Pure Juliet

by Stella Gibbons

  They disappeared down a dimly lit corridor. Piers waved enthusiastically to his table companion, who replied with a gesture which caused them both much amusement, and which his mother resignedly supposed to be mildly obscene and native to the universal world of boyhood. The servants stood like statues in their green and silver, and the lamps flickered in the faint wind blowing from the desert.

  Mark Audley lounged towards them.

  ‘I expect you’d like to get to bed,’ he suggested.

  ‘Oh please!’ Clemence’s exclamation was irrepressible, though faces of dismay were exchanged among the young.

  ‘I’ll come back with you for twenty minutes, if that’s all right? And put you in the picture for tomorrow.’

  ‘We’d rather hoped we could wander round in the morning and sight-see,’ Alice said, using her lovely eyes. ‘What time is the – the ceremony?’

  ‘At noon – after the muezzin.’

  ‘Oh, then if we got up early?’

  They were all straggling down the same corridor by which they had entered, now.

  ‘The university is the thing to see; you shall be taken over that, if you like. The ordinary tourist isn’t allowed inside,’ Mr Audley went on.

  ‘The Emir speaks excellent English, I greatly enjoyed our talk,’ Frank said.

  ‘I am certain that His Highness did too. Most of the VIPs who are allowed into Qu’aid are thundering bores and he just won’t see them. That’s my job.’

  By now they were back in their living-room and feeling that Mr Audley, odd though he was in some ways, was an old friend.

  ‘I’m sleepy,’ announced Piers, and fell onto some cushions.

  ‘Yes – off you come.’ And Clemence, with an apologetic smile at Mr Audley, whisked him away.

  ‘It’s a short ceremony, but formal,’ Mr Audley turned to Frank. ‘It would be appreciated if your ladies wore long dresses and – er – jewellery . . . if they have brought any.’

  ‘Oh – no – we were looking forward to buying—’ Alice checked herself.

  ‘The markets in Qu’aid do not sell to tourists.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

  ‘Mr Audley, what else?’ asked Frank.

  ‘At half-past eleven a small guard will come to escort you to the university.’

  ‘Is it those towers you can see from the windows, not exactly towers, round golden things – domes?’ Edith asked.

  ‘Yes, Miss Edith, that is the University of Qu’aid. The sands come up to its gate, which faces towards the desert. To get into it, you will have to walk round the wall – er – I’m afraid it may be rather hot, but sunshades will of course be provided—’

  ‘Ravvy – I adore sunshades.’

  ‘Alice, will you please be quiet.’

  ‘—and we shall join the assembly in the great hall, the students will of course be present, all five hundred of them, from all over the Muslim world. There is great curiosity,’ turning to Juliet, ‘to see and hear Miss Slater.’

  ‘Hear me? Have I got to say a speech or something?’

  ‘It would be appreciated. I shall translate for you.’

  ‘But what’ll I say? I’ve never done a speech before.’

  ‘Something, certainly, about the immense honour you are receiving,’ said Frank. ‘Because it is a great honour, you know – equal to the Nobel Prize.’

  ‘S’pose so,’ she said amiably.

  31

  The door leading into the University of Qu’aid was of cedarwood, protected from the sun by a sloping hood of thin green marble in which was thinly incised a sentence in Arabic. The bronze tracery covering the wood was curved, flowing, intricate beyond the power of the eye to follow; the door was twenty feet high and it looked out at the shimmering, undulating desert.

  The guard halted, dropping their rifle butts with imprecision on the sand. Their uniforms were not impeccable, and their demeanour far from alarming; there was the usual staring and smiling.

  Mark Audley turned to the party beneath the sunshades.

  ‘Miss Slater, will you pull that, please,’ and he indicated a green silk rope hanging from the marble hood.

  ‘I say, Mr Audley,’ said Piers, ‘will there be anything to drink? People die of thirst, don’t they?’

  ‘After the ceremony, old chap.’

  ‘What does that say?’ Piers went on, indicating the Arabic rune above their heads.

  ‘Allah is Great, and Learning, beneath His Hand, is All. Miss Slater, please . . .’ for Juliet was looking away into the desert.

  ‘Learning damn well isn’t, when you’re thirsty . . .’ Piers’ mutter was checked by his father. who whipped out a flask and handed it to him.

  ‘Miss Slater?’

  Juliet turned slowly and looked at him.

  ‘The bell, please. All right, guard. Er – dismiss.’

  He nodded to the half-dozen, who slouched, rather than marched, away around the wall’s vast curve and were at once lost to memory as they were to sight.

  ‘Do I look all right?’ Alice whispered to Hugh; her lacy white dress suggested a transparent cloud in the sunlight. Hugh took no notice.

  ‘Emma! Do I look all right?’

  ‘Yes, truly. It’s one of your pretty mornings.’

  ‘You are an angel. More than some people are.’

  Juliet pulled the cord. There was silence. And then, far away, somewhere behind the door, a sweet and solemn tolling began – full, majestic, and suggesting the heaviness of years.

  The door slowly swung wide, and revealed an old, old man with a broad snowy beard. Robed in flowing green sashed with purple, he bowed almost to the sand.

  Their gaze travelled beyond him, across a vast courtyard, paved in white and purple mosaic, shining in the sun. All around stood buildings in the rose-grey rock of Qu’aid, towering into flat roofs or gold bubbles against the blue-black of the sky. There was no one in sight. The final echo of the bell died into silence.

  The old man bowed again; three times; to Frank, to Hugh, and finally to Piers. One glance, faltering and guilty, went towards the women, then the wrinkled eyelids were lowered. He said something to Mark Audley.

  ‘He is asking me to tell the visitors from the West that his father, grandfather and great-grandfather, as far back as the written records are preserved, were porters to the door,’ the aide explained. ‘The office is hereditary.’

  Smiles of genuine wonder, admiration and kindness were bestowed upon the ancient, who, while continuing to bow deferentially, emanated a kind of modest pride.

  ‘Where are all the students?’ Edith demanded, in a voice less confident than usual, as they began to cross the great courtyard.

  ‘In the Hall of Mathematics. They have a day without learning because of your visit, Miss Slater.’

  ‘I bet they’re pleased,’ from Piers.

  ‘Indeed, no. It is looked upon as a sacrifice, made in honour of the Law and its discoverer.’

  ‘Yes,’ Juliet said suddenly. ‘The Law was here, you know. I only discovered it.’

  ‘This is perhaps the one place in the world where that fact will be continually kept in mind,’ Mr Audley said, with unaccustomed seriousness and an air of genuine admiration.

  Edith, a little recovered from the unfamiliar awe imposed by respect for Juliet’s Law, said, after a pause: ‘No girls here, of course.’

  ‘Oh no, Miss Edith. But you wouldn’t expect that, would you?’

  ‘No, I certainly shouldn’t!’ A mutter. ‘And do the boys ever protest? Stage sit-ins? That kind of thing?’

  Mr Audley uttered a slight laugh, and for a time there was silence. The shadow of a vast, gold-domed building began to creep over them.

  The silence and the absence of human beings were beginning to irritate Clemence. She would have welcomed crowds and chatter, even television cameras. It was as if Qu’aid was deliberately demonstrating to them that here was the way for human beings to live: in remoteness, in simplicity, and slowly. But it’s only because
the Emir owns an oilfield, she thought, and we couldn’t live in the rather odd way we do if it weren’t for Frank’s money.

  She recalled the explanations, which she had by now reduced to a formula, that had to be made to new acquaintances, and sighed. Then she noticed the delicious delicacy of Alice’s appearance, and saw Piers obviously resisting an impulse to do a handstand on the historic mosaic, and knowledge of her children rushed over her with grateful love.

  Mr Audley was pulling another silk cord, and this time another and less impressive door opened into a smallish room brilliant with mosaic, and crowded with smiling, interested faces. Everyone broke at once into that soft clapping, and Clemence thought: This is better.

  There followed many presentations of the smiling faces to Frank and Hugh, with benevolent nods to Piers.

  Clemence and her daughters stood slightly apart, Alice and Emma respectively flirtatious and cheerful, and Edith more or less successfully concealing indignation. No one was introduced to them, but two or three of the students, and one elderly man of a distinguished appearance and manner, ventured to present themselves on the male side in admirable if formal English.

  At length, Mr Audley inconspicuously gathered his party together, and led them, followed by the other guests, along another long, mosaic-lined corridor.

  The oval tops of windows, the shafts of light, the soft slap of slippers on stone seemed to continue for an hour. The girls’ slippers, silently handed to them on entering the reception room, were crimson, sewn with silver thread, but Alice regretted her pretty heels. It was the longest corridor yet.

  We must be going somewhere very important, Clemence thought. She was prepared for the size of the hall into which the corridor at last opened: vast, rounded, where snow-white mosaic walls were traced with Arabic runes in purple and the dull gold dome high, high above their lifted heads shed a dim glow. And the hall was full of men; hundreds upon hundreds of white turbans bound with purple cords swayed towards the English party as they entered a small gallery set high in the wall, curtained and furnished with chairs.

  But where was Juliet?

  The Pennecuicks were glancing round, a little alarmed.

  ‘Audley’s taken her down to the platform,’ soothed Hugh.

  ‘God, what a place!’ his father was saying without irreverence.

  They arranged themselves on the ebony and mother-of-pearl chairs, Edith looking more and more critical as she realized that, except for her mother, her sisters and herself, there was not one woman present.

  ‘There’s Juliet!’ Piers exclaimed. ‘Gosh, she does look sandy!’

  ‘She always does. Do be quiet. I want to look,’ from Emma.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be ravvy if one of the old fogeys had a stroke at the sight of her?’

  ‘Edith! That really is – not on, saying that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well, I hate them, and when I get home I’ll start my campaign.’

  ‘When you get home, dear, if you like. But not here, please,’ her mother said quellingly.

  The cedarwood platform was paved with squares of white and purple mosaic, inlaid, as Frank pointed out, ‘with mathematical symbols, and these are the mathematical colours’.

  Six of the old doctors sat in a half circle on one side of an empty chair; five on the other; the last place on the right was empty. There was another empty seat, which Emma whispered was ‘rather gorgeous’, set slightly above the others and apart from them.

  ‘I bet that’s for the Emir – I bet he wishes it was on his state camel, I bet he rides splendidly,’ said Piers.

  ‘I bet you’ll fall over, if you fidget like that . . .’

  There was a stirring in the vast audience, and it swayed to stand as the Emir entered, wearing the plainest of white flowing robes. Clemence noticed how dark and slender his fingers looked, as, seating himself, he spread them delicately upon his knees, and turned his fierce young profile attentively to Mr Audley.

  Standing beside the Emir, Mark Audley had begun to speak slowly in Arabic, with occasional pauses and glances towards the box where the Western visitors were sitting; his voice sounded indolent, low and very clear, as the perfect acoustics of the place wafted it to and fro. He ceased, then turned fully to the gallery, and began again, this time in English.

  ‘We of the University of Qu’aid welcome the newest giver of knowledge to mankind, and her friends. Miss Juliet Slater was born of parents who had no veneration for learning.’ (Five hundred faces were turned towards the box, as if hoping to detect these unworthy progenitors.) ‘The friends accompanying her, and to some extent sharing her honour, adopted her as their own child, fostered her learning, gave her quiet places in which to study and to meditate. Under the hand of Allah the All-Merciful, the knowledge He had planted within her – er – within her . . .’ (‘Didn’t want to say “brain”,’ whispered Edith fiercely.) ‘It grew, as the watered seed grows in the rich earth. Let us praise these friends and thank them for their share in giving under Allah this new Law to mankind.’ He raised one hand. ‘These are the words of your Emir,’ he called. Then he let it fall, and sat down.

  The familiar soft clapping began, a sound in a dream, suggesting gaiety and joy; all the five hundred dark faces turning towards the gallery were alight and smiling. Juliet, who was sitting forward in her chair, looked bewildered and pale.

  Frank, too, was leaning forward. He took in every detail of the astonishing scene. His mind’s eye saw St Alberics high street on a spring morning twenty years ago, and a pale, sullen young face surrounded by beautiful hair lifting in the wind.

  It had come true: his ludicrous dream, persisted in, followed steadily in spite of incomprehension and suspicion and disbelief on his own part, as well as that of others. Surely the Law itself had played its part in bringing itself to birth on the planet! Every incident had been drawn to work towards the one end.

  Someone was speaking again. A thin, faint, shaking voice was wavering across the soft dimness of the air. The voice sounded very, very old indeed, and rather cross.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Goodness knows. Do be quiet.’

  The speech did not last long. Mr Audley was studying the toes of his sandals, with bent head. The cooing of doves could be heard beyond the windows.

  The ancient voice ceased on a solemn, querulous note, and the doctor shakily reseated himself.

  Mr Audley had taken a white object from his pocket and was studying it as if to convince himself that it was safely there.

  ‘That’s the cheque . . . gosh!’ whispered Hugh.

  ‘Will you shut up.’

  Mr Audley had risen again, and was speaking in Arabic. When he ceased, there was an immense rustle through the audience, suggesting a sigh. The Emir was looking fiercer than usual, and Hugh observed gleefully that ‘something was up’.

  Mr Audley had begun again in English.

  ‘The most learned Doctor Khalid Lebardi feels it his solemn duty, as Head, under Allah the All-Wise, of the university, to remind His Highness the Emir and the privileged students of the University of Qu’aid that this is the first time, in the thousand years of its history, that the Avicenna Award has been . . . bestowed upon a woman.’

  He paused, moving his lips uncertainly and looked, as if for help, at Juliet, who was staring out unseeingly across the audience.

  ‘The most learned doctor, as you have just heard, does not dispute the award, but he resents the fact that he, in his most honourable position as principal, is required to bestow this tremendous honour upon . . . upon an inferior – in short, upon a woman.’ He paused, and the silence hung and quivered.

  ‘Shame!’

  Edith’s cry rang like that of some young, furious wild bird, and every face in the vast hall swung round to stare upwards.

  If I could die or vanish, thought her mother.

  Mr Audley, having given Edith the satisfaction of seeing him give a noticeable start, addressed the audience again, briefly and in Arabic, then turned to
Juliet and spoke to her in English.

  ‘Will Miss Slater be so gracious as to express to the doctors of the University of Qu’aid her gratitude on receiving this great honour?’

  Juliet stood up.

  All the doctors instantly looked down at the floor, removing the glare of icy, incredulous amazement they had been directing upon the unrepentant Edith, who had folded her arms and was glaring back.

  Piers and Alice were repressing giggles; Emma looked pale and awed, and Hugh disgusted, while their father was blessing the Emir’s prohibition of the media being present.

  Into the stillness came, thin and almost expressionless, Juliet’s voice: ‘Doctor Khalid Lebardi may feel a bit less upset about me having the doctorate if he remembers that it isn’t me what – who – is having it. It’s the Law that’s having it. It’s called Slater’s Law because I discovered it. But it has . . . it’s . . . the Law has its own honour. I shall use the title “Dr Slater” because I’m very, very pleased at having discovered the Law. I only wish my mum – mother – was here to see it. She wouldn’t half – she would have been so proud of me. But not my father. He would agree with Doctor Khalid Lebardi, not believing in women having minds, he didn’t. So – thank you, Emir, and the university – but thank you especially Dr Lebardi. It’s here. The Law is here for ever. When I’m dead, and all the people I know are dead, the Law will still be here in Qu’aid. For ever.’

  She stopped, looking helplessly around as if the effort of expressing so much had taken away her normal senses. Frank thought that she was going to faint. The old doctor in the seat nearest to her rose, tottered towards her, indicated with an outstretched claw the place where she was to sit; then, as she did not seem to understand but stood staring dazedly, he gingerly extended the claw, snatched at her hand, and guided her into the empty chair.

  At the end of Mark Audley’s translation of her speech the dream-clapping broke out again. This was the sound that, for the rest of their lives, would mean to the family from the West: Qu’aid.

  32

  To the dismay of the Pennecuicks, they were informed, after a peaceful family lunch in the privacy of their rooms, that the Emir and the doctors would have the honour of attending them at the Great Gate when they set out for El Oued at five that evening. Edith became slightly hysterical. ‘I did think we’d seen the last of those old bores. I can’t stand it. Can’t I go and sit in the Rolls while they’re rabbiting away?’