Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  Harriet's relationship with the two young men seemed to change little. Peekay learned to live with her fluctuating libido which seemed to become active only when she wasn't totally absorbed in her work. She seemed to share the two of them equally and if Peekay enjoyed the occasional use of her bed, Hymie' was never made to feel unwanted. It was a peculiar relationship but she contrived to manage it effortlessly. Harriet had an ingenuousness about her, and as the social and working lives of the two men were almost identical, this was made all the more easy. The friends appeared more as a perfect threesome than as a loving twosome with an odd man out. Peekay's only real opportunity to be alone with Harriet was when he posed for her. Peekay was well on the way to challenging for the British Empire Welterweight title. Dutch had scheduled a fight a month to take him up to a title fight by Christmas, a year after his match with Habib. The trainer had instituted a regime of road work to strengthen Peekay's legs and to keep him at a level of optimum fitness. Four times a week Peekay would run the five miles from Oxford to Cow Cottage, where he'd arrive in a lather of sweat and undress to pose for Harriet.

  Harriet didn't seem as interested in the female form as she did the male. She readily confessed that it was the male form which gave her the impetus and energy for her purely sensuous approach to sculpture. Sometimes after making love Harriet would prop herself on one elbow and run her hand over Peekay's body. She seemed to be feeling it, though not with the practised eye of the sculptor, for her eyes were shut. She seemed to be sensing his body through the tips of her fingers and feeding the parts she touched directly into her memory.

  Peekay discovered that Harriet simply couldn't resist him when his boxer's body glistened with sweat from the run. She would feel the same way watching him fight, but then her attention was directed onto the sketch pad she always carried with her. She was beginning to assemble the hundreds of sketched poses she would need for a huge tableau of boxers, twelve figures in all, six of them the same boxer in different fighting poses against six different opponents. Peekay was, of course, her consistent boxer, while. his opponents would be chosen from her sketches as he worked his way up the ladder to the world welterweight championship.

  Togger had also posed for one of the boxing models, Harriet sketching him in the gym when Peekay and he worked out together. He'd promised to come up to Cow Cottage in early February to 'pose proper', when he could take a couple of days off from his job as a tally clerk on the docks.

  'Blimey, Peekay, you positive I've got to pose in the nuddy, in me bleedin' birthday suit, an' all? Not even a jock strap?'

  'Harriet is not one to compromise, Togger.' Togger, looking gloomily into the distance, sucked absently at his pint. 'What if I get a hard-on?' he asked suddenly.

  'You get an erection, you bastard, I'll smash your teeth in,' Peekay laughed. 'It's art, Togger. One day Harriet's going to be famous and you'll be in a museum or gallery. How'd you be, standing in the Tate with a dirty great erection! Imagine a teacher brings her class in for a visit and stops next to you, "Look children, this is Togger Brown, Homo Erectus!'"

  'Homo? Who's a bleedin' homo?'

  They both laughed, but Togger was still worried. 'She doesn't touch ya and things, does she? I mean, run 'er hands over you to make measurements and that sorta thing? I don't think I could stand that!'

  Life as a professional boxer as well as a student had to be carefully managed. While Hymie took care of all the contracts and gathered the analytical information on Peekay's opponents, Dutch required that Peekay work out three times a week in the London gym as well as fight once every month somewhere in Britain. On two occasions, Peekay had fought in Brussels and once in Paris. It meant a tight weekly schedule for Peekay, who had no intention of letting up on his studies. Despite his reappraisal of Oxford he wanted a first and this meant planning his routine very carefully. Mostly he'd drive down to London in the Ford Prefect, where he'd do a three-hour work-out, which included a sparring session, usually with Togger, but sometimes with any of the middleweights who, aware of the lesson Peekay had given Peter Best, were always anxious to get into the ring with him. Then he'd drive back to Oxford, getting back to Magdalen just before midnight.

  While he had almost no time for leisure in his second year at Oxford, Togger and Peekay had formed the habit of having a pint of bitter and a game of darts in the Thomas à Becket downstairs after training.

  Hymie had arranged a non-title fight with the British Empire Champion, Iron Bar Barunda, a welterweight from Ghana who now lived in the British Isles. Peekay couldn't fight for the British title because he was not twenty-one, but he could enter for the British Empire title. Both were held by Iron Bar Barunda. Barunda wouldn't put the bigger of his two titles on the line which meant Peekay couldn't get past him in the line-up for fighters he had to beat eventually to get to Spoonbill Jackson. Hymie had managed to negotiate a non-title event with virtually the whole purse going to the black boxer. If Peekay beat him, Hymie's contract stipulated that they'd get a crack at the title in December.

  Only three continental welterweights were rated higher than Barunda; if Peekay could get past them he was in line for a top North American fighter as well as Soap Dish Jurez, the Cuban, and Manuel Ortez, the Mexican; both of these were welters who were rated contenders for a future world title fight. The fight was to take place during the Oxford summer vacation. Peekay and Hymie had managed to stay at Harriet's aunt's flat in Knightsbridge while Peekay prepared for the fight. Harriet herself had been invited to the University at Aix-en-Provence to teach for five weeks and would miss the bout.

  Harriet's Aunt Tom had grown very fond of both young men and since her return to England had become an avid boxing fan. Dressed in an immaculate dinner suit she'd attended all Peekay's fights. Her brilliant henna-coloured Eton crop could be picked out in the centre of the Odd Bodleians where she sat with a set of bongo drums between her knees and a thin black Spanish cheroot dangling from her lips. Bongo drums are not exactly African, but Aunt Tom was a skilled and versatile drummer and used it to beat out the rhythm for the Concerto for the Southland, which had by now, along with the Odd Bodleians, become a famous feature of all of Peekay's fights.

  Togger and Peekay were in the Thomas a Becket after a training session when Fred, the ex-pug they'd met on their first day, approached Peekay with Dutch Holland.

  'This letter come when you was away. Nice lookin' young lady bring it around.'

  'Oh yes! Very ris-kay!' Togger said. "Ere, you gunna open it, ain't ya?'

  Peekay assumed a haughty look, mimicking Togger's accent. 'Do yer mind? This is privatemail this is.'

  Togger looked crestfallen and Peekay laughed. 'Here, you open it,' he said, handing Togger the envelope. 'You serious then?'

  'Ja, sure, go on, read it, man.'

  Togger peeled the back flap open very carefully, opening the letter inside he sniffed at it, 'Cor, it don't half pong!'

  'C'mon, Togger, what's it say,' Peekay laughed. Togger began to read.

  Dear Peekay,

  How are you? My brother saw you at Earls Court and says you're awfully good. You never did phone me. Maybe you did and I was out? Anyway, I remember you well. Have you got a girlfriend?

  If you want you can call me at the Dolls' Hospital HAM 7295 on Wednesday we close early, 3.15. We could go for a drink or something. My mum thinks you're smashing, even if you are a toff. My dad says there's no future going with a boxer, but I told him to mind his own business!

  Ta, ta, then, I must get my beauty sleep.

  Love and kisses,

  Doris

  P.S. My best part is still in the front!

  P.P.S. Now you'll think I'm being saucey!!!

  'I reckon you're in like bleedin' Flynn, my son.' Togger paused, flapping his pale eyelids, 'Oh yes, very ris-kay!'

  'Christ, Togger! Quit that dumb expression, will you? I know exactly what to do, I'll call her, sa
y can she get hold of Gladys, Togger wants to know.'

  'Don't you bleedin' dare! Some of me mates saw me that day we went dancin', I only just got me reputation back. Seriously, Peekay, wot'cha gunna do? I mean, 'Arriet's away, ain't she? She's been gone how long, four weeks?' Togger stroked his chin, 'But I suppose you gotta stay faithful like. Mind, she has got a lovely pair 'a tits.'

  Peekay reached over and took the letter from Togger's hands. 'I don't know, we'll see, I've got to go. Aunt Tom's taking me to the Festival Hall. Yehudi Menuhin is playing the Brahms Violin Concerto amongst other musical niceties a peasant like you wouldn't appreciate.'

  Peekay arrived back at the flat in Knightsbridge just in time to change for the concert. Aunt Tom handed him a letter from Harriet, the second he'd received since she'd left for the South of France. He didn't have time to read it until he climbed into bed.

  Harriet wrote well, but in snatches of thought. She'd been asked to stay another month and felt it was too good an opportunity to miss. What did Peekay think? She'd come under the influence of a sculptor named Claude Shonneborg, who'd studied under Giacometti. Shonneborg's name seemed to crop up much too often in the letter and Peekay hoped that Harriet's preoccupation with her work would as usual have reduced her libido to a barely flickering flame. Although by the end of the letter he'd convinced himself this was not the case and promised himself rather smugly that he'd call Doris in the morning.

  'Hello, Hammersmith Dolls'

  'ospital, who is it?' a young woman's voice answered.

  'Howzit, Doris? It's Peekay. You know, Babychams with a dash? I got your letter.'

  'Hallo, Peekay.'

  Peekay cleared his throat, 'Hurrph, it just happens to be Wednesday, what say we have a drink after your work?'

  'Why, that's smashin', Peekay, I'd like that very much. There's a little club just round the corner what's very nice, very quiet an' all.'

  Peekay took down the address. It was too late to turn back now, he told himself. He decided to run around the perimeter of Hyde Park. It would take his mind off Harriet and the Giacometti apprentice, Claude Shitbag. His pulse actually quickened as he thought of the possibility of being unfaithful to Harriet. Peekay decided he'd run further, to include Kensington Gardens and to run past the round pond again. He didn't quite know why, he'd always imagined the round pond in Peter Pan was set amongst trees, big old oak trees and birch and elm, so that you came upon it suddenly, unexpectedly, glimpsing slivers of silver through low hanging branches. He'd been terribly disappointed to find it was simply a round pond with cement edges set into a stretch of grass, not a bit romantic, in fact as ponds go it was rather bleak and had absolutely no character and wasn't even on the Serpentine.

  He wondered briefly whether Doris's tits would disappoint him the second time around. After all, he'd been a virgin when they'd seemed so wonderful. Perhaps, like the round pond, his imagination had overworked them.

  Peekay arrived at the Dolls' Hospital at precisely three o'clock. The window of the shop was filled with broken dolls. Separate dolls' limbs, torsos, heads, arms and legs, a doll's graveyard. There were dolls with no eyes, hollow sockets in broken and cracked heads. Dolls with scarred and broken cheeks, dolls with only one blue eye, half open.

  Headless dolls and armless trunks, bits of elastic sticking out of holed armpits. They filled the window to a height of about two feet, legs and arms and faces, bodies piled together like victims of a massacre, pushed into a heap by a tyrant bulldozer.

  Directly above the pile of broken bodies hung several swings made with green silk tassels suspended above the eyelevel behind a scalloped, dark green painted pelmet, its edges trimmed with gold. Across the length of the pelmet, painted in old-fashioned gold script, were the words Dolls' Hospital, and directly underneath in smaller, neat type, H. Rubens, prop. On each of the swings sat a beautifully restored doll.

  The centre doll, a dark haired beauty, was the most magnificent of them all. She wore a pink organza dress with a broad ribbon of slightly darker pink velvet about her waist. Her eyes were a brilliant violet colour, and seemed to follow Peekay, as though aware of his rude curiosity. Unlike the moulded, heavy lashed, vacant expressions of the other, golden-haired dolls, the centre doll's face seemed to have been carved by a craftsman to give it a unique character. Even her limbs seemed different. Her legs and arms were chubby and realistically baby-like with her hands exquisitely carved. Her feet were contained in pink velvet slippers embroidered with gold thread, a tiny gold rose knot held the cross strap on each slipper. The doll held a plain white ivory card, about six inches by five, propped on her lap. On the card, in a large copperplate hand, was written: Old dolls made beautiful again.

  Peekay went into the shop.

  The interior was about thirty feet wide with an old-fashioned wooden mahogany counter that ran the width of the shop. Directly behind the counter were six carpenter's work benches, ail old-fashioned Singer industrial sewing machine and an equally old wood working lathe.

  The large room was bathed in brilliant bluish light from light boxes above each work bench. The effect was of a place with too much light, it was as though the owner of the shop could abide no shadows about him.

  The shop appeared empty and the work benches deserted when a small man struggling into a navy overcoat which seemed to reach almost to the floor walked from the doorway of a small partitioned office at the furthermost point in the room. He looked up and hurried towards Peekay, doing up the top buttons of his overcoat.

  'Please sir, we are closing now the shop.' He spread his hands in a gesture which seemed to suggest that, should Peekay make an objection, he. regretted there was nothing he could do. He wore a homburg hat and round, old-fashioned gold-rimmed glasses, a white shirt with celluloid collar and a black silk tie.

  The total appearance was of a small, neat, clean-shaven man who was being dragged down by the weight of his overcoat. The cuffs of his neatly pressed blue serge trousers showed no more than three inches below the hem of the coat.

  'Good afternoon, sir, I've come to pick up Miss…er, Doris.' Peekay suddenly realised that he'd either forgotten or had never known Doris's surname.

  The little man visibly relaxed and he dug into his overcoat pocket and triumphantly produced a pair of leather gloves, much as a conjuror might produce a live rabbit. He held the gloves up for Peekay to see and, turning, flapped them in the direction of a door at the back of the room. 'Doris? So you want Doris.' He seemed to be thinking. 'Ah yes, that is nice! Miss Mobbs! Is here a young man!' He called in a voice that carried surprisingly, even though he didn't appear to have raised it.

  'Coming, Mr Rubens!' Peekay heard Doris answer back. Mr Rubens turned back to Peekay, as though only he could possibly have heard her reply. 'She is coming,' he said reassuringly, 'you must wait now, please.' He dug his right hand into his coat pocket again. This time he produced a large bunch of keys, holding them up for Peekay to see. Peekay wasn't quite sure whether he ought to applaud. 'Thank you, sir.'

  Mr Rubens nodded. 'Excuse me, young man,' and he moved over to the far end of the counter and punched the cash register open and removed a small wad of one-pound notes. He licked his thumb absently and counted the notes, aloud in German, to thirty-six.

  'Thirty-six,' Peekay said suddenly. He'd been counting with the old man and surprised himself when he too declared the final tally out loud.

  Mr Rubens' eyebrows shot up, 'So! You are German?' He pronounced the word Chermin.

  Peekay was embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to intrude. When I was young I had a friend who taught me to count in German. It was during the war. I was just seeing if I,' he smiled, 'remembered.'

  Mr Rubens looked up at Peekay sternly. Bending over the cash register his glasses had slipped halfway down the bridge of his nose and he now looked over the top of them.

  'This Germin, he was a Jew?'

  'No, s
ir, he wasn't.'

  'A Germin who is not a Jew is teaching you in the war?' Peekay didn't know why, but he felt compelled to explain to Mr Rubens that Doc hadn't been a Nazi, was the furthermost thing you could get from being a Nazi. 'He was a musician, a professor of pianoforte. It was in Africa.'

  'Humph! Who played also maybe Wagner?' Mr Rubens snorted, obviously unconvinced.

  'No sir, Beethoven and Mozart, he wasn't at all fond of Wagner, he found him too Teutonic. I don't think my friend was much of a German.'

  'Humph!' Mr Rubens undid the top button on his overcoat and, sliding his hand into the left-hand side, withdrew a leather pocket book. He unzipped the wallet and flattening out the wad of notes slipped them full length into the pocket book, completing the task and re-zipping the wallet just as Doris appeared.

  'Hello, Peekay, you two met then?'

  'Well no, not officially,' Peekay said.

  'Mr Rubens, this is my friend, Peekay. Peekay,.this is my boss, Mr Rubens!'

  'Ha! He is learning to count from Germans!' Mr Rubens said abruptly.

  Doris looked from Peekay to the little man and back to Peekay, her expression bemused. Peekay shrugged almost imperceptibly. 'You better be goin' then, Mr Rubens, or you'll get to Ladbrokes too late to place a bet on the four o'clock at Epsom.'

  The effect of this announcement brought a look of panic onto the little man's face. He grabbed at the region of his chest where he'd recently stowed his wallet. 'The Hans Kellerman!' he exclaimed.

  'Here, give us the keys, I'll lock her away. Where's your brolly, then?' Doris sighed. 'Stay here, I'll bring that too.' She unlocked the two wooden doors which formed the back of the shop window. Leaning into the window she carefully removed the centre doll from the swing and cradled it in her arms. 'Give me the safe key, then.' She extended her hand. Mr Rubens once again fished in his wallet and produced a surprisingly large brass key. Doris took the key and went back to the small office in the corner.