‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘That’s a really useful contribution,’ remarked Pippa.
‘Well, but I don’t think that’s exactly how it works.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to explain to me exactly how it works, Mr Smartarse?’
‘I don’t think it was losing that made him cry.’
‘What, then?’
‘I think it was watching Leigh Matthews,’ I said, feeling for my words. ‘The Hawthorn players chaired him off the ground. And it was his last match.’
‘So Dad was crying because it was Leigh Matthews’s last match? Sorry, Nicky, that’s even weirder.’
‘Launcelot cried too,’ I said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Launcelot. He was the greatest knight ever, and Roger Lancelyn Green says he cried as if he were a little child that had been beaten.’
‘Why?’
‘It was when he cured Sir Urry.’
Pippa made her disdainful sniffing noise. ‘What silly names they had,’ she said. ‘Sir Urry. I ask you. Anyway. What’s Launcelot got to do with it?’
‘Lots,’ I said.
She surveyed me with irritation and turned to the door.
‘Wait a sec,’ I said. ‘Do you know about Rose?’
‘About Rose? How do you mean?’
‘About Rose and Grandpa.’
‘I’m not psychic, Nicky. I don’t have ESP or anything.’
‘They’re not together anymore.’
‘Goodness.’ Her hand dropped from the doorknob. ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’
‘Daddy told me.’
‘Goodness,’ she said, again. Then she shrugged. ‘Well. She was much too young for him, anyway.’
‘Don’t you mind?’ I asked. ‘You liked Rose, didn’t you?’
‘I guess so. But it wasn’t going to work. I mean, it was just crazy, really. What about you? Do you mind?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m glad.’
‘I thought you were president of the Rose fan club.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I hate her.’
‘Why?’
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, and she followed up. ‘Do you think she really murdered Didie?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘Daddy said it might have been a mercy killing, and then it wouldn’t have been murder.’
‘But do you think she killed her?’
‘I don’t know. What do you think?’
Pippa, normally so sure of what she thought, shook her head in uncertainty. ‘At first I thought yes, maybe. But it’s so unlikely, honestly. Mum was a bit mad when she said that, wasn’t she?’
‘I guess so.’
‘All right, then.’ She paused, puzzled, and wondering if I would say any more. ‘Well, sweet dreams and all that.’
She left.
I fell to thinking about Launcelot and Sir Urry. I looked up the passage in my book. It is near the end: Launcelot has already been through a fair bit and has realised that he isn’t the best knight in the world. It happens while Guinevere is out a-maying, and just before she is abducted by Sir Melliagraunce. She has quarrelled with Launcelot, who has sadly ridden away from Camelot, and she decides to ride a-maying into the forest on what I understood as a kind of picnic. She tells the ten knights to come with her, and considerately provides ten ladies for them. Away they rode into the green wood, their bridles flashing in the sun and jingling in tune with their merry laughter and songs.
While they are gone, Sir Urry arrives at Camelot. Sir Urry is a knight who has suffered terrible wounds to the head, and his mother and sister travel around with him trying to find someone who can cure him. They meet up with Nimue, who tells them Sir Urry can only be cured by the touch of the best knight in the world, so they go to Camelot and appeal to Arthur.
Arthur says that the best knight in the world must surely be at Camelot, and he has all of his knights lay hands upon Sir Urry, but none of them can manage to heal him. Then Launcelot comes riding back to Camelot and Arthur asks him to attempt the cure. Launcelot isn’t keen, but Arthur compels him and all at once Sir Urry is as whole and as well as if he had never been wounded at all. And everyone celebrates, but Launcelot wept as if he were a little child that had been beaten.
As I held the battered old paperback in my hands and read through this passage I remembered how puzzled I had been when my mother had read it to me. I didn’t understand why Launcelot had wept: he should have been jumping for joy like the rest of the knights. My mother had explained to me that this was the time when Launcelot had recognised his own unworthiness. I’d accepted this, though I hadn’t understood it. Now I was closer to understanding, but I thought my mother had been wrong. Launcelot wept because he was filled with the same kind of sadness that filled me, the kind that drowns you when things go really wrong. He wept because so much in the world was out of his control, because even he couldn’t make things happen the way he wanted them too. He had cured Sir Urry, but he couldn’t do the things he really wanted to do: he couldn’t be happy with Guinevere, and he couldn’t get close to the Holy Grail.
Now I understand that he wept because although he had spent his life trying to be a good knight he was powerless to control the way things turned out for him. He wept out of the vastness of his despair and hopelessness, drenched with grief, collapsed into desolation, shuddering with his vision of nothingness. He couldn’t say, as my father had said, There’s always next year. For Launcelot, as for Leigh Matthews being chaired off the ground, everything was over.
‘Time for sleep, Nicky,’ said my father, putting his head around my door.
I put my arms up for the hug that had become a new part of our nightly routine.
‘I’m sorry about the Hawks,’ I said.
My father rubbed his chin. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well.’
‘Next year,’ I said.
‘Next year,’ he replied. ‘That’s right, Nicky. There’s always next year.’
But what he didn’t see, what I thought he would never see, was that next year might well be the year my mother failed to return to us. Next year might be another grand final defeat. Next year only meant that life would continue dangerous and strange and unpredictable, and that we would continue to struggle with it, and that we probably wouldn’t win.
‘Where there’s life, there’s hope,’ said my father, in a horrible attempt at a light touch.
I nodded, wanting to encourage him. He patted my head and left.
I found myself thinking more about Sir Urry as I grew sleepy. It had been a good outcome for Sir Urry, I reflected. Only a bit player in the gloomy magnificence of the closing scenes of the saga of Camelot, he’d probably gone home happily with his mother and his sister. All three of them would have been very pleased that he had been cured, and perhaps not cared greatly about the Round Table and what happened to it. Perhaps they hadn’t even heard of the capturing of Guinevere, and of her rescue, and the great battles that followed, and the deaths of so many of the knights. An era had come to its tragic end, but Sir Urry hadn’t known or cared. After his reprieve, life had continued as usual.
How good, I thought, as I fell asleep, to have a life that continued as usual.
My musings about heroism and its failures on the night of the grand final continued over the next few days, and I wanted to crystallise them in some form. It was a matter of unfinished business. Casting Rose as Lady Macbeth had been satisfying, incinerating her as Guinevere even better, but there was more to do.
I began to think about a different way of writing plays. Rather than picking up narratives and altering them when it suited me, couldn’t I invent characters myself, and guide them through their stories as I saw fit? I took out all my Heroes, together with Calamitus and the two big cats, as well as Crystal (who was battered by this stage, but essential as the only surviving female). I set them up on my bedroom floor, and regarded them in this newly dawning light.
I could see ways it would work. If I tried to treat my cast more sens
itively, I could assign roles in ways that made better sense. Until now I had started out with the characters and forced the actors to conform in ways that weren’t necessarily sensible. But if I began by acknowledging that Karkin the Clawman (for instance) had particular and inescapable attributes, then I could introduce a character who, being played by Karkin, would be more convincing.
It was while I was idly fiddling around with these ideas that the radiance of the real epiphany broke on me like sunrise.
I didn’t have to enact my plays.
Or rather, I could enact them in my imagination. In my mind’s eye.
I can’t explain why this had taken so long to occur to me. It did away in a single stroke with having to provide makeshift scenery and costumes, it freed me from the ignorant judgments of my family and it gave me carte blanche in imagining whatever characters I wanted, untroubled by questions about who could play them. I could place the action anywhere I wanted to; I could use whatever came to mind. If I wanted somebody to travel to Mars in a spaceship, that was no problem; if I needed a thunderstorm, an earthquake, a war, that was okay too. It was up to me.
Once I had grasped this, a flood of creative energy was released. I called my new play The Sinister Affair of Juliet’s Abduction, and I regarded it as my crowning achievement. The Dramatis Personae read as follows:
Prince Jason, a boy
Princess Juliet, Prince Jason’s sister, in love with Sebastian
Sebastian, a chef in the palace
Hugo, a full-forward
Jason and Juliet’s parents, the King and Queen
Sir Flavius, the King’s brother, who is also the Queen’s secret lover
A witch
Tree Man
A harpy
The Floating Wombat Ghost
Various soldiers, courtiers, etc.
The play went as follows:
ACT ONE
The blasted heath. Lightning, thunder, rain, darkness. Black scudding clouds. Wild dogs howling in the distance. Enter Juliet, running and crying and wet. Hugo gallops on behind her and jumps off his black stallion.
Juliet: Oh, help! Oh, help!
Hugo: Aha! I have you! (Grabs Juliet)
Juliet: Oh no, please!
Hugo: I have conceived a plot to carry you off to my castle. But do not be afraid, dear Juliet. I am not a bad man and I will do my best to look after you, even though I am afflicted by many torments.
Picks Juliet up and leaps on his horse again. They gallop away. Enter Jason and Sebastian, panting and out of breath.
Sebastian: We are too late, Jason. Hugo has taken Juliet away, and we have been caught with our pants down.
Jason: Never mind, Sebastian. We will get her back.
Sebastian: But how?
Jason: I know where Hugo’s castle is and I will take you there.
Sebastian: But they say Hugo’s castle is surrounded by enchantment.
Jason: Don’t worry about it. We’ll get Juliet back.
Sebastian: Ah, she is like a jewel worn by a black person! When we find her I will marry her!
Jason: Maybe.
They sit down on a log to get their breath back.
Sebastian: Tell me, Jason, how is your mother these days?
Jason: I feel anxiety about her. She commits acts of indiscretion.
Sebastian: How so?
Jason: Because she is spending so much time with yon Sir Flavius.
Sebastian: Are they plotting, think you?
Jason: I do not know, but methinks the King my father is worried about it. He should pull the rug out from under her feet.
Sebastian: I think Sir Flavius is a bad man. I think he is in cahoots with Hugo, too. And I think he is up to something with your mother.
Jason: What sort of something?
Sebastian: I know not. But his behaviour is suspicious.
Jason: Do you think he has had anything to do with the abduction of my sister?
Sebastian: Who knows? Probably.
Jason: Well then, we had better keep an eye on him. Let us now go back to the castle and consolidate our plans.
ACT TWO
Inside the castle of the King and Queen. There are rich carpets and tapestries and suits of armour, and a big carved wooden table. The King is sitting at the table. The Queen is standing nearby.
King: So our beloved Juliet is indeed vanished!
Queen: Aye, so she is.
King: Ah, woe is me. Where can she be?
Queen: I know not, but I have noticed recently she has been spending time in the kitchens with that young chef Sebastian.
King: But Sebastian is a nice young man. He has valiant parts.
Queen Well, you never know about people.
Enter Jason.
Jason: Good morrow, my dear parents.
King: Jason, did you know your sister has gone missing?
Jason: Yes, I know. It is passing strange and melancholy.
Queen: Have you seen Sebastian recently, Jason?
Jason: I have been with Sebastian this very day.
King: Well, that’s that. I had better go and get a search party together. We will find these dastards who have abducted. Juliet and with luck we will knock them over easily.
Jason: Good my lord, I believe I know where my sister is.
King: Don’t be silly, Jason. You are just a boy.
Exit King.
Jason: Mother, I think Hugo has taken Juliet to his castle.
Queen: That’s ridiculous, Jason. Go away and play.
Exit Queen.
Jason: What shall I do? They do not believe me. Sebastian and I must go alone to Hugo’s castle. Hark. What is that? It is my mother and she is returning. Lo! She is with Sir Flavius.
Jason hides under the table. Enter Queen and Sir Flavius arm in arm, strolling across the stage.
Queen: I am so worried about Juliet.
Sir Flavius: I know. Never mind, I am sure it will all work out. It’s probably a tempest in a teapot.
Queen: I wish I knew where she was.
Sir Flavius: Try not to worry. You are my gorgeous girl.
Queen: Oh, am I really?
Sir Flavius: You certainly are.
Queen: Flavius, that is so sweet of you.
She kisses his cheek. Exit Queen and Flavius.
Jason comes out from under the table.
Jason: What is my mother doing? Why is she behaving like this with Sir Flavius? It is all a mystery. I must go and find a horse for Sebastian so we can ride together to Hugo’s castle.
Exit Jason.
ACT THREE
The garden in Hugo’s castle. Juliet has been imprisoned in a tree house up on a mighty tree. Tree Man is standing guard at the entrance to the tree house and the Floating Wombat Ghost is floating outside the tree house.
Juliet: Hugo, why have you brought me hither?
Hugo: It’s a nice tree house. I thought you might like it.
Juliet: But I am being kept captive by these two nasty spirits.
Hugo: Juliet, don’t you think you could learn to enjoy it here?
Juliet: No, never, not like this.
Hugo: I did try not to abduct you, but lo! I had a moment of madness and could not resist. My love for you is insurmountable.
Juliet: You must let me go forthwith.
Sir Flavius rides in and dismounts.
Sir Flavius: What ho, Hugo! Ha! The beautiful Juliet.
Juliet: Sir Flavius! What are you doing here?
Sir Flavius: Well done, Hugo. You got her here!
Hugo: Yes, but I think it might have been a mistake. She is dolorous.
Juliet: Sir Flavius, Hugo, please grant me mercy and let me go.
Sir Flavius: I’ve got something funny to tell you, Hugo.
Hugo: What?
Sir Flavius: The King has put me in charge of trying to find his daughter. Ho, ho.
Juliet: Dastard! Prodigious varlet!
Hugo: I thought she wouldn’t mind, but she does mind. Juliet, what ab
out if we got married?
Juliet: Never!
Hugo: What should I do, Flavius?
Sir Flavius: Do? You must keep her here, of course, and keep your guards around her so she cannot escape. And you can count on me, Hugo. If all falls out as I plan, I shall soon be king, and then everyone will have to do what I tell them, and I will tell Juliet that she must marry you. In return for certain things.
Hugo: What things?
Sir Flavius: Just things. I count on your support, Hugo. Farewell, fair lady.
Leaps on his horse and gallops away, laughing evilly.
Juliet: What did he mean? He cannot be king. My father is king.
Hugo: Who knows? I know not.
ACT FOUR
At the gates of Hugo’s castle, which is surrounded by a magic wall. Jason and Sebastian gallop in and stop at the gates. They dismount.
Sebastian: So here we are.
Jason: Yes, this is Hugo’s demesne.
Sebastian: I should think we could climb over the wall. This looks like a good point.
Jason: Well, remember there is an enchantment on this wall.
Sebastian: I’ll try anyway.
He starts to climb and the harpy descends on him, screaming furiously and pecking at him. He falls back.
Jason: Watch out!
Sebastian: I’ll have another go. (The same thing happens) What will we do, Jason?
Jason: I know of an old witch who lives in these parts. I shall go and find her to see if she has enchantments to lift this spell. You rest here.
Exit Jason.
Sebastian: I hope this works. I think about my fair Juliet all the time, and I cannot wait to see her and rescue her. Ah, what a vain and difficult life this is! How I long to be away from this place!
Enter Jason, with the witch.
Jason: This is my friend Sebastian.
Sebastian: How do you do, old crone?
Witch: (Cackles) So, my fair friend, wherefore do you wish to leap over this wall?
Sebastian: I must rescue my lovely Juliet, whose skin is more white than alabaster.
Witch: It is a worthy aim. I have a special spell to discourage harpies which I shall use immediately.
She waves her arms around and mumbles a magic incantation. Sebastian jumps at the wall and climbs over it successfully.
The Starlings Page 27
