Mood Indigo (11 page)

The scampering, scurrying public was made up of some very odd types. There were bespectacled pyramidal faces with lapel-length hair, yellow dog-ends and unshaven pimples, and girls with scruffy little plaits wound round and round their skulls, and lumber-doublets worn next to the skin with Elizabethan slashings giving shadowy vistas on to moony crescents of sliced breast.

In the great hall on the ground floor, with its half-glazed ceiling half-decorated with heavy water-colours, ideal for giving birth to doubts in the minds of the audience about the fun of an existence peopled with such off-putting feminine forms, more and more people were gathering, and latecomers found they had to resort to standing on one foot at the back – the other being required to kick away any neighbours who got too close. All eyes in the cadaverous crowd were on the special box in which the Marchioness de Mauvoir sat on a throne with her retainers, insulting the temporary nature of the seating arrangements of a row of philosophers, who were perched on gallery stools, by the old-fashioned luxury of her noble elevated position.

It was almost time for the lecture, and the crowd was growing hectic. An organized din came from the back of the hall, set up by several students trying to sow seeds of revolt in the spirits of the faithful by declaiming aloud passages selected at random from
The Bourbon on The Bounce
by Baroness Orczy.

But Jean Pulse was drawing near. The sounds of an
elephant's trunk could be heard in the street, and Chick leaned out of his box-office window. In the far distance the silhouette of Jean Pulse emerged from an armoured howdah, under which the rough and wrinkled hide of the elephant took on a bizarre appearance in the glow of a red headlamp. At each corner of the howdah a hand-picked marksman, armed with an axe, stood at the ready. The elephant was striding its way through the crowd, and the fearsome plod of the four columns moving through the crushed bodies unrelentingly drew on. At the main gate the elephant knelt down and the specially selected marksmen got off. With a graceful leap, Heartre landed in their midst and, hacking out a path with tilting axes, the group made its way to the platform. Police closed the doors and Chick raced along a private corridor leading out behind the stage, pushing Isis and Alyssum in front of him.

Chick had cut some peep-holes in the back of the stage which was tastefully draped with hangings of festered velvet. They sat there on some cushions and waited. Just a yard in front of them Heartre was getting ready to read his notes. An extraordinary radiance emanated from his ascetic athletic body and the throng, captivated by the overpowering charm of his slightest gesture, waited anxiously for the starting signal.

Numerous were the cases of fainting due to intra-uterine exaltation which affected the female section of the audience in particular and, from their hide-out, Alyssum, Isis and Chick could distinctly hear the accelerated breathing of the twenty-four gate-crashers who had stolen in under the stage and were quietly undressing to take up less space.

‘Remember?' asked Alyssum, looking tenderly at Chick.

‘Yes,' said Chick. ‘That's where we first got to know each other …'

He leaned towards Alyssum and kissed her tenderly.

‘Were you under there?' asked Isis.

‘Mmm …' said Alyssum. ‘It was lovely.'

‘I bet it was,' said Isis. ‘What's that, Chick?'

Chick was starting to open a big black box that he had with him.

‘It's a recorder,' he said. ‘I bought it specially for the lecture.'

‘Oh!' said Isis. ‘What a good idea! … Now we needn't bother to listen! …'

‘Quite,' said Chick. ‘And when we get home we can listen to it all night long if we like – although we won't because I don't want to spoil the records. I'll get copies made first and maybe I'll get “His Martyred Void” to make a commercial pressing for me.'

‘It must have cost you a lot,' said Isis.

‘Shhh! …' said Chick. ‘That's not important.'

Alyssum sighed. Such a little little sigh that she was the only one to hear it … and even she did not hear it very clearly.

‘We're off! …' said Chick. ‘He's started. I put my mike amongst the others on the table so that nobody would notice.'

Jean Pulse opened his mouth. At first all that could be heard was the clicking of the cameras. Photographers and reporters from the cinema and the press were having the time of their lives. But one of them was knocked over backwards by the rebound from his camera and a horrible confusion ensued. His furious colleagues rushed to his aid and sprinkled him with magnesium powder. He disappeared
in a blinding flash to the general satisfaction of all and the police carried off to prison the ones who were left.

‘Marvellous!' said Chick. ‘Now I'll be the only one with any record of what's happened!'

The audience which had been fairly well-behaved until then began to get worked up and showed its admiration for Heartre by repeated shouts and acclamations after every word he said – which made perfect understanding of what he was saying rather difficult.

‘Don't try to grasp everything,' said Chick. ‘We'll listen to the recording at our leisure.'

‘Especially since we can't hear a thing here,' said Isis. ‘His voice isn't as loud as a mouse's. By the way, have you heard from Chloe?'

‘I've had a line from her,' said Alyssum.

‘Did they get there safely?'

‘Yes, but they're going to cut their honeymoon short. Chloe isn't very well,' said Alyssum.

‘And how's Nicholas?' asked Isis.

‘He's fine. Chloe said he's been misbehaving wickedly with the daughters of every hotel-keeper they've stayed with.'

‘Nicholas is OK,' said Isis. ‘I only wonder why he's a cook …'

‘Yes,' said Chick, ‘it is funny.'

‘Why?' said Alyssum. And, twisting Chick's ear, she added, ‘I think it's better than collecting Heartre's books.'

‘Chloe isn't seriously ill, is she?' asked Isis.

‘She didn't say what it was exactly,' said Alyssum. ‘She just said her chest was hurting her.'

‘Chloe's such a pretty girl,' said Isis. ‘I can't imagine her being ill.'

‘Oh!' whispered Chick, ‘look! …'

Part of the ceiling was slowly lifting and a row of heads appeared. Daring admirers had just found their way in through the stained-glass window and had carried off this difficult and dangerous operation expertly. Others were pushing them from behind and the first lot were energetically gripping the edges of the raised cornice.

‘They're quite right to raise the roof,' said Chick. ‘This really is a terrific meeting! …'

Heartre had stood up and was showing the audience some samples of petrified vomit. The prettiest, containing sweetbreads, sauerkraut and cider, was an outstanding success.

People could hardly hear anything any more, even from behind the curtains where Isis, Alyssum and Chick were hiding.

‘Well,' said Isis, ‘when will they be back?'

‘Tomorrow – or the day after,' said Alyssum.

‘We haven't seen them for ages! …' said Isis.

‘Not since they got married …' said Alyssum.

‘It was such a lovely wedding,' concluded Isis.

‘Yes,' said Chick. That was the night Nicholas took you home …'

Luckily the whole ceiling collapsed into the hall at that moment, so that Isis did not have to go into any further explanations. A thick dust rose. Amongst the rubbish, whitish creatures were staggering about, reeling and stumbling over each other, asphyxiated by the heavy cloud of powdered plaster which was floating over the debris. Heartre had stopped and was laughing heartily, slapping his sides, delighted to see so many people committed to this activity. He took a great swig of dust and started coughing like mad.

Chick frantically turned the knobs on his recorder. He produced a vivid green flash which took a dive into the floor like lightning and disappeared through a crack in the parquet. A second flash followed, then a third, and he switched off the current just as a horrible insect, covered all over in legs, crept out of the motor.

‘No wonder!' he said. ‘It's been choked by all the dust in the mike.'

The pandemonium in the hall had reached its peak. Heartre, parched dry, had even swallowed the carafe itself and, having just read his last page, was getting ready to go. Chick had a flash of inspiration.

‘I'll show him out this way,' he said. ‘You go first, and I'll follow.'

Nicholas stopped on his way through the corridor. The suns were definitely coming through very badly indeed. The yellow ceramic tiles seemed to be tarnished and hidden behind a veil of mist, and the rays, instead of bouncing back like bright buckshot, slurped on to the floor and oozed themselves out into thin dull puddles. The walls, dappled with sunshine, no longer shone evenly all over as they did before.

The mice did not seem to be particularly put out by the change – all except the grey one with the black whiskers whose deeply worried expression was immediately noticeable. Nicholas supposed that it must have been upset by the sudden and unexpected termination of the honeymoon and was missing the fun and games it was hoping to have had on the trip.

‘You don't look very happy,' he said.

The mouse pulled a long face and nodded its whiskers towards the walls.

‘Yes,' said Nicholas, ‘it's not right. Things used to be better than this. I don't know what the matter can be …'

The mouse appeared to be thinking for a moment, then shook its head and threw up its arms in a gesture of hopeless helplessness.

‘No, neither do I,' said Nicholas. ‘I just don't understand. Even when you use polish, nothing happens. It must be something in the air …'

He stopped, thought, shook his head too, and then went on his way. The mouse folded its arms and absent-mindedly started chewing, then spat the gum out immediately because it was flavoured with cat-mint. The errand-boy had delivered the wrong sort.

In the dining-room Chloe was having lunch with Colin.

‘Hallo!' said Nicholas. ‘Feeling better?'

‘Oho!' said Colin, ‘so you've decided to talk like everyone else once again?'

‘I haven't got my shoes on yet,' explained Nicholas.

‘I don't feel so bad today,' said Chloe.

Her eyes were shining, her cheeks were rosy, and she seemed happy to be back home again.

‘She's eaten half the chicken pie,' said Colin.

‘Wonderful!' said Nicholas. ‘
And
I didn't get that recipe from ffroydde.'

‘What would you like to do today, Chloe?' asked Colin.

‘Yes,' said Nicholas, ‘will you be eating early or late?'

‘What I'd like to do is go out with both of you, and Isis and Chick and Alyssum, and go skating and round the shops and end up at a party somewhere,' said Chloe, ‘and
on the way I want to buy myself an ephemerald amethystle clockwork ring.'

‘Good,' said Nicholas, ‘then I'll get cracking in the kitchen straight away.'

‘Do your work barefooted, Nicholas,' said Chloe. ‘It's so much less tiring for us. And besides, you won't have to change out of your uniform to get ready then!'

‘I'll go and get some pieces of eighty-eight from my doublezoon-box,' said Colin, ‘while you telephone the clan, Chloe. We'll have a great day out.'

‘I'll do the ringing straight away,' said Chloe.

She sprang up and went to the phone. She lifted the receiver and hooted like an owl to show that she wanted to be put through to Chick.

Nicholas cleared the table by pulling a little lever. The dirty crockery skidded down into the sink along a flat pneumatic tube hidden under the carpet. He went out of the room and back along the corridor.

The mouse, standing on its back legs, was scratching at one of the tarnished tiles with its tiny fingers. Where it had been scratching it was shining again like new.

‘Well, well, well!' said Nicholas. ‘So you've managed it! … that's marvellous!'

The mouse stopped, completely out of breath, and showed Nicholas its raw bleeding knuckles.

‘Oh!' said Nicholas. ‘You've hurt yourself! … Come on, don't do any more. After all, there's still plenty of sunshine left. Come along with me and I'll bandage you up …'

He put the exhausted mouse, with its half-closed eyelids, into his breast pocket, letting its poor little wounded paws hang out over the edge.

Humming a tune, Colin swiftly swivelled the knobs on
his chest of doublezoons. The worry of the last few days had disappeared and he felt as light-hearted as a mandarin orange. The chest was made of white marble inlaid with ivory, and the knobs were of seaweed-green sapphire. The pointer showed he had sixty thousand doublezoons left.

The lid swung open with a slick click, and the smile swept itself from Colin's face. The indicator, which for some reason had been jammed, after swivelling round two or three times, stayed fixed at thirty-five thousand doublezoons. Doing some quick mental arithmetic, he worked out a rough trial balance. Out of a hundred thousand, he had given twenty-five thousand to Chick to marry Alyssum, spent fifteen thousand on the car, five thousand on the wedding … and the rest had frittered itself away naturally. That cheered him a little. ‘It's only normal,' he said out loud – and his voice sounded strangely unconvincing, even to himself …

He took as much as he needed, thought a moment, and then put half of it back with a sorrowful shrug, and locked the lid. The knobs rapidly swivelled round making a gay little noise like a chorus of castanets. He tapped the glass of the gold-barometer and checked that it showed correctly how much was inside.

Then he stood up. He stood still for a few moments, pondering. He was shocked by the large amounts he was having to spend to give Chloe the things he thought she deserved – but smiled when he thought of Chloe with her hair long and flowing first thing in the morning, and of the curves and contours of her body – in bed – under the sheet, and of the golden colour of her skin when he took the sheet away … and he sharply forced himself to think of his phynances again because it was far from being the right moment to be thinking of those other kinds of things …