believes that the true meaning of life is death.'
'That's very impressive,' agreed Marlene. 'But nonsense.'
'Well, what do you think is the meaning of life then?' asked Gloria, always eager now to compound her experience. Marlene
took a deep breath and twirled a lime flower poetically. 'Truth is beauty and beauty truth, that's all we need to know.'
'Gosh,' said Gloria. 'Did you make that up?'
'Of course,' chirped Marlene. 'I am a very creative person.'
They walked together along the shaded pathways until Marlene saw by the sundial that it was time for her Aromatherapy. Til see you at tea time,' she waved as she darted away. 'Find out your room number and we can have long chats.'
Gloria hurried back to the dining room, hoping she wasn't late. She saw the famous novelist approaching, flanked by two leopards and now transformed to her usual elegant self. She greeted Gloria in her customary fashion, that is she almost suffocated her, and when they had become truly separate entities again, she offered to take her on a guided tour to help her settle in. 'There's so much to see, so much to do, no wonder I am so successful and popular.'
They set off-over the lawns. 'This is the famous spa which I'm sure you've read about. As you can see, it bubbles coloured water out of the bowels of the earth. This is an ancient place full of healing properties. We don't use medical science here, we use Nature's wisdom. Nature knows best,' and she bent down and scooped some of the water into her palm. 'The water of Life,' she murmured.
Gloria was respectful and hoped she made the right noises in the face of Bunny's enthusiasm. 'What's that?' she asked, pointing to a huge sandpit with a pair of mounds on either side.
'That,' stated Bunny proudly, 'is my patent cure for the obese. We cover them in a solution of honey and glycerine, then we let these trained ants out of their mounds to chew away the fat. I've never known this cure to fail, though it's not for anyone with a weak heart. I administer my other famous cure, the Vitamin E, immediately after treatment. Vitamin E was well known amongst the ancients as a cure for severe nibbling. I have cupboards full of letters from the once obese. I do market a kit for home use, but I don't take any responsibility for those who fail to read the instructions properly and find themselves eaten away. It's all in the proper use of the ants, you see.'
They continued past the gym and swimming pool, where Gloria caught sight of the pink winch, then Bunny Mix invited her in for a cup of elderflower tea and an explanation.
'We're doing this film, as you know, for the Glory of the Lord, so we do want everything to be as authentic as possible, otherwise we could just use a few cats and dogs and skimp on the rest. But Noah wants the animals to be exotic, so that people will want to come out of curiosity. I've got a list of things you'll be responsible for collecting, though as I have already mentioned you will have plenty of equipment and a few assistants. Time is the key, my dear. We're in a hurry. Noah will be holding the press conference later today and announcing the date of opening, so really, nothing must go wrong. I'm sure you understand.' Gloria nodded and Bunny stood up. 'I've ordered you a couple of artichokes stuffed with wholemeal toast — so good for the bowels — and then you must lie down and rest on this wonderful rafia couch I brought back from one of my reading tours. Exertion after eating affects the nervous system, and we do want to keep you in the pink.' She gave a little trill. 'Like me.'
Left alone, Gloria felt better. It was all reasonably straightforward. She could talk to Marlene and it would give her time to think. Ignoring the novelist's exhortations, she gobbled up her vegetables and went to look for her room. Looking in the register, she saw it was next door to Marlene's.
Gloria bounded up the stairs, found the room and knocked on the door. Marlene flung it open, wearing a bright pink silk dressing gown. She kissed Gloria on both cheeks and hurried her inside. 'Sit down, and tell me what you'll have: Scotch or Bourbon?'
'I thought this place was teetotal?'
'It is, but I don't see why I should suffer, do you? But if you don't drink in the day, don't worry about it.'
Truth was, Gloria never drank at all and although she was thirsty for new experiences, she had a hunch that drinking with Marlene might leave her speechless. Better wait. And so she declined.
Her hostess poured herself a generous shot into a tooth glass and they sat side by side on the bed. 'I'm dying of curiosity,' said Marlene. 'Did you talk to her? What did she say? What was she wearing?'
Gloria remembered Marlene's nervous compulsion to chatter and so she began very slowly, but left no gaps where Marlene might rush in and start another paragraph.
'She wants me to collect a list of animals and get them back on the film set as soon as possible. Noah has arranged his press conference for today, so there's no going back on his deadline. Oh, and it's for the Glory of the Unpronounceable; but we knew that.'
'Yes,' agreed Marlene, 'but what's on your list? Do you know?'
'Not yet. She's giving it to me later on. I don't start till tomorrow.'
'Well, if she says pigeons, refuse,' declared Marlene very emphatically.
Gloria was mystified. She sometimes fed pigeons, she got annoyed when they deposited on her, but she didn't feel passionate about them.
'Explain,' she demanded in her new, confident way.
'I can't explain as well as James Thurber, but I'll do my best. Pigeons are a totally nothing bird: ugly, squat, full of worms, always falling off roofs and shitting everywhere. No other thing in the world falls so far short of being able to do what it cannot do as a pigeon does. Right, those are facts; so why don't we just wipe them out, shoot them, gas them, have a national hunt week with prizes for the most dead? The point is, in some obscure, irrational, nonsensical way, we love them. There are pigeon protection leagues, pigeon enthusiast clubs, a magazine called the Pigeon Weekly. Old ladies who can't afford it buy them food, and eccentric but well-regarded novelists walk round with pairs of scissors in case they find one with thread caught round its feet. This is not commonplace behaviour; this is obsession. Do you know how much we spend each year cleaning pigeon shit off the most crucial of our national monuments? These aimless, awful birds have the power to conjure up the most violent emotions in the human breast. Our pigeon-consciousness is more advanced than our understanding of the oppression of minorities. We care about pigeons. You might not, I do not, but there is a giant existentialist network out there, thinking about and protecting pigeons everywhere from the disasters that should certainly befall them. We're talking about the world's most dangerous birds. Forget your bald eagles and your hoopoes, the fear of being carried off at night by a great Auk. It's the pigeon in the street you should be watching out for.'
Gloria was taken aback. She had never considered pigeons in quite the way Marlene had described, but she was willing to believe it was true, if not literally true. It clearly had a potent hold on her friend. She noticed a bird-cage hanging by the window, containing a pair of lovebirds. Would it be insensitive to mention them after Marlene had been so emotional? Probably, but this was her year of living dangerously.
'We could put these in our collection,' she suggested, walking over to the window.
Marlene roused herself from her pigeon-induced torpor and looked very aggrieved. 'We will not. They belong to me. Besides, they wouldn't be of any use to you.'
'The grey one seems a bit subdued,' said Gloria, rattling the bars.
'That's because it's stone dead,' sighed Marlene. 'It died of shock one night when we were watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I buried it, but the cat dug it up and so I decided it would be best to get it stuffed as company for the yellow one. They get on much better now. Before they were always fighting, and I hate fighting, it's so wearing. I wish I'd thought of it earlier. Still, best not to be a murderer if one can help it, I suppose.'
Gloria thought of her mother and father. They had certainly got on better once her father had sunk into the catatonic state that characterised his declining years. The less he exhibited signs of normal life, the more her mother seemed to enjoy his company. Often they had sat by the fire for a whole evening, her mother knitting and talking about life, her father just propped there, vacant; and at bedtime Mrs Munde would beam and say what a lovely time
they had had.
Gloria told this to Marlene, who nodded wisely and commented that what most people love best is to talk to themselves, but since such activity is certifiable, the next best thing is to have a prop. There was a pause for reflection, then Marlene asked if she could help Gloria with her animals. 'With the aforementioned exception, that is.'
Gloria was pleased. 'We'll check with Bunny Mix in the morning, but I'm sure she'll agree. Why not?' And so they passed the rest of the day pleasantly, talking about Art and the Meaning of Life...
While Gloria and Marlene were getting to know each other better, Desi was discovering some very disturbing things. She had gone along to the press conference to help Noah generally slime his way through, but after her third Martini she was bored and felt like a bit of diversion. Rita and Sheila wanted to stay in case they met somebody useful, so Desi decided to explore. She hadn't been to Noah's house for a long time, and she knew he had a fine collection of mechanical paraphernalia because inventions were his hobby. Most of them, from what she could remember, were quaint and cute and fun to play with.
She set off to the library, and amused herself for a while with a fish tank full of motor-powered fan-tails, and a robot with a sledgehammer that cracked nuts. Then she noticed that what she had always assumed to be a bookcase was in fact a door, and it was slightly ajar. She stepped through it and closed it, as well as she could. She knew she shouldn't be there, but the heat and the drink had made her reckless. The passage was dimly lit and damp. Quietly she followed it and, noticing the steep decline, reckoned she must now be in the bowels of the house. Up above she could hear a muffled thundering which, she guessed, was the boiler room. She came to another door, and after listening for a moment, pushed at the handle. She had never seen anything quite like the room inside. There was a huge flat table, rusty in places, with heavy manacles hanging from either side. Above it was a device which resembled a large electric toaster.
'Shit,' she breathed. 'My father-in-law's into «S&M».' Then she noticed a bound manuscript lying on the table, about halfway open. Sitting down on the floor she began to read.
Boating for Beginners Page 7
