The China Bird

by Bryony Doran

  He heads off down the corridor, bonging the rubber end of his stick on the black tiles; saving the white ones for his return. He slows as he nears the studio door, listens for any sounds from within and, hearing none, places his hand on the door handle.

  Angela looks up and smiles. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor,

  ‘Hi,’ she scrambles to her feet. ‘Am I glad to see you.’

  ‘Why?’ He comes into the room, walks over to the window. Outside in the courtyard it has begun to rain, ‘Did you want to continue our interesting conversation from last week?’

  He hears her laugh, nervously.

  ‘Or were you thinking about the pursuance of your art,’ he asks.

  ‘That’s a big word. I like it: Pursuance.’ She rolls it around her tongue.

  ‘So, what have you decided?’ He says, still looking out of the window. ‘Do you still want to draw me if I keep my clothes on?’

  He turns. She is standing in the middle of the room; her shoulders pulled back, her hands grasped behind her back. She grimaces, ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Why do you want me to be naked?’

  ‘Good question.’ She brings her hands round to the front, interweaving her fingers, ‘I suppose the text book answer would be that true beauty lies in the naked form. Dunno – I just know it feels so much more truthful, honest, real.’

  ‘You think you would find true beauty in my naked form?’ He queries. ‘Wouldn’t you draw me like one of Schiele’s figures, ugly and twisted?’

  ‘I like his work, but that’s not how I want to portray you. You have a different quality, and anyway,’ she smiles. ‘I don’t think you’re thin enough.’

  ‘You may find it a laughing matter, but I don’t.’

  She sighs, ‘This is just so difficult for me to put across. Once I get going I’ll be able to show you what I mean.’

  He notices the light from the skylight is catching in her hair, showing up the places where the black dye is growing away from her crown.

  ‘If it wasn’t so important do you think I’d ask?’ She pauses, ‘Do you think I can’t see how difficult this is for you?’

  ‘You mean you’d find someone less cantankerous?’

  She smiles, ‘I don’t really think you are cant … whatever you call it. Underneath all that bluster I think you are actually rather nice.’

  ‘Buttering me up won’t work.’

  ‘Shame,’ she smiles.

  ‘So, where do we go from here,’ he counters. She lowers her head. She is so very young, he thinks, and today for some reason, almost vulnerable. He so rarely sees that in another person. He scratches at some loose putty around the windowpane. He waits to see what she will say next, enjoying her discomfort.

  She says nothing.

  ‘I’m going to do it.’ He blurts it out. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought and,’ he turns to face her, ‘I’m going to do it. I’ve decided.’

  She is astonished, unbelieving, ‘You’re not kidding, are you?’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life.’

  Her eyes brighten with excitement, ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. I could hug you.’

  ‘Well don’t. Let’s get on with it before I change my mind.’

  ‘You mean, you want to start today?’

  ‘If I don’t, I may not have the courage next week.’

  She points to the back wall. ‘There’s a screen there if you want to undress. I’ll just unfold it, then I’ll go and get us both a coffee.’

  He walks with her across the room, ‘So you knew I’d say yes, did you?’ he says, nodding at the screen.

  ‘The screen’s always been here.’

  He looks at her, unsure, ‘It wasn’t here last week.’

  ‘It was, honest.’

  Between them they unfold the screen and stand it in a zigzag position.

  ‘After I left here last week,’ he says, straightening the screen, ‘I went into the charity shop on the front.’

  ‘I always mean to go in there. Is it good?’

  ‘I saw you coming out of the newsagents.’

  She looks up, puzzled, then, ‘Oh yeah.’ She frowns. ‘I remember now. Alex said if I went and got him some fags and choccy he’d let me have a coffee out of his thermos.’

  ‘I got the impression you didn’t like him.’

  ‘I went upstairs to get a drink of water and he was just getting his thermos out.’ She grins. ‘Looked like too good an opportunity to pass up.’

  She has her head down, he cannot see into her face to see if she is lying.

  ‘It sounds to me as if you would have had time to come for a coffee. Mind you, I suppose you know where your priorities lie. I suppose it’s much more important to keep in with your tutor than with a mere model.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all,’ she retaliates. ‘I didn’t intend any of that to happen.’

  She’s never entirely contrite, he realises. ‘Did you not think it would have helped me to discuss further what you threw at me last week?’

  ‘I’m sorry, okay?’ She looks into his face. ‘You’re right. I should have come for a coffee. But to be honest, I really didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘You were avoiding the issue?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He doesn’t know whether to believe her or not.

  The centre panels of the screen are lined with a thin muslin. He presses the fabric with the tips of his fingers, ‘Bit thin this, isn’t it?’

  ‘Right. I’m going to go and see if the vending machine’s working,’ she says, ignoring his last remark. ‘How do you want your coffee?’

  ‘White, one sugar please.’

  She picks up her purse and makes towards the door.

  ‘Angela?’

  ‘Yes?’ She pauses, her hand on the door handle.

  ‘Lock the door on your way out, will you? We don’t want your nosy friend coming in, do we?’

  He hears the click of the lock. He must do this quickly before he loses courage. No chair behind the screen. How thoughtless. He drags the chair with the metal legs over, noticing there are two chairs with metal legs today. They definitely weren’t there last week.

  First his tie, always his tie, then his jacket. He pauses at this point and looks at his watch. Two o’clock. What would he normally be doing at this time on a Saturday afternoon? Sitting in his room reading. He thinks back to what had led him to where he is now, here in this room, disrobing for this young woman. He must be crazy. Fear churns in the pit of his stomach and yet, there is a certain power in his chest. It has been entirely his decision. He has lived too long in the comfort zone, his whole life droning on in the same dull fashion. I could have been gentler on myself though, he thinks, taken a less drastic path. He sighs, thinking back to the previous Sunday afternoon, studying his body in the full length mirror, wondering what Angela would make of it. And the promise of endless Saturday afternoons in her company, is that what has lifted him out of his dull world?

  He is just undoing the buttons on his shirt when he hears the click of the door.

  ‘It’s only me,’ she says.

  ‘You’re back quick.’

  ‘I thought I’d taken ages. I’ll put your coffee on the windowsill until you’re ready.’

  ‘It takes me a long time to undress.’

  He hears her sit back down on the floor. ‘Right. I’ll drink my coffee then.’

  He sits on the chair behind the screen, still with his trousers on. His knees feel suddenly weak. Come on, Edward, come on. You promised yourself you could do this. He grits his teeth and bends forward to undo his shoes.

  He stands behind the screen for two, three, maybe four minutes, leaning on his stick, shivering. She is patient, he will give her that.

  ‘Right, I’m ready,’ he says quietly from behind the screen. ‘I want you to go and stand looking out of the window while I get myself seated.’

  Angela stands up and crosses to the window, ‘I’ll just close the blind.’ She
starts to fiddle with the cord. He walks across the room and lowers himself into the chair.

  ‘Can I move yet?’ she asks.

  ‘Wait,’ he whispers. ‘Just give me a moment.’ His breathing is shallow. He tries to breathe more deeply but it hurts.

  She picks up the coffee on the windowsill and takes a sip, ‘Whoops. Sorry, Edward, I’ve just taken a sip of your coffee.’

  ‘Leave it there for now, will you? I want you to come and sit in your chair, but don’t look until I say I’m ready.’

  She picks up her drawing board and seats herself, careful to keep her eyes lowered. She selects a stick of charcoal and scratches in the corner of her paper.

  ‘Right,’ His voice is a faint whisper. ‘Shall we begin?’

  As she raises her eyes to look at him over her board, he feels his resolve crumble; his whole being stripped to the bone.

  Her voice falters at the look of distress upon his face. ‘I’m sorry, I should never have asked you. What have I done?’

  Her discomfort gives him strength. ‘You forget. It was my decision.’

  ‘Why did you?’ She asks.

  ‘I wanted to see if you would be repulsed.’ He looks over at her. She is staring down at her board. A slight flicker crosses her face. ‘Can I get started please?’ Her voice is unusually contrite.

  ‘What about my coffee?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She gets up and returns with his coffee, her head still lowered. He takes a sip and then places it on the floor next to his chair. Angela selects a different piece of charcoal and looks over at him.

  ‘Can you lean slightly forward, and rest on your stick? Yes, that’s perfect.’

  He looks down at the floor, and presses his legs tightly together, hiding his genitals.

  She works in silence for five minutes, then. ‘Would you like to change position?’

  He sits back in the chair, quickly crosses his legs and puts his stick to the side, grasping it with both hands.

  She pauses, studying him, the neck foreshortened, shoulders slightly hunched. Only part of his back is visible; the flat side. She can see the protruding part slightly raised above his other shoulder. She feels a slight sense of revulsion, yet an undeniable fascination to look closer.

  The tension between them is draining her energy. She wishes she could pack up and go, leave him here frozen in time until next week. She is unsure why she feels like this. She had only half expected him to turn up today and, after his outburst last week, she’d never dreamed he’d agree to be fully undressed. She’d spent all week trying to think through how she could make it work.

  She looks down at his crossed legs, at the calf-flesh that is plumped around to the front, pushed forward by the leg behind; the skin pulled taut, catching the light.

  She draws until the sun has moved over the vaulted skylight and the room is in shadow. She yawns, and puts down her charcoal. ‘Thanks. I think we’ll call it a day. You must be tired.’

  She stands up, arches her back to release the stiffness and walks over to the window. She pushes her fingers between the vertical blinds and peers out into the courtyard. Behind her, she hears him pull himself out of the chair and stump his stick across the carpet to the screen. She still can’t believe he’s agreed to it. She wishes she’d been able to accomplish more than she has.

  After he is dressed, he asks to see what she has drawn. Reluctantly, she flicks open her pad and shows him the drawings of his lower leg and foot.

  ‘Is that all you’ve drawn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had to get undressed and sit there for an hour so that you could draw my foot?’

  ‘And your leg,’ she adds.

  ‘Do you know what it cost me to sit there like that? Do you? Do you know? No. You wouldn’t. It would be nothing to you.’

  She sees that he is shaking with rage, ‘Please Edward, don’t be angry. I have to work my way into this. It’s uncomfortable for me as well, you know?’

  ‘That’s rich,’ he explodes.

  ‘It’s true. I feel as if …’ she pauses, ‘well, like shy I suppose.’

  ‘Ha! I’ll give you shy. So, next week, you’ll be naked as well, will you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you ever modelled for anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word shy.’

  ‘Oh God,’ she grasps her hands together. ‘I just wish I could make you understand. I felt really awkward. I don’t know why. I’m sorry. Okay?’

  ‘I can make you understand how awkward I felt if next week you get undressed.’

  ‘What would be the point of that?’

  ‘Why not? Let you see how it feels.’

  She rubs her charcoal stained hands down the front of her jeans, ‘Well, where would I wipe my hands for a start?’

  He moves toward the door, ‘I don’t know why I ever agreed to this.’

  ‘Edward? Please don’t go like this. Let’s at least go for a coffee or something.’

  ‘Oh, you want to go for a coffee this week do you? Won’t you be embarrassed to be seen out with an old cripple?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ She uses the back of her hand to wipe her eye.

  ‘I wanted to go for a coffee last week,’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I needed to get some work finished.’

  ‘In pursuance of your art. Seems to me this art is a pretty ruthless bedfellow. Or was it because you had a prior appointment with Alex?’

  ‘I’ll see you next week? Please, Edward?’

  ‘And,’ he looks at her enquiringly, ‘You’ll get undressed as well, will you?’

  ‘But, you don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand very well.’ The door shuts behind him with a sharp crack of wood against wood.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Angela is alone in the house. Her three house mates have gone home for the weekend. She should have gone to see her gran today. She ought to have known Edward wouldn’t turn up. She had waited in the studio for two hours, doodling, listening for his footsteps, the tap of his stick coming down the corridor. What is she going to do now? Scour the streets for an Edward look-a-like? What made him think he was so special? She could find someone else.

  Gran would be sitting there now in her chair beside the fire, watching TV. She could try ringing but she knows she won’t answer, not at this time of night. Last time she rang and her gran didn’t answer, Angela had gone over just to check she was still alive. She looks at her watch. She could still catch the last train. But no, she feels too fed up. She can still see the doubtful expression on Gran’s face in the late evening light.

  ‘Gran? I tried phoning to say I was coming. Where were you?’

  ‘Come in, child.’

  Gran had not hugged her in her usual way, but had shaken her head from side to side, tut-tutting under her breath.

  ‘Child, child, what are you doing to an old woman?’

  ‘What, Gran?’

  ‘For one awful minute there, I thought you were your mother.’

  ‘Has she been pestering you again?’ Angela asked anxiously.

  ‘Every so often the phone rings in the middle of the night,’ she shrugs, ‘but nothing else. She doesn’t even know her father’s dead.’

  She sits down on her bed and wonders what to do. She could give Dan a ring, he hasn’t been around for ages, see if he’ll take her for a pint and a cheap curry but no, she doesn’t want to go back to his place afterwards. Grey sheets. She wrinkles her nose. She’d thought sex with him would have been good, him being that bit older. She’d been flattered that he was interested; he mostly ignored the others in her year. She knew that he’d got a girlfriend somewhere down south but that hadn’t bothered her. She thought she’d just use him for sex, but it had left her cold. She’s not even sure she’s that bothered about him anymore, and she doesn’t like the way he always snipes about her work either, saying that she is Alex’s pet.

  Angela opens the sk
etchpad that earlier she’d thrown on the bed and casually flicks through it. Edward’s face stares back at her from the page; drawings she’d done from memory after the first sitting. She is pleased at how she has captured the intelligence and humour in his eyes. She thinks back to the portrait of Richard Appleyard. The eyes are not the same but she has captured a similarity in their character, a family likeness. The next page is a simple quick sketch of Edward. Again, she is impressed by how she has portrayed him. What is she going to do? She must persuade him somehow to continue. She flicks through the pages and, like an omen, his face stares up at her again. She has never felt this much excitement about her work. She has to continue. Shivering, she imagines herself naked, seated there on the orange plastic chair. She could never do it. Or could she? Does he think that she would be embarrassed? Why should she be? She could give the silly old bugger a run for his money, call his bluff, see if he had the guts to go through with it.

  Unable to stand the emptiness of her room, she lets it drive her out into the fading light. She walks aimlessly along the quiet pavements, peering into lighted windows; the same television program repeated in nearly every house. Outside the pub a few people are seated around wooden tables, drinking and laughing. She hesitates and then enters. Inside there are fewer people still. With relief, she sees Alex_standing at the bar, one eye shut against the smoke of his cigarette.

  ‘Evening’ he says, looking up. ‘Like a drink?’

  She hesitates, ‘I’ll have a pint of Guinness, please.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want a packet of crisps as well?’ He empties his loose change out on to the bar. ‘Bankrupt me, why don’t you?’

  ‘Okay then, salt and vinegar please.’

  He laughs.

  ‘Well,’ she shrugs. ‘You did ask, and I’m starving.’

  ‘How’s the work going?’

  ‘Okay, I suppose. I was just going through my folder earlier.’

  ‘And?’ He hands the barman the correct change.

  ‘Well, I really like what I’ve done so far, but my model has decided to throw a wobbler so I might be back to square one.’