Boating for Beginners

by Winterson, Jeanette

  'I wasn't happy then, I wasn't anything; you have to remember that. I was no more than the colour of the dye I put on my hair.'

  'Well you were peculiar,' insisted Marlene. 'Some of us can lead rich emotional lives and shave our armpits, you know.'

  For a while they walked on in silence. 'I don't know where we are,' grumbled Gloria, still sulking. 'Give me the A to Z.'

  While she was looking, Marlene wandered off and noticed a large crowd who appeared to be laughing and cheering at something. 'Gloria,' she called, 'come over here; there's a Punch and Judy show, I think.' Together they circled closer, jostling through the crowd till they reached the front.

  'Marlene,' said Gloria in a faint voice, 'I'd like you to meet my mother.'

  Mrs Munde was having a grand time. The good Lord had sent her an audience and she was certain she was reaching their doubting hearts. A lot of the crowd had already taken her leaflets and accepted her invitation to a further in-depth, follow-up discussion at the NAFF offices. She offered personally made chocolate mousse and re-pounded tea to anyone who turned up — a device never known to fail.

  Suddenly, a fat man with a box of his own, though not so stylish as Mrs Munde's, hauled himself up beside her. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to reveal bulging forearms and a tattoo that said: 'Some like it cold.' He took no notice of Mrs Munde, but instead addressed himself directly to the crowd who were agog.

  'This woman has no right to tell any of you how to spend your money or your time. What's wrong with diced carrots? What's so corrupting about mixed veg? We've all enjoyed Rum Babas haven't we? And some of us will have enjoyed them with ice cream too. There's not one of you here who hasn't got a packet of petits pois hidden away at home. What do you do when that unexpected guest arrives? Where do you turn when your relatives want to come for Sunday lunch and don't tell you till after closing time on Saturday night? How do you cope when your children's friends get locked out? You turn to the freezer, that's what. Side of beef, Yorkshire pud, last year's raspberries; it's all there. Then there's the problem of midnight feasts - you can't have cheesecake when you've got a craving if there's none to thaw out. What about Friday night, eh? Work over, Martini time coming up: where do you keep the frosted glass, the welcome ice cubes? Where do you put the cocktail cherries? I don't have to spell it out do I?

  'Forget about NAFF, join SCOFF, the Society for the Celebration of Frozen Food. Subscriptions are low, you get a regular bulletin, regular news on offers to improve the quality of your freezing stock and an annual outing to Andorra, done at half price for all our members. We go to Andorra because as you will have read in the local newspapers — ' (he glared across at Mrs Munde) ' - the President of Andorra, Gary Cooper, who used to be in all our favourite films, has been scientifically and fully cured of his deafness by adhering to a diet made up entirely of frozen food. We have testimonials from him, and if you can't trust a president, who can you trust?'

  'You can trust the Lord!' yelled Mrs Munde, showering her tracts onto the baffled crowd.

  'I want to ask a question,' piped a voice from the floor. 'I want to know where you draw the line. Can I keep my milk in a cool box in summer or not? It doesn't have any ice and it doesn't freeze anything, but it does keep things cool.'

  'If it doesn't freeze anything then it's not a freezer, so I wouldn't worry about that,' declared Gloria's mother grandly.

  This is nonsense,' yelled someone else. 'You want to put the clock back. Where would feminism be today without the deepfreeze? Where would the Salvation Army be?'

  'Liars and hypocrites, the lot!' shouted Mrs Munde. 'Give up your fridges and join me in the garden. Go back to the humble larder, the innocent marble slab, teach your children the value of fresh food.'

  'My,' said Marlene admiringly, 'she does have a way with words, doesn't she? Are you going to introduce us properly?'

  The crowd had begun to disperse, and Mrs Munde, who had timing even if she didn't have anything else, stepped down from her box. Gloria noticed that her arm was missing. 'She used to have two arms, I'm sure of it,' hissed Gloria. 'Come on, we'll do our best... Hello mother, it's me.' Gloria waited patiently.

  'Who — who are you?' asked Mrs Munde, standing up.

  'I'm your daughter — you know — Gloria.'

  'Oh I'm sorry, dear,' apologised her mother. 'I didn't recognise you without my arm. It changes your perspective on life, only having one.'

  'What happened to the other one?' Gloria hoped it wasn't in bad taste to ask.

  'I lost it like you said I would, in that hamburger machine. But don't fret, I've got this job now, and really it makes a nice change to get away from those pans for a bit. I'm staying in a hotel, too. Do you want to come and look at it? It's got a lovely view of the sky at night.'

  'No we can't. We've just come to collect a couple of hoopoes and then we have to get back to the farm. This is Marlene, who helps.'

  Mrs Munde said she was very pleased that Gloria had found such a nice friend, but that she had to go and work out her campaign for tomorrow as well as report back to the NAFF offices, warning them about the SCOFF offensive. She finished folding her orange box and waved goodbye, pausing only to warn Gloria that hoopoes bite.

  'Well, there you are,' Gloria shook her head at the retreating figure. 'Are you surprised I lived in a diving bell for eighteen years?'

  'I'm surprised you lived at all. Come on, let's get these birds.'

  They passed on towards the address Bunny Mix had written down. It was an old house, battered and crumbling, the garden covered in bindweed.

  'I'm not keen on this,' declared Marlene. 'What a state the house is in. You can get grants nowadays to do up your home. She must be socialist. Who's going to ask her? I think it should be you. Since you're struggling towards continuous prose it'll give you some practice.'

  Gloria knocked boldly at the door, which swung open immediately to reveal a wizened face that said, 'Go away.'

  'We've come for your hoopoes,' said Gloria, in what she hoped was a voice of authority.

  'Well, you can't have them. They're mine, both of them, and I've paid the licence.'

  'We're collecting for - ' began Marlene, trying to be helpful.

  'I never give to charity.'

  Gloria tried the psychological approach. 'Why are you so attached to these hoopoes?'

  'They were a wedding present — the only thing I got that wasn't out of the John Lewis catalogue. You can have my ironing board if you like. The cover's a bit worn but it'll do for charity, won't it?'

  'We aren't collecting for charity,' Gloria tried to explain. 'We're collecting animals for a film. Your name will be on the credits.'

  'Oh, you work with David Attenborough, do you? I used to like his films; always were full of animals. Course, that was when I could see.'

  'We'll offer you proper money. Here's the amount I had in mind,' and as Gloria fumbled with her bit of paper, the old woman snatched if off her and studied it with the intensity of a palm reader.

  'I thought you couldn't see,' accused Marlene.

  'I can't see moving things, but I can see still things, long as they stay still,' the creature shot back, and Marlene subsided. 'All right, you can take them, but they're not what I'd call the easiest of birds. You'd be better off with pigeons.'

  While Marlene blanched, the birds were fetched, looking very moody in their cage with a green baize floor.

  'I've lost the instructions, but I expect you'll get the hang of them. The tall one likes sausage.' And with that the woman slammed the door, leaving them alone with their prize.

  'I wonder what the small one likes?' Marlene asked tentatively. 'We could pick up some sausage on the way to the station, but she didn't say what sort. Do you think she meant regular breakfast sausage, or garlic sausage, or maybe she meant chipolatas?'

  At the mention of chipolatas the tall bird began to dance up and down on his perch. So that's what they got for him, and he ate it all and the small one
sulked, but they didn't have time to experiment because the train was leaving Nineveh and Bunny Mix had ordered they be on it. They found an empty carriage and placed the birds on the seat opposite them, while the birds stared out of the window trying to pretend that they often travelled by train and weren't insecure. 'See what I mean?' pointed Marlene. 'These birds, unlike some birds I could mention, have got style.'

  For Desi the day had been less satisfactory, although she didn't have to suffer the shock of seeing her mother converting the multitudes. Desi's mother had been a suspicious woman, given to bouts of bridge and fits of pique. She liked to think of herself as a princess in an ivory tower and didn't enjoy it when her husband refused to participate in the fantasy. Eventually, she took to living upstairs in two rooms and consulting her almanac. She was an expert on tides, although the family lived two hundred miles inland. 'I need something to do,' she said, when questioned. 'I have so little to live for.'

  As a result her husband moved out, taking Desi with him; and together they toured the world, collecting unusual stones for the rock garden in their new home. Occasionally Desi sent a postcard to her mother which was always returned saying, 'Not at this address' in her mother's handwriting.

  Thus Desi was well equipped to marry into one of the more eccentric families in the Middle East, when she met Shem and his family at an auction of semi-precious stones. She didn't mind Noah's outbursts or her own husband's obsession with Petanque; but she did think it a bit much when she discovered they were about to aid the Unpronounceable in flooding the world. Her mother would probably have a seizure when she saw the waters rising without reference to her tide timetables, while her father's rock garden — his life's work and very pretty too - would be totally washed away. It was a bad business, all this interfering with other people's lives.

  When she got back from Bees of Paradise she was just in time for breakfast, and took her place with the rest of the family who appeared to be in a nonchalantly bantering mood. Noah was bending his shiny bald head over a shiny bald egg and talking about his reasons for shooting the early part of the film in black and white. 'I want to use colour as a medium for expression,' he explained earnestly, as if no one had ever said it before. 'I want to give God the best, the blue bits and the red bits and the sea-green bits. I want him to have it all.'

  'Hallelujah, Dad,' shouted Ham enthusiastically. 'Does anyone want this piece of toast?'

  Rita and Sheila were being excused the film set for a day to get their hair done. Rita said she looked like a rag.

  'What about you, Desi?' asked Shem, smiling as he always did.

  'I thought I'd stay with you boys. So much to see, so much to do...'

  There was a moment's pause while the men exchanged glances, then Ham wiped his fingers and coughed. 'I don't think you'd find it very much fun today. We've got a meeting with our technical people and then a meeting with the sound crew and it's all work and no play. Besides, Dad's in a bad mood, aren't you, Dad?'

  'Yes,' agreed Noah. 'I'm in a terrible mood. Heads will roll today.'

  'See? I told you. Why don't you take a horse and go out somewhere?'

  'All right,' said Desi, hoping she was being convincing. 'I may stay over at some friends' tonight — no need for me to be here in the morning, is there?'

  The boys were clearly relieved and Noah stopped making diagrams with the salt. Within five minutes the table was deserted, leaving Desi to work out how she was going to follow them. She was sure they were going to talk to YAHWEH again, sure they had some kind of plan.

  She set off for the stables just in time to see the car rolling off down the drive. Her horse was saddled, and taking the route over the hills that followed the road, she observed their journey until they came to a level plain in the middle of nowhere. Tying her horse, she slithered down through the bushes, feeling like one of the Famous Five but rather too old. Noah and the boys were discussing their plan, and Noah was holding forth.

  'So I'll suggest that we rewrite Genesis and make it look like God did it all from the very beginning, and we'll put in a lot of stories about how mysterious he is, and how no one knows where he came from.'

  'Who's going to believe in him if he stops making personal appearances? Aren't you going to have to keep this up for ever? All these crusades and things get on my nerves. He's such a drama queen, always worrying about how his voice sounds through a cloud. We've been working for years to try and make him more discreet, but if we start the world again we'll have it all over again.' Ham was peevish, probably because he was still upset about his motorway services.

  Noah tried to be patient with his son's lack of imagination. 'If we've got a new world we can tell them anything. They won't have any memory, any photo albums, any pressure groups or state-funded anarchy. We can say that God made the world, the air, the sky, the sea, and that it became so corrupt he had to flood it and start again. Who's to say we're lying? The girls'll keep quiet. We can write what we want in our book, pass it down and call it the inspired word of God. Once we're dead, that will be that, sewn up, a cinch. He'll be on his own then, but I guess he can cope. Look how much progress he's made with the knives and forks. A mother has to let go sometime,' and Noah blew his nose very loudly.

  'All right, but I want to take the TV with me when we sail,' said Ham.

  Noah looked pained, and wondered if genius always skips a generation.

  'Son, you can take the TV but there won't be anyone broadcasting. We're starting again - the wheel, the plough? God, and I paid for your education. I might as well have let you go comprehensive.'

  'What are we going to do about Bunny?' asked Shem suddenly. 'Are we going to tell her or not?'

  Noah sat down, sticking out his stubby legs. He didn't want to talk about Bunny. 'I'll speak to the Unpronounceable, but I don't think he'll buy it. You know how much he hates her. He only puts up with her as it is for the sake of peace and quiet with his angels. Last time he banned her from the library and threatened to end her TV special by ending her, they all went on strike; and that meant no adoration, no semolina, no music. He couldn't take it.'

  'Semolina!' spat Ham. 'What sort of food is that for a God?'

  'I know, I know,' sighed Noah. 'We should think up a better name. What about ambrosia? That's got more dignity.'

  Just then, the sky coloured over and Japeth spotted the cloud. 'He's landing, everybody, cover your eyes.' In a dazzle of smoke the cloud dropped down onto the level plane, and YAHWEH glided out.

  'Hellow mother,' he said, ignoring the boys as usual. 'I've had a bad journey and something funny's happening to my left leg. It seems to be generating a smoke column, which in the ordinary way wouldn't be too bad, but this one appears to have a personality.'

  Noah turned pale. What if YAHWEH were spontaneously reproducing? He examined the column with his magnifying glass. Yes, he could see a character forming inside, not a full or rounded character but certainly something that might prove difficult. 'It's your emanation,' he said finally. 'It's part of you but it's also separate and it won't go away.'

  'Well, what are we going to do? If I'm God to the world I can't reveal a rival. People will call me pagan and it won't be so impressive being in two places at the same time. I'll be ordinary!'

  'Calm down,' Noah soothed. 'There's no problem that your mother can't solve. We'll have to incorporate it — it can be part of your general mystery that you are one person really but another as well. We'll call it something grand and puzzling, like ... like ...' Noah sweated for a moment. 'That's it, we'll call it the Holy Wisp.'

  'The Unpronounceable and the Holy Wisp? What kind of a team is that?' objected Ham.

  'Besides,' butted in the Lord, 'I don't want to be the Unpronounceable any more.'

  'But YHWH is unpronounceable unless you put some fake vowels in there,' Noah pointed out. 'It's not my fault that we have to do this in Hebrew. It's just how it is.'

  'Yes,' insisted God, 'but it isn't always going to be Hebrew, is it? It's going to be Fre
nch and Norwegian and African and lots of others. You told me I was going to be worldwide. Not everyone speaks Hebrew. I have my popular appeal to think of. Why don't we just settle for something translatable like «Almighty»?'

  'Yeah, yeah, at 'em Lord. How about «Immortal Invisible God Only Wise»?' Ham jumped up and down faking boxer punches in the direction of the cloud. Noah looked cross.

  'Well, I suppose if that's what you want we can write it in,' and he took out his notebook and wrote, 'Almighty'.

  'That still doesn't solve the problem of this wisp,' continued the Lord, staring distastefully at his left leg where the column was muttering something about wanting to be a comforter.

  'What's that he's saying?' asked Noah, straining to catch it.

  'Holy's good, but I'm not sure about wisp,' mused Shem. 'We want to keep the feeling of wisp but maybe a little less flighty. Smoke's too prosaic, spook's too spooky. What about spirit?'

  'Holy Spirit,' repeated Noah thoughtfully. 'That fits in with the general idea. Why not try it? What do you think?' He turned to the Lord who was trying it out in different tones of voice.

  'Well, if he's here to stay, I guess Holy Spirit will do.' He jerked his head round to the gaggle of angels who were listening in. 'Got that? Holy Spirit. Write it down one of you, please.

  'Good,' said God. 'That takes care of the future, roughly speaking, so I'd better tell you about my plans for the present. I'm going to start raining the day after tomorrow, so you'd better make sure that ship of yours is full of animals and that you've got enough food to last a while, because by my calculations we're going to need forty days to make sure they're all dead. Then we can start drying out again.'

  'What about Bunny Mix?' blurted out Ham, wishing he hadn't.

  'What about her?' demanded God, frowning. 'She's not on the cabin list. That's all you need to know. It's you lot and your wives. Seven, I make it.'

  'I haven't got a wife any more,' Noah moaned. 'So if I want to take a consort, I think it should be allowed. I'll make it legal as soon as we hit dry land. Oh I know how you feel, but she's useful and she'll be able to help with the books. Even your autobiography is going to need a bit of romantic interest and I don't want to have to write those bits. Let her come. We won't tell her until the last minute, then we'll just pile her on board, maybe chloroformed, so she doesn't irritate you. And,' put in Noah winningly, 'think of your angels. They don't have much of a life, do they? Making pudding all day and singing hymns. Be generous.'