The Malacia Tapestry

by Brian W Aldiss

  As I sipped my coffee, a maidservant came along the corridor closing jalousies, giving me a glance now and again. I could not help returning her glance; she was a cuddlesome-looking girl. Then I reminded myself where I was and how I intended to marry honourably. In the matrimonial estate, rolls with servant-girls would be out of the question. So would rolls with Bedalar.

  So I fell into a happy day-dream. Armida and I were married, and her loving father set us up in a splendid little town house with views of the Toi. We took chocolate for breakfast, and invited our friends round freely. And we engaged a delightful little maidservant, industrious and cuddlesome…

  My reverie was broken by the appearance of Armida herself, looking as lovely as in my vision and wearing a super-tunic with a kirtle beneath, the tight sleeves of which emerged from the wide sleeves of the tunic. On her dark head was a little lace cap or shadow. Stripes fled up her tunic from toe to head as she approached through barred patches of sunlight.

  She led me to her own sitting room, which was on the first floor and had a balcony overlooking an intimate courtyard. It was peaceful in the courtyard, with fruiting lemon and orange bushes, and an occasional hen scratching. A sailback basked in a sunny corner. I remarked on it.

  'It's not the only ancestral animal about the place. Father likes them. There are several tree-snaphances in the back quarters, to keep down rats. Juracia is the place for bigger varieties — tyrant-greaves and all that.'

  She shuddered delicately and indicated that I should take a seat on the balcony. To my relief, my stomach stopped whining.

  'I am forgiven my trespasses,' she said — not without an amused glance into the room behind us, where her dried old chaperon was talking to a servant. 'Both Yolaria and I are glad to be back from Juracia. Father spoke well of the sports. Did you enjoy them?'

  'I was in the arena all afternoon.'

  'Did you stay for the bulls?'

  'The bulls? Oh, no, I'd had enough by then.'

  'Caylus was entering as a toreador. I wonder you didn't stay.'

  'I thought I'd better leave and rehearse my part. I'm going to be busy — Kemperer wishes us to work on two plays for the coming season, and there's Otto's light-play to finish. I'm looking forward to that, aren't you, Armida?'

  'Have you seen Bedalar lately?' she asked.

  On a little table by her side was a silver bell. Against the railings stood a perch to which were chained two reptopines, their scaly bodies brilliant in blue and red. I turned to stroke one of them and it slowly opened the feathery spines along its backbone, until they were erect and trembling. Armida made me feel that I too was trapped on a bare branch.

  'Bedalar? Hasn't Guy been keeping her happy? He's mad on her and taking up all her time. She calls the idiot her handsome boy and I know not what — so I hear.'

  'Guy is rather handsome, don't you think?' I turned to see if she was teasing me, but could form no definite conclusion; she was looking down at the silver bell and twirling it.

  'He's handsome in a slovenly fashion, I suppose. It's true that you get used to his face after a while… You're so beautiful, Armida, that the fish leap out of the Toi as you pass by.'

  She regarded me pensively. 'Do you think Guy and Bedalar any sort of match? As far as the marriage market is concerned, I mean.'

  'Marriage markets are things I have never studied. You and Yolaria can work that question out better than anyone.'

  She appeared to tire of the subject just as persecution was setting in. That is a pleasing side of cultivated girls; they do tire of subjects.

  'You see how I'm forgiven: I'm able to receive you here. Bedalar's father will not let her speak to Guy as yet. But you have become something of a hero and my father wishes to acknowledge the fact; isn't that nice?'

  'Armida, of course! Nice, excellent, fantastic!' Yolaria was nowhere to be seen. I dashed across to her, put my arms about her and kissed her full on the lips.

  'My darling, I am a hero, and you shall be my wife. I will be faithful and love only you.'

  Looking round anxiously, she pushed me away. The reptopines scuttled along their perches.

  'Behave, sir! There are many impediments to our marrying. How could you support me? From what you say, your father is poor and an old curmudgeon, so that —'

  Old, yes, and a curmudgeon, but not so poor —'

  'We can only become husband and wife if my family approves of you enough to support us both, and I may as well tell you that my father has ambitions. I will not name the high-born young man with whom he has plans for me, or you would be jealous and probably —'

  'What high-born young man? I am already seized by an absolute fit of jealousy. Tell me who it is.'

  She stood up, looking at me frostily, holding the bell as if about to ring it.

  'Please do not make a scene. Be assured that I am determined. I wish to marry the man of my choice and not my father's choice. It is to your advantage to continue to be a hero, and a discreet one. My father instructs me to tell you that he is holding an ancestral hunt on our country estate a week from now, at the period of the full moon. You are invited.'

  'An ancestral hunt! Your father…'

  'Once a year, we have to cull the bigger sorts of ancestral animals. Inviting you — with a little coercion from my sister and me — is my father's token of limited approval, and he will then observe how you conduct yourself —'

  'An ancestral hunt! How magnificent! I have always longed to hunt wattle-tassets and duck-beaks. Not to mention trundlers. I will hire a horse, the best —'

  'Dear Perian, the best horses are never hired ones. This is to be a grand affair. Get good advice. Everything must be in style if it is to be done at all.'

  'You know I do everything in style.'

  'Then no talk of hired nags, please. In the hunt — to which many nobles will be invited — the quarry is something more ferocious than duck-beaks. Why, duck-beaks and tassets are used as steeds in Juracia.'

  It was irking the way she patronized me. She sat in her chair as if for her portrait, enhanced by the two reptopines, who spread out their twelve-fingered fans along their backs, displaying purely for her delight.

  'Well, Armida, since I have never visited Juracia, you shall have the pleasure of telling me what game people — nobles and commoners — do hunt there. Shatterhorns, perhaps?'

  She dismissed the notion. 'Plodding along with those great frilled skulls, shatterhorns are tedious reptiles, offering little sport. No, when you come to Juracia, you hunt the carnivore kings, the two great ancestrals, tyrant-greaves and devil-jaws. The devil-jaws are of the forest variety, not from the plains. The hunt lasts for three days. There is feasting, but it is a great test of manhood.' A certain malicious pleasure shone in her eyes.

  'What is the test of womanhood in Juracia?'

  'Women do not hunt the great ancestrals.'

  Yolaria emerged on the balcony bearing a basket of apricots. She deigned to smile at me.

  'The fruits are ripening, de Chirolo. Excuse me, Miss Armida, but the coach is ready. It's time for our morning drive.'

  Armida squeezed my hand as I left. Down in the court, the sail-back put up its great fin and sulked in a sunny corner.

  Out in the street again, I made my way unthinkingly towards Kemperer's place.

  She loved me, she was scheming to marry me. Was that correct? All that was needed was for me to polish off a twenty-foot-high devil-jaw or the like. Was that correct?

  My heart quailed. I asked myself if any man could face so much for love. To be frank, I asked myself if I was entirely equal to Armida and the Hoytolas. Perhaps somewhere in Malacia, her highborn young man was asking himself the same question. Who was he? I knew one thing; if I were a carnivore, I would single him out for my next meal.

  I had to behave better. I must cease the flirtation with Bedalar.

  If I was going to be strong, I must be pure. Or purer. I felt some guilt at making love to de Lambant's girl. It had come about accidental
ly. The circumstances were beyond my control. Lust, admittedly, had been one of those circumstances. I must not play a treacherous General Gerald in real life; I must be noble, like Prince Mendicula himself, to win my princess. A new life must begin from now on.

  Perhaps I didn't want to be a player all my life.

  Advice I needed. And finance for the hunt. Well, that was still a week away. A horoscope from Seemly Moleskin might help.

  Already, ancestral animals moved through the jungles of my fancy.

  My way led me through Ruppo Place, past a ruinous triumphal arch, relic of some forgotten victory, in the shade of which sat an astrologer. I always saw him there when going to the theatre by a route which avoided my creditors.

  The crannies of Malacia held as many magicians and astrologers as spiders. This one was remarkable because he was young, plump and cheerful, all qualities rare in his profession. He sat in a chair upon a rough platform, over which a rug of oriental design had been flung. Beside him were his magical books, one of which, I knew, was written by him. Entitled The Descendancy of Man, it proved that our kind originated from goats and the precursors of goats. The astrologer's name was Phillibus Parterre.

  He sat now with a client before him, gazing over her head with an expression suggesting he was on good terms with whatever goat-gods ruled the rooftops.

  At the zenith of the old arch, masonry fringed by ferns let in a shaft of sunlight which bathed the scene below. It seemed to fire the hair of the girl who stood before Parterre; perhaps she had stationed herself deliberately in its ambience. The aura of additional gold so created bathed the face of the astrologer as well as the posy of flowers tied in the girl's top-knot. I recognized the tresses and the sturdy, female figure at the same time. The sun illuminated the chief luminary of the Malacian stage. The enchanting La Singla stood before Parterre.

  Her audience with him was ending. She thanked him with pretty and well-rehearsed gestures. As she turned away, I crept up and caught her about the waist, kissing one of her velvet cheeks.

  'Oh, Perian, you wretch, I thought — Heavens, let go of me, do not kiss me in public view!'

  'So you have returned from Vamonal. Too long have we twain been apart…

  'Pray, let us be apart again!' She pushed me away, half-serious. 'Please don't touch me. My husband is in a jealous fit already.'

  'Jealous, jealous, everyone gets so jealous, yet everyone is after the same thing. Why not live and let live? Suppose I make love to you, purely as a tribute to your bounding beauty, and half an hour later your husband does the same. Have I spoilt anything for him?'

  She gave me an angry look.

  'Love's not just a matter of bodies. Do you not know the divided mind? You don't feel! Have you never suffered envy, humiliation, defeat? Let me tell you, you may think Pozzi is old, but every time he puts his hand on another woman, or even glances at her amorously, I'm jealous. I quite understand his jealousy of me, even when I can't bear it, when it suffocates me.'

  I took her hand, but she pulled it away again as we walked along.

  'You take no notice of what I say. You need to mature, Perian.'

  'Come along, pet. You know your husband trusts me.'

  'The pity of it is, he doesn't trust me. Pozzi's an old fox who smells mischief even when there's none about. He says I'm too pretty for my own good, which may perhaps be true.'

  'It is the burden you have to bear, sweet Singla,' I said, and burst into laughter.

  'Little you know how complicated life can be.'

  'Vamonal has made you capricious. I'm being genial but my life is full of knots.'

  To myself I thought, There's a little mystery here. Both La Singla and Kemperer normally consulted an astrologer who lived almost opposite their house, a straggling frog-faced man. Why should she be speaking to another astrologer, except for reasons of secrecy? The answer lay in what she had just said; her husband was mistrustful and had reason to be; his pretty little wife was giving him fresh reason. She had a new lover. Which of the players was it?

  Not de Lambant, or he would have boasted of it. Not Portinari. Chasseur, perhaps, always quiet and glowering under his dark brows.

  La Singla gave me a hurt, coquettish look and a slight additional wag of her hips.

  'You are far too dissolute and free.'

  'Well, now my pretty Singla, I have every intention of reforming my character, as it happens — but not exactly in the next half-hour. Nobody in Malacia would dispute that you are an unrivalled beauty, particularly after nightfall and assisted by limelight, so naturally your husband needs reassurance. Come down this sideway with me, give me a friendly kiss, and I will then testify to your Pozzi of your faithfulness, and put his mind at rest. Is it a deal?'

  'Perian, I don't feel much like your sort of fun. Women suffer, you know. Men like you, who imagine they love women, increase their suffering.'

  'You're sharp this morning. Let me help your suffering. Come down this sideway, and we'll do each other a favour.'

  I took her arm so that she had to stop. As she turned her gaze at me, I noticed as I had before that her eyebrows were a little too heavy and that a crop of fine golden hair lay along her upper lip. Far from scrutinizing me, she was looking blankly through me and giving my proposition consideration.

  'Life is very difficult, Perian. Please don't take advantage. Be my friend, if you can. It would help if you could reassure Maestro Kemperer. Listen, at siesta time we are going to inspect Harino's Ombres Chinoises. You must come with us.'

  'Ah, I heard that the Great Harino was in town. Better than Tvrtko.'

  'Pozzi fears that Harino will spoil our takings. So we go to see what sort of show he puts on. You come too and say a good word on my behalf, please.'

  I'll put your case in exchange for the usual favours.'

  Taking her waist, I tried to pull her down a side-alley. She caught me a violent blow across the temple.

  'Damn you, as if I haven't earned the right to expect your support a hundred times over, without allowing you one extra feel!'

  'That's a brilliant way to earn my support!' My head echoed. 'You are playful and no mistake.'

  'For once, I've played enough.'

  'Who's the lucky man who has your undivided attention and divided legs?'

  'I must get back. How time goes by. Walk faster, you horror.'

  Over the bridge we went, she with her feet twinkling under her skirt, which she held to avoid the dirt in the street. She kept her thoughts to herself. I kept an eye on the world, thinking how good it looked and how sensibly people without ringing heads were occupied, whether they were walking, working, or merely spitting from the parapet of the bridge — as two blackamoors were doing, to amuse a baby they had charge of. A travelling man playing a little phonograph for denarios leaned against a doorpost and doffed his hat ironically to La Singla as we passed.

  'You have some strange friends,' I said.

  'That gentleman always attends my performances. You see him merely as a penniless wastrel now, yet he once declared his love for me in as beautiful and deeply felt a speech as I ever heard.'

  'Did you love him in return?'

  'The poor man could not control his fortune any more than his emotions. He ran through a considerable inheritance. Now, he hasn't a bean left. He's reduced, as you see, to playing fonografo in the street, and they say he procures boys — while his illustrious parents lie in a marble tomb topped by azure on the banks of the Savoirdi Canal.'

  'If I had to settle for playing fonografo or lying in a marble tomb, I'd make his choice. His illustrious parents have a mouldy job.'

  She looked wanly at me. 'Remember that I know by heart the comedies from which you resurrect your jokes.'

  'How can I believe that when I've heard you dry up on stage so often?'

  'Dear Perian, we are of the same age and even share the same sign, yet my less shallow experience of living enables me to advise you. Take matters more seriously. Suffer and realize that other people
suffer too.'

  We were nearly at her house. I slowed my pace and quickened my speech to say, 'Do I have to weep before you believe I suffer? I have a girl who means everything to me, and I mean to be faithful to her, though temptresses like you don't help. You mistake an easy manner for a shallow disposition. Inside here, there's enough anguish to make an owl laugh.' And I laughed myself as I struck my chest, thinking as I did so that what I said was very likely true.

  With the flavours of the Fragrant Quarter all about it, Kemperer's house stood in that particular mellow glow which is a quality of prosperous streets. In the court, among broken carriages and snarling dogs on chains and Albert melancholy in his cage, men waited to see Kemperer. The court was rarely empty of these favour-seekers. Those who waited were attended by beggars and impoverished entertainers who in turn begged favours from them. In his fashion, Kemperer was a man with influence.

  Today some of the loiterers were of a decidedly nasty cast of countenance. La Singla glanced at them with dread as we hurried by.

  In the main room the table had been pushed to one side to make space for those who thronged there. You could tell when a new production was under way: the house became like a disordered warehouse. Hardly a room or hallway that was not filled with some property Kemperer had just acquired, or a costume he was thinking of acquiring. His kindly if irascible heart saw to it that several rooms were crammed with indigent relations or actors. He made such an uncomfortable host that these guests were always changing, arriving with flattery or departing with threats. There was a perpetual coming and going, with battered hats forever being swept off or rammed on valetudinarian heads.

  At the centre of the activity was its source, Pozzi Kemperer, fussy, light-footed, articulate, snarling like his hounds, prancing round in satin slippers and waistcoat, with his peruke at the tilt and a froth of words and saliva on his lips. A figure of fun, and rather a dangerous figure at that.

  He was making a spectacle of himself as La Singla and I entered. Seeing La Singla, he paused to deliver one single evil glare which would have curdled the blood of a devil-jaw, and then returned to capering round a stranger draped in an ankle-length cloak. With this gaunt stranger stood a lizard-man, holding two fine black panthers on a leash.