‘Yeah, well … Here it is.’
‘What? For me?’ Mrs Sarobi hesitated, not quite believing.
Mrs Ludgate’s outstretched hand seemed to tremble for a moment. ‘To say thank you for the gift – of the jam. It was better than I thought.’
Mrs Sarobi smiled in relief and accepted the card. ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
Mr Askew looked at the two women in disbelief. It was clear that something was going on between them, some new connection that he was not part of. Too taken aback to toughen, he stood up and offered his bucket to Mrs Ludgate. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘sit down.’
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Er, thanks …’
Mrs Sarobi was the first to gather herself. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, refilling the mug she had just been drinking from. ‘I don’t have any fresh mugs … Hope you don’t mind.’
Mrs Ludgate accepted the mug with a nod, but hesitated before drinking from it. Then she put her lips cautiously to the rim, almost not touching.
The other two watched her drink, as if she was a child doing something for the first time, a child passing some kind of test – a rite de passage. At once, Mr Askew became horribly aware of himself, standing there, looking down at the bare head of the woman drinking. Her head bent over the mug so that he could see the whiteness at the nape of her neck where her hair would normally sit. He was conscious of the unbearable intimacy of the scene, of the three of them, ageless in the isolation of the moment. He felt again the stickiness of his palms as he tried not to sweat in Michael’s friendship chair. Nothing has changed, he thought to himself. Ageing is just the passing of time. There’s nothing more to it. Nothing more. ‘Honest, Gabe.’
‘What was that?’ Mrs Sarobi asked with a special kind of tenderness, leaning closer from her bucket. The moment was gone.
‘What?’
‘You said something.’
‘Did I? Oh, I’m sure it was nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘That’s professors for you,’ Mrs Ludgate confirmed to Mrs Sarobi, pleased to understand them so well. ‘They’ve got so much stuff in their heads that it sometimes has to come out in little puffs, like steam from a kettle. He does it all the time, you know – talks to himself. Although …’ she said, pausing for a moment, cradling the mug in both hands. ‘Although, quite often, it’s as if he’s talking to somebody else. In the beginning, when I first started coming to Oakstone, I used to think there was somebody else in the room with him, but there never was, was there?’
‘So, you live on your own up at that farm, then?’ Mr Askew interrupted quickly, with feigned innocence, hoping, for a moment, that the change of subject might act as a kind of screen, densely erected between them, to protect him from the onslaught of truth. ‘Must be lonely at times.’
‘Gabriel, please …’ Mrs Sarobi warned, but was ignored.
‘As a matter of fact …’ Mrs Ludgate started bravely, but seemed to falter. Her hands shook in a sudden spasm, spilling some tea on her white trainers. ‘As a matter of fact, I prefer being on my own.’ She fell quiet and looked down at her stained shoes, frowning. The yellow tea-stain on the white leather reminded her of piss – as if she had wet herself. You disgusting pig. Wait until Daddy gets home! Sometimes, when ‘waiting for Daddy to get home’ in that room by the sea, everything would go quiet, into a silence dense with sadness and fear, and all she heard was the sea. All she smelt was the sea, as if it was rising up to greet her – or to swallow her up.
‘Ah, one can always rely on one’s own company, can’t one? Less trouble that way,’ Mr Askew mused, mildly, and looked at her, his head tilted to one side.
Mrs Ludgate seemed to have turned into a standing stone.
‘I heard …’ he continued softly, carefully testing the waters. ‘A while ago, I heard Mrs Edwards at the post office telling some other ladies that Mr Ludgate had been losing some of his property, lately. Had to clear some debts – with some court costs thrown in on top … It all went for a song, she said.’
‘Yes?’ Mrs Ludgate stirred again, but dry as leaf. ‘And you believed her, of course … Everyone in Mortford knows that Mrs Edwards is a gossip and a liar. Everyone. Anyway, I know things …’
‘What things?’
‘Well, you’ll just have to try and find out. But it’s relating to your family and that place, that Edencombe, and whatever it is you’re hiding away up there.’
‘Break it up, you two, will you?’ Mrs Sarobi interrupted at last. ‘You’re like a couple of children in the sand pit.’
Yes, Mr Askew thought to himself – children. And yet I went through so much in order to come of age.
‘There’s still some tea in the flask,’ Mrs Sarobi announced, remembering how tea seemed to work like opium on the minds of the British. The sun, too, was trying to comfort these three outcasts who appeared to be so intent on destroying themselves, but it was no good. Everything was wrong.
Mrs Ludgate trembled once. The silence around them was bulging like a blister. Ready to burst. She cleared her throat. ‘I must go …’ she suggested, and, for once, no one contradicted her.
*
Gabriel woke to distant piping music. Rey’s bunk was empty and he wondered why he hadn’t woken earlier. Picking sleep from the corners of his eyes, he stepped out to see the lights from a nearby village on the horizon; they seemed to sit in the sky like a crown of stars. Turning round, he saw the fairground, lit up now by thousands of fairy lights. He laughed out loud. The magic had returned. What different worlds inhabited the day and the night. Suddenly, he heard the piping calliope music quite clearly again, carried on a quickening breeze.
As he approached the site, he could feel a feverish energy rising inside him. The solid night had melted away and in its place was this world of bright wonder. There were people, for example, where, early the same morning, there had been none. They were milling around, young and old, alight with excitement. A band of rackety boys ran past him carrying sods of candyfloss and, as he watched their departing backs, one of them fell over and dropped his pink cloud into the dust. Gabriel moved on into the crowds.
Suddenly, Rey was by his side, gesturing for Gabriel to follow. They stopped by the big-top tent.
‘Perhaps we will catch the end of the show,’ Rey whispered, and lifted a sheet of canvas so that Gabriel could sneak in without being seen. The big top was not particularly large and the sideshow that it housed was more vaudeville than circus. The interior looked so different from what Gabriel remembered from his childhood; the anteroom with many doors and the corridors of mirrors were gone, as were the dripping chandeliers and crimson velvet. In their place was a grandstand facing a circular stage, lit by coloured strobes that ricocheted off a number of large glass prisms suspended from the tent roof. The light that sieved on to the stage at that moment was incredibly lovely: the rosy tint of a desert sunset or the heart-coloured dawn over a snowy plain. The smell did not match the freshness of the light; it was dense with the sharp, not altogether unpleasant, whiff of sawdust and the odour of a mass of bodies, gathered at the end of the working week. But there was something else, too: a scent which he remembered from all those years ago. He breathed in through his nose. Face powder, perhaps, and carnations.
He did not have time to register the act, which went off stage just then, but, as he sat down next to Rey in a seat on the back row, a roar went up from the audience. Rey laughed out loud and clapped his hands like a child. A jaunty overture was played on a piano or an organ. Gabriel struggled to see through the crowd what was happening on stage; the people in front were standing up in their seats, cheering and clapping. Suddenly, they hushed and sat down and the stage was visible again. ‘Ah,’ Rey said, with a sigh. ‘They are here.’
Gabriel gasped and rose up in his seat like a meerkat. This, he felt with some certainty, was a world within a world, where all his ages merged and tumbled so that he was twelve years old again and yet a grown man. The tones of the organ sounded as if th
ey were emerging from under water and the audience around seemed suspended, almost fictional, as if it was part of the silent set. He was aware only of the warm, living presence of Rey’s body next to his. Recovering from his initial surprise, he realised that his hand was clasping Rey’s wrist tightly; he was suddenly acutely aware of the warm, chicken-heart pulse of his new friend against his fingers. With an embarrassed mumble, he let go of the arm, blushing, and shifted slightly away on the wooden seat. But his heart had flared and ached again for that other warmth he had reached out for – the other hand – a comfort long gone. For a split second, he saw an image of two boys seated together, eager, vulnerable and dear.
The two girls who had appeared on the stage were older now, of course, and their sequined mermaid costumes had been replaced by silk evening gowns, but there was no mistaking them. Their golden blonde hair and starry eyes were the same and their bodies were still joined just below their bosoms. Mary and Anne, the Siamese twins from Kentucky. Rey chuckled and studied him sideways. ‘They are the only real freaks left in the show, apart from a few midgets and a pinhead. All the others are fake, you know – gaffed freaks,’ he said in a tone which Gabriel could not quite interpret.
‘I’ve seen them before – when I was a child,’ Gabriel whispered, excitedly.
‘Oh, yes; haven’t we all?’
‘No, I mean it!’
‘I believe you, my friend. They are what we – every man – have always been looking for. Don’t you know the story of Castor and Pollux?’
Gabriel shook his head and worried, not for the first time, that his new friend would find him dim.
‘You see,’ Rey began, ‘growing up, we reluctantly give up the idea that we may live forever – that childish illusion of immortality.’
Gabriel glanced to see if Rey was talking about him, specifically, but the older boy seemed lost in reverie.
‘Castor and Pollux, the most famous twins of all, were born of the same mother, but Castor was fathered by a king and Pollux by a god. When mortal Castor was killed, Pollux went to his father, Zeus, and asked to share his own immortality with his brother, so that they could be together again.’ Rey stopped abruptly and shook his head for a moment before continuing. ‘You know, Gabe, this story amuses me; how futile to try to extend your own life through another, when being human is such a single act.’
Gabriel remembered to smile politely. But, at this moment, he was more interested in finding out about the freaks. ‘There used to be a guy on the organ, dressed as a woman,’ he said.
‘Vanessa? He’s long gone.’
‘And the chap with no arms?’
‘Him, too. He got involved in a sharp-shooting competition, holding the guns with his feet, and one of them backfired into his face.
Gabriel looked at him in astonishment, forgetting the stage for a moment. And, just then, he recognised the boy in the shiny green suit who had smiled at him as he emerged from the hall of mirrors.
‘You!’ he gasped. ‘You were there …’
But Rey ignored him, continuing his lecture. ‘You know, this show is merely a shadow of its former glory. This used to be one of the greatest. That was back when freaks were worthy of display. Back then, people thought we were a significant cultural institution.’ Rey laughed gaily at this point, but his voice was serious as he continued. ‘People like us helped the rest of society explore itself. That society felt good about itself when it could distinguish between “us” and “them” – that’s how they created meaning in their world … But there are very few real freaks around these days; the ones that look particularly offensive to the world are all kept hidden away in institutions. The authorities insist it’s for our own good.’
‘Why?’ Gabriel kept most of his attention on the stage, where the two women were dancing to a melancholy song now and singing in turns in deeper, huskier voices. He was not sure whether Rey saw himself as belonging to the world of freaks or that other world.
‘Because it’s considered bad taste to ogle “others” – we must not be tempted.’
‘But – we could just look away.’
‘Ha!’ Rey gave a short, dry laugh and continued watching the show in silence.
Gabriel too turned his full attention to the stage, just as the Maryanne sisters unfastened their gowns at their shoulders and let them drop to the ground. There were whistles and catcalls from the audience. Gabriel felt hot all over; his throat was thick with excitement and dread as he stared at the young women who pranced on the stage, wearing only black bodices with frilly red lace around the hips and fishnet stockings. From behind the curtain, somebody handed them a tall hat and a cane each. Smiling widely, they started doing a slow cabaret dance, their legs kicking the air in unison. The men in the audience kept whistling and calling and Gabriel wished they would stop. He felt a tightening in his neck and the rushing of blood in his ears.
Rey leant closer to Gabriel. ‘This is their final number,’ he whispered softly, as if he could feel the anguish in Gabriel’s body. The music ended and the sisters bowed to the audience before taking their leave, shaking their bums provocatively so that the red frill shuddered as they went. The lights were turned on abruptly and people started to spill out of the tent.
Gabriel wanted to get out, too; he needed to clear his head – breathe some fresh air – but Rey stayed seated. ‘After the last two wars,’ Rey said in a sinister voice, ‘the disabled have started to be distinguished from the cripples and the freaks. You see, they sacrificed themselves for King and country – dulce et decorum and all that – so they were entitled to a good pension and medical care.’
Gabriel did not know what to say, but he listened intently.
‘Nowadays, governments no longer find it desirable or appropriate to have aliens of that kind –’ he nodded towards the empty stage where Mary and Anne had been only a moment ago – ‘drifting around their countries, so the fairs and sideshows have been much diminished in favour of zoos and aquariums. We travel in the periphery, in the margins of the map, these days.’
‘But is the distinction between “us” and “them” not important anymore?’ Gabriel asked. It was, after all, how he had structured his own life, although never quite knowing to which side he belonged.
‘Horror movies have taken over from the freaks of nature, and all in the name of moral progress or – as they call it these days – civil rights. But, if you ask me, we will always want to look at people who are different, whether it’s a glamorous actress or a man without arms and legs. There’s nothing more fascinating to humans than the human other – or the unknown, for that matter.’
‘What, like a mystery?’
‘A mystery?’ Rey said, thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose so … At least the unknown keeps the rumour of mystery alive. That’s all we can live by.’
‘Yes,’ Gabriel confirmed in a childish voice. ‘I want there to be mysteries so that I can find things out. That’s the whole point, surely?’
Rey looked at him closely for a moment. ‘No, Gabe. It’s the other way round. Exploration is the whole point – not what you may or may not find.’ He slapped his knees and stood up. ‘Enough of that; I’ve got some stuff to be getting on with.’
Gabriel turned to follow his friend but, to his surprise, Rey was gone.
*
All through that night, Gabriel travelled the world of wonder. As he moved through the fair, the calliope music guiding his step, the night was an open door and, when the last of the punters had tired of the magic and gone home to bed, it was time for the fair to move on; the roustabout gang began their shift.
They started by dismantling the grandstand, row by row, and carrying it outside to put into a pile, which was shifted by another gang on to a lorry. Compelled by the precision and symmetry of their labour, Gabriel joined in their work. He just walked up to a group of them and held out his hands in a silent gesture. The men stopped and looked at him for a moment, then one of them nodded and Gabriel fell in to the rhythm o
f the night crew.
Shoulder to shoulder with those silent men whose muscles stretched and ached under the hard, backbreaking labour, Gabriel felt, for the first time, that he wanted to learn what the body can do – he wanted skill.
After the grandstand had been pulled down, they dismantled the stage, pulling it apart section by section. The rigging, lighting and sound equipment came down before the side wall sections could be detached and folded away on to another truck. The lot was full of men stripped to the waist. In the headlights from the trucks, they looked like Cretan bull leapers, bending and writhing in the night. One by one, the trailers of the performers left the lot to move on to the next site, a few miles up the coast. But the prop gang worked on and took no notice of their departure. It was three in the morning when they started pulling down the big top. The adrenaline was flowing through their blood now, washing away the evening’s alcohol and fatigue. Handling the huge tarpaulin was like hoisting the mainsail of a man-of-war. The men gathered around the perimeter of the tent and each took hold of one of the thick ropes used to attach the tarpaulin to the ground. On a given signal, they walked forward, each holding back on his rope, so that the great, heavy tarpaulin was lowered slowly to the ground on the six main poles. As Gabriel’s whole body strained against his rope, he imagined what it would be like doing the job in a strong wind.
Once the lot was cleared and all the trucks were loaded, the prop gang set off on to the road, travelling east. Gabriel couldn’t find Rey’s caravan and, too exhausted to care, he climbed on to the flatbed of a truck carrying scaffolding. Settling down amongst the metal pipes, he realised that the flatbed was crowded with men, some of them already asleep. Gabriel felt his muscles relaxing, falling away into a mass of arms and legs. The night was cool, their shared sweat steaming. Gabriel fell asleep to the roaring of the old engines and slept on as the truck came to a halt on another muddy field, much the same as the previous site.
*
He was woken up by Rey, who had climbed into the flatbed to find him. Gabriel stretched his aching back and pulled a leg from under a heavy weight. ‘What?’ he said, irritably.
Breaking Light Page 21
