The Malacia Tapestry (25 page)

‘You have some strange friends,' I said.

‘That gentleman always attends my performances. You see him merely as a penniless wastrel now, yet he once declared his love for me in as beautiful and deeply felt a speech as I ever heard.'

‘Did you love him in return?'

‘The poor man could not control his fortune any more than his emotions. He ran through a considerable inheritance. Now, he hasn't a bean left. He's reduced, as you see, to playing
fonografo
in the street, and they say he procures boys – while his illustrious parents lie in a marble tomb topped by azure on the banks of the Savoirdi Canal.'

‘If I had to settle for playing
fonografo
or lying in a marble tomb, I'd make his choice. His illustrious parents have a mouldy job.'

She looked wanly at me. ‘Remember that I know by heart the comedies from which you resurrect your jokes.'

‘How can I believe that when I've heard you dry up on stage so often?'

‘Dear Perian, we are of the same age and even share the same sign, yet my less shallow experience of living enables me to advise you. Take matters more seriously. Suffer and realize that other people suffer too.'

We were nearly at her house. I slowed my pace and quickened my speech to say, ‘Do I have to weep before you believe I suffer? I have a girl who means everything to me, and I mean to be faithful to her, though temptresses like you don't help. You mistake an easy manner for a shallow disposition. Inside here, there's enough anguish to make an owl laugh.' And I laughed myself as I struck my chest, thinking as I did so that what I said was very likely true.

With the flavours of the Fragrant Quarter all about it, Kemperer's house stood in that particular mellow glow which is a quality of prosperous streets. In the court, among broken carriages and snarling dogs on chains and Albert melancholy in his cage, men waited to see Kemperer. The court was rarely empty of these favour-seekers. Those who waited were attended by beggars and impoverished entertainers who in turn begged favours from them. In his fashion, Kemperer was a man with influence.

Today some of the loiterers were of a decidedly nasty cast of countenance. La Singla glanced at them with dread as we hurried by.

In the main room the table had been pushed to one side to make space for those who thronged there. You could tell when a new production was under way: the house became like a disordered warehouse. Hardly a room or hallway that was not filled with some property Kemperer had just acquired, or a costume he was thinking of acquiring. His kindly if irascible heart saw to it that several rooms were crammed with indigent relations or actors. He made such an uncomfortable host that these guests were always changing, arriving with flattery or departing with threats. There was a perpetual coming and going, with battered hats forever being swept off or rammed on valetudinarian heads.

At the centre of the activity was its source, Pozzi Kemperer, fussy, light-footed, articulate, snarling like his hounds, prancing round in satin slippers and waistcoat, with his peruke at the tilt and a froth of words and saliva on his lips. A figure of fun, and rather a dangerous figure at that.

He was making a spectacle of himself as La Singla and I entered. Seeing La Singla, he paused to deliver one single evil glare which would have curdled the blood of a devil-jaw, and then returned to capering round a stranger draped in an ankle-length cloak. With this gaunt stranger stood a lizard-man, holding two fine black panthers on a leash.

Indicating them, the gaunt stranger was saying over and over, in deep tones, ‘These beasts are guaranteed from the distant Orient.'

‘Go away, I tell you – take your creatures back to the Orient!' screamed Kemperer.

‘Sire, they were born among the orchid forests of Bamboola.'

‘Take them back there, Bamboolarize them, take them anywhere, get them out of here! Apply to the menagerie at West Gate, where they'll accept anything with fur on its body, however mangy. Just get them away before they stink the house out, or eat my players. They're starving – look at the way they glare and lick their chops! Out! Out!'

The beasts were yawning with lolling tongues, from either boredom or constipation. The stranger said in melancholy tones, ‘Sire, I supply courts, from Siracusa in the south to Malma in the dreadful north, with beasts often less fine – less docile, less fragrant – than this brace of pussies. I can assure you that animals are an adornment to whatever entertainment you care to mount. That I guarantee from the bottom of my convictions.'

‘You may guarantee it from the bottom of your boots and it makes no difference. Get out! My entertainments entertain without having lions widdling against the scenery. Out!'

He beckoned one of his helpers, who came forward and made shooing motions with his arms. Slightly interested, one of the panthers moved forward by the length of a whisker. Kemperer fell back screaming for help, into the arms of La Singla, who by now was also screaming. She could shriek considerably louder and more musically.

The gaunt man turned, beckoning to his assistant, and off they stalked. The panthers trotted behind them like dogs. Their progress through the outer court was marked by yells of terror from the mendicants, mingled with whoops and enraged barking from Albert and the hounds.

Several of my friends had been watching the fun, including Portinari. I went over and slapped him on the shoulder. De Lambant was not there.

‘“You of all under the rank heavens are of the heavenly ranks”,' I quoted.

‘Save your
Albrizzi
tags, de Chirolo,' said Portinari. ‘His lordship now decrees that we play
The Visionaries
as a curtain raiser, before getting to
Albrizzi
. Since we're rusty in it, we have to run it through now in preference to
Albrizzi.
'

I clutched at my forehead. ‘What a rogue Kemperer is. The last time
The Visionaries
was hissed off, he swore that we should never play it again.'

‘But this is at a wedding; besides, de Lambant says that a visiting Duke of Ragusa will be present. 'Twill give everyone a chance to settle down before the drama.'

‘True. And at weddings tastes are always lower.'

‘I like my little business as the first suitor.'

‘Oh, yes, I remember that.' I did indeed, and was thankful that Portinari was confined to small parts. ‘My role of Phalante the Bankrupt is so brief –'

Kemperer himself came up, still wearing La Singla about his scraggy neck, in time to catch my remark.

‘Ah, Perian, Perian, my dear young fellow, you know how tremendously amusing you are as Phalante, the old apothecary.' He clapped me on the back, laughing and frothing at the mouth. ‘When you juggle your wooden spoons, thinking them silver, and cry, “Why, this silver service alone is worth a king's ransom – at least, half a ransom, well, a slice of ransom …”

Nobody can carry the humour of it off like you.'

‘Let's drop that business with the spoons.'

‘No, no, de Chirolo, you do yourself an injustice. The world loves your spoons, don't it, Maria, my faithful dove, my cow?'

With similar cajoleries, we were hustled into the courtyard to say our lines. The mendicants served as audience, poor simple Gilles held the prompt-book. Standing about or strutting as we felt inclined, we ran through the old speeches.

The Visionaries
was a comedy of illusion, with every character mad or deluded, believing themselves to be greater than they were. The father with his three plain daughters had to see them married off between four dotty suitors. Kemperer himself played the old father. It was a simple piece which had to be taken fast. Once, we had played it in the traditional manner, with everyone falling about, until we discovered that audiences liked it better if we took the material seriously. Except for the claptrap with the spoons.

At two of the afternoon, when the bell of a nearby church was chiming, Kemperer cried ‘Enough' and released us. He buried his head in his hands.

‘That I should live to see men of straw mouthing like blocks of wood! Pity any Duke of Ragusa who has to sit through your bouts of arthritis, my dear friends – not to mention the de Lambant family. All right, tomorrow we will try it again. Meanwhile, I shall scour the city for a man with two panthers, to infuse some life and piss into the proceedings!'

For all Kemperer's reproaches, we were a cheerful crowd who pushed in to see the
Ombres Chinoises
. On our way to the shadow theatre, we refreshed ourselves with wine in a tavern by the Maltese Steps. The performances were held inside a large oriental tent in a shady garden. The tent was covered with carpets and tapestries to make the darkness inside more intense.

Shadow plays were becoming so fashionable that the maestro feared it might affect our business. Now here was the Great Harino's
Ombres Chinoises
, newly set up, offering the public
The Saga of Karagog
, preceded by
The Broken Bridge
, and charging high admission prices.

As we filtered into the gloom, Kemperer plucked me aside and whispered in my ear, ‘Perian, darling fellow, you sit by me, for I depend on your criticism of the performance.'

‘You might pay for my ticket if you are retaining me in a professional capacity.'

‘Your criticism is too amateurish for that! Don't go above yourself, that's my sincere warning, the word of a true friend. I also need a more personal word with you about my naughty wife.' He squeezed my wrist hard, indicating need for silence.

A lizard-girl came round selling comfits, and we made ourselves comfortable until harpsichord music sounded and the curtains parted. We were pleased to see that scarcely a dozen people were attending the show, apart from our own company.

The screen was a sheet some one-and-a-half metres long by a metre high. Shadows pranced across it, picked out by brilliant flares behind. Principal characters moved near to the screen, and so were densely black. Lesser characters and the props moved at greater distances, so that they appeared in greyer definition. Variety was achieved by this simple means. The scenic effects were striking, with clouds and water well imitated.

The Great Harino's chief novelty was that parts of his puppets, their faces and the clothes of the more important personages, were cut away and replaced by coloured glass, to give dazzling effects on the screen. I was not alone in gasping at what we saw.

Although few of the puppets were jointed, their movement was good and the commentary funny, if time-honoured. Most amazing was the way in which one soon accepted the puppets for reality, and the screen for life, as if there were no other!

Less impressed, Kemperer began to whisper in my ear.

‘I don't want to do her an injustice in any way, and Minerva knows that I cherish the tiresome baggage dearly, but my darling Maria is too fond of hopping in and out of beds that are unworthy of her lovely if unruly body. Now she's hopped into one bed too many … I've been hearing rumours, Perian …'

At that moment, La Singla thrust her pretty head between ours and said, ‘What are you two whispering about? Isn't it a dainty show?'

‘Go away, my honey pot, my starfish,' whined Kemperer. ‘Go and flirt in the dark with Portinari – he knows where to stop, if you don't! De Chirolo and I are talking business.'

La Singla snorted like a piglet and withdrew.

‘You need to be more coaxing than that to keep a wife faithful, maestro!' I said.

‘What do you know of wives?'

‘I'm growing more responsible. I'm contemplating marriage. Would you possibly advance me some money?'

‘In my young day, the contemplation of matrimony required no expenditure.'

The Broken Bridge
was reaching its conclusion. I had seen it many times in different forms, but never so well done as by the shadows. The boatman rowed across the river with every appearance of reality; his back was jointed to make the movement lifelike. Behind him, snow sparkled on high mountains. Sweat poured off the faces of the audience, so intense was the heat of the flares necessary to achieve the lighting effects.

‘I am tired of coaxing the jade!' complained Kemperer in a moment: ‘Would not any woman give her maidenhead to be married to a successful man like me? But now she's gone too far – much too far, Perian. I can be vindictive when the spirit moves me, you understand!' To help me understand, he pinched me hard on the wrist, so that I cried out with surprise and pain just as a fangle fish began to munch up the ill-natured labourer mending the bridge. The audience burst into laughter, thinking I was alarmed.

‘She has had the impudence to fall in love with another worthless coxcomb. I discovered one of his confounded letters tucked in with her chemises, just this morning, when I was looking for spare laces to my corset. I mean to have the coxcomb waylaid and soundly beaten. No man meddles with my wife's affections!'

Each of these points he emphasized with further pinches. I was careful not to give the audience further cause for laughter – a precaution the more easily carried out because, in his agitation, Kemperer seized me by the throat and pushed my head backwards over the seat. Like Paul in the farce of the three kings, I was ‘trapped between chocolate-time and eternity'.

At last I broke away, gasping.

‘We may be the best of friends, maestro, but that is no reason for killing me outright! Do you imagine I'm the coxcomb you seek? I would as lief climb into bed with
you
as with your spouse, so great is my respect for the sanctity of marriage.'

‘Pardon, pardon, I am a man of passion and I forget myself. I trust you implicitly or I would not be confiding in you.'

‘I may undergo matrimony myself soon.'

‘It's no joke to be cuckolded, and even worse to have to admit it. You can't afford to marry, sonny. Why, I'm as virile as ever I was. No, Perian, before this wretched shadow play ends, listen! – I have my thugs and my spies to command, never fear, as a man of my standing must do, but I want you to tell me if you have seen La Singla acting in any way untoward.
In any way!
I want you to watch her closely, since she trusts you, as do I.'