by Hilary Green
The show was a mixture of scenes and sketches, with dance and mime and a bit of Shakespeare for good measure. Now they were trying to devise something more coherent, ‘more relevant to the time we are living in’, in Alexis’s phrase. Occasionally I was allowed to watch them rehearse and was amazed by their sheer expertise, by the intensity of imagination which possessed them. The girl, Jinny, fascinated me. Normally she was little more than a lovely shadow, drifting among us, enfolding in herself her own mysterious joys and sorrows. When she began to act it was as if she began only then to exist. A vibrant depth of emotion glowed in her and an intense sexuality which affected even me.
Once I said to Hal, “Is Jinny Paul’s girl friend, or Alexis’? I can never make out.”
He looked up with his slow grin and said, “Neither.”
“Do you mean to say that they manage to live and work together without any sort of sexual involvement? I don’t see how any man could ignore Jinny.”
He cocked his head sideways.
“Aw, come on, Nell. You’re not that naive. Alexis and Paul aren’t interested in Jinny because they’re only interested in each other.”
I blinked and another piece of jig-saw fell into place.
“Of course, how stupid of me. It’s obvious when you think about it. I suppose I’m not used to looking for that sort of thing.”
We were sitting on the doorstep, catching the last of the sun. Hal was mending an old harness he had found in the barn. He was neat and clever with his fingers, infinitely patient with jobs I would have given up as hopeless in a few minutes. The harness was for Bruno, as we had named the horse. Barney had collected him from a riding school which could no longer afford to feed him and the theory was that he should pull the ramshackle caravan which was the three actors’ travelling home, now that there was no more petrol for Alexis’s car. The caravan stood in the yard, its sides adorned with bold, gaudy, rather childlike pictures of Harlequin, Columbine and Pantaloon. The makeshift shafts which Barney and Hal had constructed stuck out oddly from a body designed for a different form of motive power and I had grave doubts about Bruno’s reactions to it, but no-one else seemed to be worried.
After a moment I went on. “But if that’s so, why is Jinny with them? I mean, I should have thought a girl like that would have wanted to be the centre of male attention.”
Hal stopped working on the harness and leaned his head back on the door post.
“It’s not so surprising really. I’ve met. girls like Jinny before. They look like sex goddesses but you touch them once and they run for cover.”
“And Jinny’s like that?”
“You ask Barney!”
“Not you?”
He grinned wryly. “Like the man said, once bitten, twice shy.”
“But why should Jinny be like that? Do you mean she’s afraid of sex?”
“She wouldn’t admit it, of course. Her story is that she’s in love with one of the tutors at her old college —a married man, naturally. The fact is, she only feels safe near a man who is unobtainable. That’s why she’s happy with Paul and Alexis. And it suits Alexis very well because the only thing in this world that frightens him is the thought that Paul might go off with someone else.”
He looked up and caught my eye. I found myself smiling at him. He said quietly, “You’re more of a woman than Jinny, and always will be; but of course you know that.”
I looked away, feeling an absurd glow of satisfaction. We were close together on the step. I could feel the warmth of his body. I moved slightly, relaxed. My arm touched his. His skin was smooth and sun-warmed. He took my hand for a moment and put it against his cheek. Inside the house Tim called me. I got up quickly and went indoors.
Those days were not, however, free from tensions. I had flung myself with a kind of relish into the domestic routine of cleaning and cooking because it was familiar, a necessary part of my programme of life. If I had thought that the force of my example would change the attitude of the others I was wrong. It rapidly became clear that in their minds I had cast myself in the role of house-mother and they were quite happy to accept me as such, as long as it did not affect their way of life. To begin with I prepared meals and washed up in uncomplaining self-sacrifice which rapidly developed into a growing sense of martyrdom, while I waited for someone to offer to help. No-one did. Then I began to drop broad hints. These fell on deaf ears or were treated as a joke. Finally I began my own policy of direction of labour.
I started with Jinny, despising myself for lacking the courage to tackle one of the men first.
“Would you help me wash up, please, Jinny?”
She never refused, but I had to repeat the request after every meal and after the first time or two she would rise with a heavy sigh and a look of appeal towards Alexis. He, however, refused to come to her rescue. When I attempted to conscript Paul it was a different story. They had work to do, suddenly.
One evening I determined to have it out with all of them, once and for all.
“Listen everyone,” I said, my voice self-consciously loud in the quiet room. “I think we ought to have a talk about —well, about the way we do things, while we are all living here.”
They looked at me*a moment in silence then Hal rose and pulled out a chair at the head of the table.
“O.K. Nell. Everyone’s entitled to say what they want to say. You carry on.”
Awkwardly I seated myself in the chair. Old Bill took out his empty pipe and began to suck on it.
“Well, it’s just that I feel we ought to have a bit of—organization. After all, there are a lot of us and it would be easier if—well, if everyone knew what was expected of him or her —if everyone had their own jobs.”
“I’ve got my job,” Barney said. “The animals aren’t complaining.”
“Oh, I know Barney,” I said quickly. “You work pretty hard, but there are lots of other things —people—could do to make things easier.”
Alexis rose. “I’m sorry, but if this is going to turn into a discussion of the relative value to society of workers like Barney and artists like us, I don’t want to take part in it. Excuse me.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say at all?” I exclaimed.
He looked at me, lifting the arched, expressive eyebrows.“Isn’t it? Forgive me, Nell, but I think you’re suffering from the Martha and Mary syndrome —with heavy leanings towards Martha.”
“Just a minute,” Hal put in quietly. “Give Nell a chance, Alexis. She’s got a right to a hearing.”
Alexis shrugged and sat down again. I had the impression that from being chairman of the inquiry I had become prisoner in the dock.
“Look, all I’m trying to say . ...” I could feel my throat beginning to tighten with emotion. “Ever since we came here I’ve done my best to keep the place clean and get proper meals and see that we don’t waste food. And no-one has lifted a finger to help me, or even said ‘thank you’. Well, I’m getting fed up with being your skivvy, so either we have some arrangement for sharing the work or you can all go back to living like pigs, as you were doing before I came.” I was furious to hear the crack in my voice, feel the prick of tears behind my eyes.
Hal said quietly, “No-one asked you to do it, Nell. You said you wanted to.”
“That’s right!’ I shouted at him. “That’s all the gratitude I get. You’ve been glad enough to eat the food I’ve cooked. ...” It was all going wrong, sounding like some dreadful travesty of a domestic drama.
“Sure we’re glad,” he cut in, rising and coming to stand near me. “You’re a great cook and we enjoy the food —but not if you’re going to be miserable making it. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”
“And who will do it then, if I don’t?”
He lifted his shoulders. “We managed before. We just got what we wanted when we felt like it.”
I was beginning to tremble. “That’s typical of you! Do what you like, when you like. Never mind anyone else. Never tackle a
nything the least bit arduous or unpleasant. Your whole life’s a mess, no wonder you’re happy living in one!”
“The world’s a mess, Nell,” he answered, sober but unruffled.
“And your answer is to run away and hide!” I snapped. “You can’t complain about society being in a mess. You can’t even make it work here on this farm. Not one of you has thought about what’s going to happen in the next few months, even here. Nobody has planted wheat, or bought another pig or tried to raise chickens. What happens if we’re all here in six months time?”
“Speaking for ourselves, we never intended to stay for more than the winter,” Alexis remarked stiffly.
“And what about the rest of us?” I screamed at him. “You’re so selfish, so self-absorbed — all of you. . . .” I could not hide my tears any longer but sat with my hand over my eyes, feeling them drip from my fingers onto the table. Hall took me by the shoulders. Unwillingly I looked up at him.
“Listen Nell. I guess you’ve been used to a pretty structured environment —get up at a certain time, meals at regular hours, do your work, keep the place clean and so on. But you’ve got to accept that people don’t have to live like that. It’s one of the things that I wanted to get away from. Some people like to live in little boxes because it makes them feel safe. Some of us want to be a bit more free. Now, if you need that sort of life, that’s great by us. You can clean and cook and do all these other things, but its because you want to do them —need to do them. We enjoy the results, but we can manage without. Now, if any time you don’t want to make a meal—just don’t make it. No-one’s going to complain. If you don’t want to wash up —don’t. We’ll wash when we need to. Only don’t try to make rules, because rules mean authority, and people giving orders and others being punished for not obeying and we’re just not into all that. Understand? You do your thing and we’ll do ours. No hassle. O.K.?”
I swallowed and turned my head away. He let me go and went out into the yard. After a moment I got up and went to my room.
The next day I left the house uncleaned and prepared no lunch. People drifted in and helped themselves to hunks of cheese and glasses of milk. No-one commented. The used plates and glasses were left on the table. I went out and sat in the sun in the yard. The time dragged. After a while I got up and went inside to clear up.
Hal came in. He had a long, long daisy chain looped across his hands. I had seen him in the orchard with the two boys busy with it. As I turned from the sink he came and hung it around my neck. Sunlight struck sideways from the window across his face, giving the dark hair an edge of amber. As I smiled and murmured “Thanks” he leaned and kissed me gently. We stood together. I could feel his slender, compact body lightly against my own but he did not hold me and when I drew back he smiled briefly into my eyes and went away again.
That evening, sitting by the table while he sang softly to his guitar, I repeated to myself ‘He’s twenty-four. He’s a boy. You’re thirty-six. Compared to him you’re a middle aged woman.’ It didn’t stop me watching him, hoping to catch his eye, looking for a smile and thrilling secretly when I received one.
Hal went once a week to the little village store to get what he could in the way of supplies. On the evening after his next visit he suddenly exclaimed, “Does anyone know what tomorrow is?”
We looked at him curiously.
“What?”
“Good Friday. I happened to overhear the woman reminding someone the shop would be shut.”
There was a general murmur of exclamation and comment. I sat silent. We had been at the farm nearly three weeks. It was almost four since we had left home. I tried not to think of my parents’ puzzlement and anxiety. Perhaps they had put my long silence down to the general breakdown in communications. What was going on now in the rest of the country? We had no radio and saw no papers, not that either had contained much useful information recently. Hal deliberately never talked politics when he went to the village. He said it was safer not to. Local gossip tended to confine itself to local affairs and a stranger asking questions would be regarded with suspicion. I suspected that he actually wanted to cut himself off from what was happening. Bryncws was his world and he wanted it intact, undisturbed.
“Anyway,” Hal went on, “I reckon we ought to do something —on Saturday night, say.”
“What sort of something?” Paul asked.
“Have a party. After all, Easter was a pagan fertility festival long before Christ. Here we are, living close to Nature like this —I think we ought to celebrate the coming of Spring.”
It was agreed with alacrity. I set to work to produce what I could in the way of party food. Jinny decorated the kitchen with great bunches of wild daffodils and Alexis offered the use of the CD player which was normally jealously guarded to preserve its batteries, as it provided the music for their show. As his contribution Hal announced that it was time to taste the first vintage from the Brynwcws vines. He had also persuaded Alexis that this evening would be a suitable time to try out their new show. That was to be given before supper. Then we would ceremonially broach the first barrel of wine. After that we would eat and then there would be music and dancing.
By late afternoon we were all seated along the wall of the farmhouse facing a stage made from collapsible rostra and backed by the caravan. Alexis, Paul and Jinny had disappeared inside the van half an hour earlier. The last rays of the sun struck the stage like a spotlight. Then the music started and three vivid, exotic figures leaped onto the stage. I had always assumed that a large part of the magic of the theatre was due to clever scenery and effective lighting, the spectator sitting in the darkened auditorium watching distant but vividly illuminated figures. This was a totally different experience. Against their ramshackle background the three actors had recreated the old world of the Commedia del Arte. (Paul had given me a long lecture on the tradition behind this technique which I had only half understood at the time.) Though they used the old figures of Harlequin, Pierrot and Columbine the effect was immediate and striking and we soon found ourselves not only emotionally but physically involved. Much of the programme was pure entertainment but there were also items of bitter satire which struck directly at the government. They made me tremble for the group’s future safety but they certainly went down well with the present audience. When the show ended the cheers and shouts would have done credit to Covent Garden or the last night of the Proms.
Then came the great moment of tasting the new wine. I held my breath as Hal drew off the first jugful, praying that for his sake it would be drinkable. Ceremonially everyone was given a glass, even the boys. Hal jumped up on a chair and we waited expectantly.
“My friends,” he cried, “tonight is dedicated to Dionysus, God of the theatre and of wine. May he inspire us all!”
He raised his glass and downed the contents at a gulp. Around me the others repeated the toast and drank too. I sipped cautiously. The wine was very light, rather acid but beneath the sharp, slightly prickly first taste there was the undeniable aroma of the grape. I drank some more and was aware of Hal beside me. He was laughing, exultant.
“And Nell is our Ceres, our Earth Mother — Queen of the Feast!”
The memory of the evening dissolves into a warm blur of food and music and laughter. Whatever the wine may have lacked to the palate of a gourmet it was certainly high in alcohol and like most inferior wines, improved in proportion to the amount drunk. When we had eaten we moved outside into the orchard. Barney and Jinny began to dance. Hal pulled me towards the open space under the trees.
“I’m not very good at this,” I protested, laughing. The truth was that Mike had hated dancing so I had had very little chance to try it since our marriage.
“What’s to be good at?” Hal said. “Just let yourself go.”
I had never danced like that before, on and on, scarcely conscious of those around me, moving to the rhythm of the music, which seemed to have become also the rhythm of the blood in my veins. Hal was close to me, hi
s movements complementary but independent. We were like two birds soaring and turning together in the air. We danced until sheer exhaustion brought us down and we fell side by side under an apple tree.
In the candle-light under the stars Jinny danced on, perfect, self-absorbed. Around her Barney gyrated like a moth about a candle. Under the shadow of a tree Alexis and Paul stood embraced. I had a vague recollection of having seen Tim fast asleep on Old Bill’s lap in the kitchen and Simon nodding off on the high-backed settle in front of the range. Hal turned on his elbow and leaned down to kiss me.
Later, at the door of his room, I hesitated, dropping my head against his shoulder.
“Hal, I’m not sure I can. Mike was the only one, you see.”
He took my face between his hands. “Mike’s dead, Nell. And his world’s dead too. You can’t stay in your safe little nesting box any longer.”
Whether it was the residual effects of the alcohol, or because it was so long since I had felt a man's arms around me I could not say, but what followed was easier than I had expected. Hal was gentle and patient and perhaps, though I found it hard to admit, more expert and inventive than Mike had ever been. The simple fact was that that night lifted me to a level of ecstasy that I had experienced only rarely … if ever.
About a week later it was agreed that the show could be tried out in Hay and the first attempt was made to put Bruno into the shafts of the caravan. The April weather had turned as warm as summer and I had borrowed a loose cotton smock from Jinny. I was busy in the kitchen but I could guess from the shouts in the yard that the horse was not taking kindly to the idea.
I could hear the high, excited voices of Simon and Tim as they dodged around the outskirts of the action and occasionally Hal or Barney calling to them to keep out of the way. Then there was a sudden, louder clatter of hooves, a crescendo of shouts, and a silence. It was the silence that brought me to the door.
