The White Father

by Julian Mitchell

  Shrieve leaned back against the wall and stopped trying to follow her. The music was, as he’d decided earlier, cheerful; there was that to be said for it. And the way the young danced nowadays, though odd, to put it mildly, was rather charming. They seemed to avoid all contact with each other except at the finger-tips, and even these were only used, as it were, as marker-buoys to be rounded from time to time. He didn’t see how anyone knew who was whose partner, but perhaps they’d got it all worked out among themselves.

  The number came to an end amid loud applause and Pete took an ironic bow. He then said into a microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to hear a sensational new rocking number, the Sway. This was recorded by Edward Gilchrist here only this morning, and we haven’t got any parts for it, so excuse any wrong notes. Actually, from what Edward says, there are only about four notes involved, so we should do all right. There’ve been a lot of new dances recently, and you may not have heard of the Choke. But if you have, the Sway’s the same thing, we think. Anyway, everybody Sway!”

  There was a guitarist with the band tonight, and Edward had hummed the tune to him. The Sway sounded just acceptable on the solo guitar, but when Pete’s trumpet and Greg’s saxophone joined stridently in, it sounded even more crude and vulgar than with the Swaymen and the girls. Edward shut his eyes and hoped for the best.

  “Sway,” he sang, “everybody sway.”

  Shrieve listened, amazed and amused. So this was how Edward hoped to make his fame and fortune! The song was tuneless, the beat unimaginative and the words lacked, simply, humour or intelligence. Yet the Sway seemed somehow familiar, he thought. Perhaps all the popular “rocking” numbers sounded the same—he had heard, or rather overheard, enough of them on the radio. Yet this was familiar, surely?

  He looked at the dancers. Few of them knew either Choke or Sway and only two or three couples were risking it. Suddenly he pushed himself away from the wall and watched them closely.

  “Good God!” he said.

  “What is it?” said Jackie. She was listening with a sad, almost resigned, expression on her face.

  “Good God Almighty!” said Shrieve. He turned to her, his face a long exclamation mark, mouth hanging open, eyebrows high. “It’s the Ngulu dance they’re doing!”

  “It’s the what?” said Jackie.

  “It’s the Ngulu dance! Watch me! Come on!”

  He seized her by the arm and pulled her to the dance floor. She followed him, wondering what on earth he was talking about. He began to shuffle and sway, clapping his hands, doing what the other dancers were doing, only better.

  “It’s simple,” he shouted to her over the din, “just follow what I’m doing.”

  He began to do his imitation of a giraffe. A small interested crowd gathered quickly round them. “It’s easy!” he called. “Easy!”

  Jackie did her best to follow him. The crowd failed to recognise a giraffe in his contortions.

  “Hey, who’s he?” said a man with a fringe of beard.

  “Don’t know,” said his girl. She jangled her bracelets. “But he certainly knows how to Sway.”

  “Sway, sway, sway,” sang the band in chorus above the plucking and twanging of the guitar.

  Edward led them, clapping his hands maniacally and gyrating about the stand in his usual parody.

  “When you feel that way

  And you want to play,

  Sway, sway, sway.”

  “Where did you learn?” shouted Jackie. She was picking it up fast.

  “In Africa,” Shrieve called back.

  “Go, man, go,” said the beard.

  “Sway, man, sway,” jangled the bracelets.

  Fred Martin would have smiled to hear them.

  When the song ended there was feeble applause for Edward and the band, but several whistles and cheers for Shrieve and Jackie.

  “What the hell’s going on over there?” said Greg to Pete.

  “Christ knows. Let’s take a break. It’ll take me ten minutes to get my head clear after that mindless jingle.”

  “Thanks,” said Edward. “Thanks a lot. You’ll be proud to know me in a couple of months, that’s all. Say what you like now, it won’t worry me.”

  “We will,” said Pete. “Come on, let’s grab a drink.”

  They retired briefly to a small room where the band’s whisky was kept, then emerged with glasses in their hands.

  “How are you enjoying it?” said Edward anxiously, when he’d made his way over to Shrieve.

  “Marvellous,” said Shrieve. He was still panting from his exertions. “Do you realise, it’s the most extraordinary thing, but your Sway is the Ngulu dance. It’s it exactly.”

  “It can’t be,” said Edward. “I thought they had better taste.”

  “No, no, I mean it. Really. It’s exactly the same—the rhythm and everything.”

  “But the steps?”

  “They seem to be more or less identical. I think the Ngulu ones are a bit more complicated, but no one here seems to know the Sway very well. I’m afraid I got carried away and did my giraffe imitation.”

  “So that’s what it was,” said Jackie. “You were terribly good, whatever it was.”

  “It’s absolutely incredible,” said Shrieve. “I wonder what Professor Adams would say about it. They all imitate animals,” he went on excitedly to Jackie, “and I’m expected to do something, you see, so I do a giraffe. But the basic step, the shuffling and swaying, that’s the same as what those people over there were doing.”

  “It doesn’t seem possible,” said Edward.

  “Oh but it is, it is.”

  “It’s the internationalisation of culture,” said Jackie. “It’s like Free. Every time you get off an aeroplane, whether it’s Timbuctoo, Thailand or Tallahassee, there’s always a sign advertising Free. Your Ngulu may be backward, Mr Shrieve, but they seem to have got to the Sway well ahead of us.”

  “Hello,” said Edward. “There’s my sister. I didn’t know she was going to be here. Excuse me a moment.”

  Jane was with a tall man Edward didn’t know.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, kissing her on the cheek.

  “I thought I ought to come and hear how you were disgracing the family name,” she said. “That was simply awful, Teddy, that Sway thing. For goodness sake don’t let Mummy hear you singing that, she’d die.”

  “I shall be a household name in a month,” said Edward. “I’m going to be the biggest thing to hit the pop market since Elvis Presley.”

  “Elvis Presley?” said the tall man. “Who’s he?”

  “Oh Timothy, really,” said Jane. “I’ve got so much to teach you. You haven’t met Edward, have you? He’s my brother. Teddy, this is Timothy Fearon.”

  “How do you do?” said Edward.

  “Do you make much singing that stuff?” said Fearon. “I mean, do people buy records of that sort of thing? Really?”

  “Not yet. I hope they will soon, though.”

  “Teddy, darling, you can’t, you absolutely can’t sing that awful song. Why don’t you sing something nice?” She turned to Fearon and said, “He really has rather a sweet voice, though you wouldn’t know it.”

  “They didn’t seem very interested in my ballads, to be honest,” said Edward. “But they’re crazy for the Sway. Of course, nothing may come of it. It was only a test-recording, you see. But they have offered me quite a good contract.”

  “They have?” said Jane. “Oh Teddy, how simply marvellous!”

  “Well, keep your fingers crossed. Pete says it’s all right. The contract, I mean.”

  “Congratulations,” said Fearon. “No doubt you’ll be deafening us all for years to come. Can I get you a drink, Jane? I’m parched myself.”

  “Oh, do, please.” She turned back to Edward and said, “Will you be terribly rich, Teddy? Terribly, terribly rich?”

  “Terribly. Who’s your new boy friend?”

  “Oh, don’t you know Timothy? He’s rather dull,
actually. He’s on the Stock Exchange. Or in the Foreign Office or something. I only met him this evening at another party, you see, and he brought me here. I didn’t know you would be playing.”

  “Don’t tell the parents about the Sway, will you, Jane? They’ll have to find out about it very gently.”

  “You are horrid to them, Teddy.”

  “Are you going back tonight?”

  “Not if I can avoid it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind. What were you going to suggest?”

  “Well, this party’s due to end about one, I think. Anyway, we’re packing up then, because Greg has to get home, and I’m exhausted. We’re all going to have something to eat at Pete and Judy’s. Do you want to come?”

  “Lovely. Can I bring Timothy?”

  “Sure. Here he is. I’ll see you afterwards, then.”

  “All right, Teddy. Oh,” she went on, catching his sleeve. “Who’s that pretty girl talking to your friend Mr Shrieve?”

  “That’s Jackie Harmer. Haven’t you met her?”

  “No. Will I later?”

  “I expect so. Look, I must go and entertain Shrieve.”

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  “Here you are,” said Fearon, handing her a drink. “I must say, I don’t know if I’d want to have a brother who sang pop songs, Jane. How did it happen?”

  “Don’t be stuffy,” she said. “Did you say you were on the Stock Exchange or in the Foreign Office?”

  “I’m an accountant,” said Fearon, looking rather cross.

  “I knew it was something like that,” said Jane.

  Edward went back to Shrieve and Jackie. Shrieve was busy giving a demonstration of his giraffe.

  “It’s like this,” he was saying, thrusting his chin in the air and putting up two curled fingers for ears. “I’ve been doing it for ages. I’m rather proud of it, actually, though the Ngulu just think it’s funny. They fall over themselves, in fact.” He tiptoed round Jackie, waggling his giraffe’s ears.

  “I wish they could see you at the constitutional conference,” said Edward. “It’d soon put a stop to talk about superior cultures. And I don’t want to hear any further criticism of my singing, if you don’t mind. You’ve lost the right to criticise. Are you enjoying yourself all right?”

  “It’s splendid,” said Shrieve, still waggling his ears. “A splendid party. I’m enjoying it enormously.”

  Pete pushed his way over towards them and said, “Come on, we’d better give them value for money. We’ve only got till one, remember.”

  “This must be a sad night for you,” said Edward, as they went back to the stand. “I mean, you’ll be losing me soon. In a few weeks you won’t be able to afford me. But I’ll be decent, I’ll make a few guest appearances for you.”

  “Thank God,” said Pete, “pianists are two a penny.”

  “Watch it, now. You may be able to find a pianist as good, but you’ll never get anyone to sing the Sway for you like that.”

  “Thank Christ. Come on, let’s play some real music for a change. What with you flaking out from Swaying all day, and Greg’s father refusing to lend him the car, we’re a pretty broken-down band. It’s a hopeless way to run anything. I wish to God I’d got my club open.”

  “Name the day,” said Edward. “I’ll come and open it for you. There’ll be a stampede of my teenage fans. You’ll be a huge success.”

  “Any fans who come stampeding into my club,” said Pete picking up his trumpet, “will find themselves getting more than they stampeded for. ‘April in Portugal’. G sharp. And Edward, keep off the bloody tune, will you? In my kind of music we take a tune that’s been ruined and make something new out of it. You keep dragging us back into the rut.”

  Pete seemed angry about something.

  *

  Two trombones kissed juicily from one stereophonic speaker across the room to the other, while Judy handed out plates of cold meat and salad. Jane and Jackie were sitting on the bed, while the men sprawled on the floor.

  “You’re not to let them change your name, Teddy,” said Jane. “Whatever happens, you mustn’t let them do that.”

  “I should have thought your family were hoping you would change it,” said Timothy Fearon.

  “It’s not a very good name for a pop singer,” said Edward. “Not like Chet London, for instance.”

  “What’s so good about Chet London?” said Jackie.

  “Oh, a place name is always good, you know. And the first name mustn’t be too obvious. Shane is a very good first name for a pop singer. Quite a good surname, too, actually.”

  “I don’t know why you don’t call yourself Harold Macmillan and have done with it,” said Pete.

  “I think Anthony Eden would be better,” said Edward. “Eden’s a very good name. Adam Eden would be best of all.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Edward,” said Pete.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Look, man, we’re all very pleased about you being a success, we’re happy for you, we think you’re great. Now can’t you just shut up about it?”

  “What the hell’s got into him?” Edward asked Judy.

  “You know perfectly well what’s got into him,” she said. “He thinks you’re selling your soul for a mess of pottage, and so do I, and so does Jackie, and so does everyone else who likes you and has thought about it.”

  “Mess of pottage? Mess of pottage? What’s this Old Testament stuff all of a sudden?”

  “Oh Edward,” said Jackie. “Honey, you don’t want to be a Sway singer, honestly, do you?”

  “Of course I do,” said Edward. His face became hard. “It’s all very well for you lot to sit there with Old Testament proverbs dribbling down your bibs, but you’re just jealous, that’s all, jealous. Why shouldn’t I be rich, if I can make it?”

  “I don’t see why you shouldn’t, Teddy,” said Jane.

  “Thank you. I think Pete’s frightened that if I’m a success I won’t speak to him any more.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with that,” said Jackie, “and you know it. It’s just that—oh, it’s such an awful life, with such awful people. You’ll be rushing around giving performances everywhere, recording new and more horrible songs, showing off, signing autographs, and you won’t be enjoying it a bit.”

  “Apart from the recordings and the autographs it sounds just like my life now.”

  “And you’re always complaining about how fed up you are, aren’t you? When you’re not getting enough sleep, and you’re spending all day with seedy musicians and their seedier managers and agents, when you’re living and working with the dullest, stupidest people, knowing you won’t last more than a couple of years at the most—how are you going to enjoy that?”

  “I may not enjoy it. But at least I’ll be rich in the end. And you’ve just made my best point for me. It’ll be a couple of years, at most.”

  “And so it’s just the money you want?”

  “Why not? What else is there?”

  “Oh, Edward,” said Jackie. She looked appealingly at him, but his face remained hard.

  “Let’s drop the subject, like Pete suggested,” said Edward. “If I get the chance to be a pop singer, I’m going to take it. And you know what you can do with your moral scruples. It’s very nice of you to worry about my soul for me. It’s not something I ever worry about much myself. But now you can all stop worrying, because I’ve chosen slavery and damnation. So there.”

  “You said it, not me,” said Pete. He got up to change the record.

  Edward found he was trembling. He gripped his knees with his hands. A wave of blackness, of bitterness, swept over him, he felt dizzy. He heard himself saying, “What have you all got to be so smug about? Who are you to tell other people how to live their lives? We’re no good, any of us. We’re all corrupt, second-rate, cowardly, stupid. We live in a corrupt, second-rate, cowardly, stupid country. Why haven’t you got the guts to see it, all of you? And to take advanta
ge of it? Revel in it? Cover yourselves in the shit, glory in it? Down, down, down. That’s where we’re going, down. Into the stink and shit. That’s where we belong. That’s what our lives are about.”

  He was shaking all over, the acrid taste of vomit in his mouth, explosively. He jumped up, tripped over someone’s legs, righted himself and rushed out. He banged the front door behind him, and stumbled down the steps. He was violently, quickly, sick into the gutter. After the spasm he wiped his mouth and sat on the steps, head in hands. The shaking slowly stopped. The night breeze was cold on his cheeks. He put up a hand and found them wet with tears.

  After a few minutes Jackie came quietly out and sat beside him, without speaking. He was aware of her, and comforted by her silence. He wanted to put his arm round her, but something prevented him, a feeling of hopelessness, a sense that it would be dishonest, an appeal for pity. He knew that he didn’t want pity. What he did want he didn’t know. He felt his body relaxing.

  Jackie put her arm round his shoulders and at once he stiffened again. Feeling him stiffen, she sighed.

  “It’s getting cold out here,” she said briskly, taking her arm away. “Let’s go in.”

  “All right.”

  “Better now?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’m sorry.”

  They went back into the house. The others were talking quietly about Pete’s club.

  Edward said, “I do apologise.”

  Judy smiled at him. “Welcome back,” she said.

  He sat down against the wall and hugged his knees. Jane came over to him and said, “You are funny, Teddy.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.” She settled herself beside him and said, “Now tell me about that girl.”

  “She’s called Jackie Harmer and she was at Oxford with me and she’s very clever and she’s probably got a first, which I haven’t. She’s also very nice.”

  “I think she’s in love with you,” said Jane.

  “You’ve thought that about every girl you’ve ever seen me with.”

  “But this is different. Are you in love with her?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Were you ever in love with her?”