Grace was in the county hosp ital for months. No one thought she would live but somehow she pulled through. Well, what was left of her pulled through. She was a scary sight and she knew it. It was months before she returned one night in the dark to the Burroughs House. She too had declined all visitors. Harry wrote her. He thought it would help his beloved Billie if he could persuade Grace to return, but the letters lay unanswered.
Grace came back because she had nowhere else to go. The house was silent when she returned. Her limping footsteps echoed on the marble floor in the hall. She found John Junior in the study. The place was littered with old bottles of Jack Daniel’s. John sat on the floor with maps of Africa spread out before him.
‘Gracie, Gracie,’ he called without getting up. ‘Grace has returned to the house of death.’
‘How are you, John?’
‘How am I? I am terrible. My great balloon adventure is a disaster. Have a drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Mind if I have yours?’
John poured another belt and went back to his maps.
‘W D. Boyce, remember him? Chicago newspapers, ass-hole, more money than sense, so he asks me to go in on the American Balloonograph Expedition, the great American Balloonograph Expedition. He was supposed to bring back the first moving pictures of the African animals from the air, right? That would be worth money. Maybe even a side-show. So he gets out there with his balloon and some of my money and he inflates his damn balloon and attaches the movie camera to it which he is going to operate from the ground. Now, it’s very windy so he doesn’t want the balloon to fly away He ties it to a mule. A mule, for Christ’s sake. Well, you know what’s going to happen. One heavy gust of wind, it seizes the balloon and the goddamn animal. Apparently the mule brayed miserably before disappearing into the clouds and never being seen again. That is because Boyce is an asshole. Milton would never have allowed it. Sweetheart is quite annoyed. I keep wondering what some poor native is going to think when a mule suddenly lands on his head in the middle of nowhere.’
John began to roar with laughter as Grace moved forward into the light. She had been so beautiful but now she was like two sides of a coin. From the left she still looked young and lovely. From the right she had turned in an instant into a harridan. Her face, still livid with the fresh scars, clung on to her bones for dear life, but it was an impossible battle. Everything on the right was pulled down by gravity and injury. She was her own freak show.
John turned a table lamp to look at her. He pulled her quite roughly to him and ran his fingers over the grooves and welts that had once been her face.
‘So you’re home but I don’t know you. My wife won’t know me and I don’t know you… Miss… Strange. Shall we make money from you, Miss Strange, shall we exhibit you?’
Grace began to cry. Softly, tears spilling unbidden from her torn and damaged eye. John pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them.
‘Milton would have loved you. He liked anything different. Those fat-lip Ubangi women, Anna, that giant woman with the moustache, the Fiji cannibals. He would have loved you.’
Grace began to sob. John Junior took her in his arms. He rocked and rocked her until at last he laid her down on the carpet. He moved the light to see only her damaged side and then he made love to her.
The autumn of the great stock market crash, Billie delivered her child. Grace too was pregnant by then but the house was silent about it. John Junior only slept with Grace that one time and after that he didn’t much talk to her or anyone. He kept spending money right up to the end and the house was still host to some strange characters. Sweetheart did her best to keep control but really it was impossible.
It was the morning that the temple from India arrived that Helen was born. Sweetheart was dealing with eighty tons of stone, shipped like a giant jigsaw in 250 crates, which had been deposited on the lawn. The crates were accompanied by an almost equal number of Indian artisans whom no one could communicate with. The noise and babble meant no one heard Billie’s cries as she produced her beautiful daughter. She called her Helen for Helen of Troy and handed her over to Harry.
‘I can’t do babies,’ she said, and turned her head to the wall.
Harry brought the child down to find its father. He carried the baby carefully and walked with slow precision to the dining room. John Junior and Jack Riddell, a soldier turned ivory poacher, were in there, taking it in turns to jump the huge table on horseback without disturbing the crockery.
‘She’s come,’ said Harry, holding the child out.
‘I didn’t order it. Get out. Give her to Sweetheart,’ snapped John and moved his horse for another attack.
Billie didn’t live long enough to see Grace’s child. She knew about it but she didn’t seem to care. One morning, shortly after Helen’s birth, she just got up and went and drowned herself in the pool. Harry found her. It was Harry who brought her out. John had the place drained and locked. Sweetheart made all the arrangements. John gave everything to Grace and left for Africa. He never came back. Three weeks later Grace gave birth to Judith, defender of the people. No one even mentioned that Ellen and Toto had also been delivered of a daughter. Sweetheart named her Artemesia.
The past swirled around us and the drink flowed. Too much drink flowed. After a while Miss Strange started making speeches. I had never seen her so worked up. The more she drank the more speeches she made.
‘No, I’m angry,’ announced Miss Strange, standing up to make her point. ‘We’ll beat him. You see, we…’ her withered arm moved to include us all,’… are Amazons. It’s from the Greek a, meaning “without”, and mazos, meaning “breast”. Which is particularly suitable for me. I am without my breast here, you see.’
She opened her shirt. The right side of her chest was a mass of scar tissue. There was no bulge. She didn’t need one of Harry’s corsets. All those years later it still looked painful. Red and raw, and yet it seemed to me to be so very female. She didn’t need a breast. She was strong like some great fighter. She wasn’t trying to be anyone but herself and I thought it was the most wonderful thing. I wanted to hug her. Wanted to have her enfold me to her side in a way Mother never did. No one said anything. Embarrassed, I moved away and climbed up the stairs to the balcony above the room.
‘Did you know,’ she continued, her shirt draped loose about her, ‘that it was a woman dressed as an Amazon who led the attack in the storming of the Bastille? Théroigne de Méricourt — a most gifted singer who trained in London and Naples. It was women who led the bread march to Versailles. And the assault on the Tuileries. Théroigne commanded a battalion of Amazons. The women of the French Revolution knew what they were doing,’ boomed Miss Strange out the window, where Gabriel could still be seen working in the distance. ‘The women stormed the National Assembly and the bishop shouted, “Order!” and do you know what the women shouted? “We don’t give a fuck for your order!”‘
Miss Strange began to sing.
‘My country, ‘tis of thee
Land of grape juice and teal
Of thee I sing.
Land where we all have tried
To break the laws and lied!
From every mountainside
The bootlegs spring…’
Cosmos was also somewhat the worse for wear. She had wandered off from the entrance hall and returned dragging a large cabin trunk. ‘Look what I found.’
‘Africa!’ cried Miss Strange. ‘We shall all go to Africa.’ She poured herself another drink as Aunt Bonnie came back from putting Perry to bed. Sweetheart looked exhausted. She sat next to Judith on two of the French reproduction chairs. Judith had stopped crying and just sat stroking Troilus. Aunt Bonnie set to knocking back the wine. Helen sat on the stairs with Sappho and watched.
‘It’s the real McCoy. I met him once, you know, smelled of salt water.’ Miss Strange nodded to herself ‘Here in the house, I met him with Billie and Phoebe.
‘Oh, we don’t give a dam
n
For our old Uncle Sam.
Way, oh, whiskey and gin!
Lend us a hand
When we stand in to land.
Just give us time
To run the rum in!
‘I think the greatest elephant keeper of all time was Mary Sparks. You remember her, Sweetheart? She died while she was working at the Ringling farm in Willston, Florida. One of the bulls knocked her down and stomped her. It was a shame because she had a great trained-goat act and was a hell of a giraffe jockey.’
Up on the balcony, I sat down at the ivory keys of the Aeolian organ which hardly anyone had ever played. Downstairs, Cosmos was starting to dress up.
‘Look at these.’ Cosmos had opened the trunk and was pulling out the contents. It held the most beautiful dresses and ornaments, all ready for a wondrous journey. A staggering array of silks and satins. A parade of feminine frippery from another age. Cosmos tried on hats and scarves, necklaces and bangles, the accessories of a wealthy woman. From the bottom of the trunk, folded in tissue paper, she pulled out a gown of the palest blue and purple silk. The shimmering colours blended from one to another in a rainbow spectrum. It was stunning. Cosmos held it to her and began to dance across the room. The gown flowed with a Ginger Rogers life of its own, its hem brushing the women as Cosmos flew past. Miss Strange began humming some air or other and Sweetheart began to join in. At last Cosmos came to a halt in front of Helen. The others stopped humming and Cosmos looked down at her squatting friend. Cosmos made a slight bow and put out her hand to raise Helen to her feet.
She stood as if she had been mesmerized by the dance. In her brown cardigan, brown corduroy pants and brown shirt she seemed an unlikely candidate for a princess’s ball, but that is what transformation scenes are about. Cosmos moved the dress to rest on Helen’s shoulders. Miss Strange moved toward Helen and slowly she and Sweetheart began to remove her clothes. Helen didn’t move, and soon all her garments lay in a single brown pile on the floor. Completely naked she looked a different woman. Not all curled up and cocooned but rather lovely. Like one of the statues in the garden. She wasn’t young any more but she was still pale and perfect. An untouched woman. Cosmos and Miss Strange took the extraordinary gown and lifted it into the air. It seemed to float by magic over Helen’s naked form and down across her shoulders. She was swathed in silk. Butterfly colours rained down on her and she was beautiful. A great wave of material attached to the wrists and up under the arms hung down like expectant wings. The dress reached almost to the floor and in her bare feet Helen looked like one of her beloved floating fancies. The dress seemed to intoxicate her. She began to run slowly and then faster round the huge, square entrance hall. I understood it. I knew how clothes could change a person. I knew I had grown up since donning my T-shirt and shorts. From my haircut to my knee-high pants, I had become myself.
I began to play the one tune I knew on the organ. A little Beethoven emerged from the pipes and slowly the others began to dance. Faster and faster. At last I was doing it right.
‘Spread your wings, Helen, or you won’t survive,’ called Miss Strange as she opened the front door and released Helen to the air. She ran across the lawns, past the windows of the house and on to the field, raising her arms so that she seemed ready to take flight. The bonfire roared now and the field was lit in oranges and reds. Gabriel stood watching the blaze as Helen appeared before him. I don’t think she saw him at first. She was too busy with her own release. Round and round the fire she danced, like a blue morpho butterfly attracted to the light. She grew taller and more majestic as we watched. Gabriel had no choice. He moved toward her. In the dark there was no age difference between them. I knew now what would happen. She would do her courtship dance until he showed interest. Then she would hold her wings ready for him to land alongside her and spread his scent. They would tap each other with their antennae and remain locked for moments or maybe hours. It was the way of the butterfly.
The women all stayed at the window in silence but I couldn’t watch. It wasn’t for me to see. I felt a great choking in my chest. Something was happening that was about more than grown-ups having sex. I didn’t understand. I wanted my mother back but I knew she wouldn’t come. Even if she had it wouldn’t have been right. I wanted to know where I was in the cosmos but I didn’t actually know what that meant. I felt terribly confused and alone. I slipped away, meaning to go home. That’s how I was at the gate when they arrived. Despite all the preparation it was kind of shock. We weren’t really ready for Artemesia, and we certainly weren’t ready for her to bring family.
Chapter Twelve
We had talked a lot about size. I mean to do with the elephants. We had probably built the world’s strongest enclosure out of the old train tracks but I still don’t think we were ready. Well, I wasn’t. I stood there watching three men unload the elephants from a large truck. Artemesia came first. The truck had rough slats as a walkway for her to come out of the vehicle so her feet were kind of at my eye level. At least it’s what I noticed first. This massive animal walked almost silently. The only noise came from the creaking wood as she swayed down toward me with incredibly precise footsteps. A silent walk with the track of her hind legs coming to rest precisely in the spoor of the front. Her sole spread out to take weight at each step. It was slow and deliberate. As she lifted her foot I could see the cracks and ridges underneath. Like the grip on a great pair of sneakers. Then her foot would descend again, its built-in shock absorber of fatty fibrous tissue cushioning the impact. It was so neat.
Her feet had shiny round toenails. A smart lady out for the evening. She could have followed a dance card on the floor, this elegant, shimmying thing. So slow and precise and so silent.
As she got closer I moved up to her legs. They were tall, straight columns which supported her massive bulk, and she was big. I expected the vast expanse of gnarled skin. I knew from Helen’s reading that she was a pachydermata. It came from pachys, meaning ‘thick’ and derma, ‘skin’, but I didn’t know so much of it would be so soft. A great deal of it was like upholstered leather — a patchwork quilt. I reached out, completely unafraid. Her sides were prickly to feel — covered in short, stiff hairs. I moved my hand toward her head. She was mostly coarse and grainy to touch but some places were pliable and spongy, like around the loose baggy pants above her back legs. Endless rivers of wrinkles stretched above my head. A great Ordnance Survey of life across leather skin. The lines almost made grill marks across her sides and flanks, but it was at her head that I fell in love.
Artemesia looked at me. She had a constant, shy smile. There was not a wicked bone in her body. Mother would have said that the hair all round her mouth and chin looked like it needed plucking, but I loved it. It was a full and fearless growth. Her eyes seemed small for the size of her head and they had long lashes Judith would kill for. Soft brown eyes fringed with lashes as long as a hand. Her ears, the shape of Africa, flapped slightly in the warm night air. At the outer margins of her ears you could just see vast rivers of blood vessels surging with her life. Inside her ears and around her mouth, her skin was paper thin and delicate. I reached up to touch her face and she bent down to help me. I put my hand behind her ears and felt a place as soft and cool and smooth as silk. Something happened in my stomach. I didn’t know, but I suspected it was my first encounter with sheer passion.
The other elephant was smaller. A lot smaller. Maybe three foot tall and just a few months old. I couldn’t tell. I mean, baby or not, she still must have weighed two hundred pounds. She was just as beautiful but maybe a little fatter. The mini-Jumbo was covered in soft baby fuzz and had a hunched, shuffling gait. Her skin was really too big for her body. She looked as though she had been dressed in an oversize grey Babygro. It bagged and sagged around her haunches. The baby was less delicate in her movements. She thumped out of the truck, treading on and tripping over her trunk. Although the two had made the journey together she hurried to greet Artemesia. The baby put down her head as she ran
to the larger elephant and they both began to make low rumbles at each other. They gently used the tips of their trunks to snake over each other’s heads, fondling, feeling and smelling tenderly. Then the baby snuggled close to her mother, put her trunk in her mouth and sucked at it like a baby with a thumb. She stood under the protective umbrella of Artemesia’s great body — like a child hiding in Mother’s skirts. I had never seen such open affection.
‘You signing for these?’ The delivery man thrust a clipboard at me.
‘I shouldn’t really…’
‘It’s late. You work here?’
‘Sort of.’
The man was getting irritable. He still had an ostrich to get to New Jersey. ‘Come on, son, just sign.’ So I did. Son, I quite liked that. The man handed me a delivery note and he and his friends pushed off in the truck. I watched them go. It was a little daunting. I had only been going home and suddenly I had taken charge of two elephants. I looked at them. I needed to get Miss Strange, or maybe not her as she was drunk. Maybe Helen, or maybe not her as she was busy. I needed to do something. Artemesia and child looked at me.
‘Stay,’ I said with as much authority as I could muster. I raised my right hand to emphasize the order and turned back to the house. I walked off purposefully but when I turned to look, Artemesia and her child were right behind me. So much for me being in charge. We got to the big lawn and I didn’t know what to do next. The elephants seemed quite happy to let me decide. I didn’t feel I could leave them so I threw a stone at the window and Miss Strange appeared. We must have been a curious sight. A small kid in shorts standing between two giants fresh from the circus.
Miss Strange and Cosmos came out. They weren’t walking too straight. Sweetheart followed a little behind. As they approached across the lawn Artemesia went a little funny. She moved slightly toward Miss Strange and then she stopped. Suddenly she began to make deep rumbling noises in her chest. Then she lifted her trunk and gave a vast trumpeting sound. She began to flap her ears, spin and turn, and matter spilled out of her at every end. She peed and defecated while tears seemed to stream down the side of her head. Miss Strange watched and laughed. At last Artemesia calmed and walked on again. She reached out her wet trunk and gently put it round Miss Strange’s shoulders. Miss Strange patted it and smiled.
Whistling for the Elephants Page 20
