Theatre Shoes (15 page)

At the next nursery-rhyme rehearsal, Mark was placed beside the piano and Mrs. Blondin, and told to sing “I Had a Little Nut Tree.” Miss Jay had got used to Mark by now and knew he liked to find something that he personally thought interesting about what he was asked to do, or else it was very difficult for him to attend properly. Dr. Lente having said that Mark could sing like a bird, Miss Jay built on that idea.

“I want you to think of yourself as rather an important kind of bird singing on a bough. All the rest of the class are hopping about on the ground, but you are by yourself with nothing but sky over your head and the sun shining.”

Mark considered this.

“What sort of a bird?”

Ornithology was not Miss Jay's subject. She could only think of larks and nightingales as having singing voices, and off-hand she could not remember how either bird looked, and she knew that Mark would want to picture himself in feathers.

“A special bird. A foreign bird. I think his feathers are blue and green and he has a scarlet crest.”

Mark visualised such a bird and before he knew where he was he was thinking of himself as being the bird with feathers such as Miss Jay had described, singing against a blue sky. Then his eye fell on Mrs. Blondin. She was in her red blouse. She had on that morning a small green felt hat with a little feather in it. She was gazing into space humming, “I know where I'm going.” Mark lowered his voice. Not that he worried really whether Mrs. Blondin was listening, because everybody in the Academy knew she only heard the words “Begin” and “Stop”; but he felt the subject called for a confidential tone.

“What's she doing in the wood with me? Is she a bird too?”

Miss Jay also believed Mrs. Blondin to be deaf to ordinary conversation, but she was certainly not going to risk offending a good accompanist, so she moved away, saying with that sort of dismissing smile grown-ups use when they do not want a child to go on with a conversation:

“Of course, dear, a lovely bird.”

Mark, mentally swaying on his bough, his feathers gay in the sun, was still being a boy with part of him, and that part of him was trying to imagine some sort of bird which could possibly be identified not only with Mrs. Blondin but with a piano.

Miss Jay had got the grouping for “I Had a Little Nut Tree” ready, she was holding the Queen of Spain's daughter by the hand. She turned her head towards the piano and barked in the only tone that was known to penetrate Mrs. Blondin's dreams:

“Begin!”

Mrs. Blondin played the opening bars and Mark, proudly swaying on his branch, began to sing:

“I had a little nut tree and nothing would it bear,” then he stopped. He turned a pleased face to Miss Jay. “Not a bird at all; one of those monkeys that's got no fur behind but blue and pink instead, and its fingers are moving all the time because it's looking for fleas.”

The children laughed, though nobody except Miss Jay knew what Mark was talking about. Mrs. Blondin certainly had not heard because she was still playing, for Miss Jay had not said “Stop!” Miss Jay looked severe.

“I'm not interested in anyone in this particular forest except a bird that I'm waiting to hear sing.” Then she changed her voice to a bark. “Stop!” Mrs. Blondin's fingers shot off the piano and fell in her lap. Miss Jay went over to her and tapped her shoulder. “We're doing that all over again.” She returned to the class and put a restraining hand on the Queen of Spain's daughter. “Begin!”

Mark singing really was a lovely noise. He had an absolutely true voice, and now that he had placed Mrs. Blondin as a mandrill, he was able to dismiss her from his mind and sing with the unforced ease of a bird, which was no wonder, as, by the time he was half-way through the verse, he was certain he was one.

Though, of course, the Academy was primarily a dancing school, credit brought to it in any artistic direction was a pleasure to all the staff and, particularly, to Madame Fidolia. There were a lot of hopes built on Mark. It did seem likely that he might be the big hit of the afternoon. Then came discussion about what he should wear. All sorts of ideas were put forward, most of them impracticable because, of course, everything had to be either in the wardrobe or cut out of old things, or made of unrationed goods, for, naturally, there were no coupons to spare for one matinée. Then an old student of the Academy, who was visiting and had been brought to see the beginners' class rehearse, made an offer. Her little boy had been a page at a wedding at the beginning of the war. He was at the time younger than Mark, but he was big for his age, and Mark, like all the Forbes children, was small for his. Her son had worn a Kate Greenaway suit with a very frilly white shirt, blue satin trousers, white silk socks and blue satin shoes. Everybody was enchanted, and from Madame Fidolia down they said so in their own way.

Madame said, “That would be perfect; he will look a picture.”

Winifred: “Won't he look a duck!”

Madame Moulin: “
Tout à fait ravissant!
”

Dr. Felix Lente: “I know not this Kate Greenaway, but if he is made to look as pretty as 'is voice, then I satisfied am.”

Miss Jay, because she had produced the nursery rhymes, was more pleased than anybody.

“I shall have him on all the way through the scene with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the proscenium arch. When it's his cue to sing, he can stroll to the centre of the stage; he moves very naturally; the effect ought to be simply enchanting.”

They had all reckoned without Mark. The box with his clothes arrived one morning and Mark was sent for to try them on. Out of the box came a heavily-frilled shirt, and was held up against him, then, with squeaks of pleasure, Winifred and Miss Jay unpacked the blue shoes and blue trousers. Finally, Winifred discovered, rolled up in the corner, a pair of white silk socks. She turned to Miss Jay beaming.

“Well, isn't that thoughtful! Fancy lending us the socks too!”

Mark, who had been gazing at the clothes in an almost trance-like way, pulled himself together.

“Who is going to wear this?”

Winifred opened her mouth to say “you” when Miss Jay gave her a little nudge. She had caught a look in Mark's eye she did not like.

“Kate Greenaway designed clothes very suitable for singing nursery rhymes,” she said briskly. “When she was alive, boys of all ages were dressed like this.”

Mark looked at the socks and shoes and dismissed what Miss Jay was saying as sheer foolishness; and, indeed, the exact argument about that set of clothes was not worrying him for he had no intention of wearing them, but he was furious with Miss Jay. He considered her a friend and thought she had let him down.

“You promised me I was dressed in blue and green feathers with a scarlet crest.”

Miss Jay wished with all her heart she had never invented his bird. It had never crossed her mind that Mark thought he was going to be dressed in feathers. She was a scrupulously fair woman and would never pretend that something was going to happen that was not, in order to bribe a child to work well. She decided that she must have time to think of the right approach to Mark before she forced the clothes on him. She put the lid on the box and put her arm round him.

“Sorry, I had never planned you should be dressed as a bird. I had only imagined you singing like one; but we'll see what can be done.”

It was no surprise to Miss Jay at the next nursery-rhyme rehearsal that Mark sang very badly. She was sorry, but she would have been sorrier still if she could have known how violently angry and hurt he was. He confided just how he felt to Sorrel.

“It isn't only they thought they could dress me like a girl in blue satin. I'm used to all that sort of thing. After all, when you're made to put on white socks for every dancing class, you can get used to anything; but it was her absolute promise that I was to be a bird that I mind. I just hate the way grown-up people make promises and then break them. She says she didn't, but she absolutely did. I was being a bird on a branch, and the only person near me was that Mrs. Blondin, and she was a mandrill looking for fleas.”

Sorrel had known, from Mark, that he was going to be dressed as a bird and that he was pleased about it; but this was the first time she had known to what lengths his imagination had carried him.

“But, Mark, Mrs. Blondin's going to be sitting at the piano in the orchestra, where all the audience can see her. You couldn't really have thought she was going to be dressed as a mandrill.” She thought a little more on the subject and then added: “A mandrill more than anything, seeing how they are behind.”

Mark's imagination, when in full flood, was quite incapable of being checked by material difficulties. He could only repeat, in a voice suffocated with anger:

“It's what she said and what she promised. Anyway, there was being a branch built for me up above everybody else. I shouldn't have been looking at mandrills or anything. I was just looking at the sky and the sun. That's what she said and it was an absolute promise.”

Miss Jay went to see Madame and told her the whole story. All her life Madame had worked with imaginative people; and though, of course, now she was able to keep her imagination from running away with her, she had known what it was, when she was Mark's age, to build a completely imaginary world from fragments of conversation overheard, or things invented by herself. She remembered her first interview with Mark and how he had said “Madame” in a low, deep growl, and when she had asked him how he was dressed when he bowed to her, she had got him to confess that he had thought he was a bear in the Antarctic who had travelled miles to call on the Queen.

“Send Winifred along here, will you?” When Winifred in her practice dress came dashing in, Madame pointed to a chair for her to sit on. “Miss Jay and I are in a dilemma. It seems that Mark Forbes understood Miss Jay to promise that he was going to be dressed as a bird, and as a bird he was singing like a bird. Now he feels unjustly treated and is singing very badly. Miss Jay thinks that it isn't naughtiness, but that he really feels so hurt and angry that he can't use his voice properly. Now I think, since we can't dress him as a bird, that we'll have to suggest a compromise. Could we put a Polar bear into the winter ballet? We've got that white cat's skin in the wardrobe we could alter, and I expect we can hire or contrive a white bear's head, and we must make a stumpy tail. Anyway, it would be near enough.”

Winifred got up and hummed the ballet music. Now and again doing half a step demi-point. She turned to Madame.

“Why shouldn't the child, when she wakes up in the land of winter, find herself lying with her head on a Polar bear? As a matter of fact, I wanted to think of something that would add to the fairy-tale atmosphere of that scene. It's very difficult to get the effect before the ice fairies and snow fairies come on. Mark can't dance much, of course, but he can manage a few simple steps and he'll certainly add to the charm of the scene.”

Winifred was sent to fetch Mark. He came in to Madame's sitting-room, bowed nicely, and said “Madame,” but his eyes were not the friendly eyes that Madame usually saw, but hard and angry. She smiled at him.

“Well, my son, I hear we've disappointed you.”

Mark was fair enough not to blame Madame for what had happened.

“It was an absolute promise, blue and green feathers and a red crest.”

Madame spoke quietly.

“No, Mark. It was not an absolute promise. You thought it was a promise, but it was a misunderstanding. Miss Jay wanted you to sing like a bird. She had never pictured you dressed as one.” Mark moved forward to speak. Madame lifted her hand and checked him. “And what is more, my child, you cannot be dressed as a bird because we have not got anything at all in the way of a costume for a bird; and, as you know, we cannot waste coupons on materials for these things. Before we go any further with this discussion, I want you to apologise to Miss Jay. You should have known her too well to think that she would make you a promise and not keep it.”

“But she did promise. And Mrs. Blondin was a mandrill.”

This was too much for Madame. She laughed.

“Nonsense, Mark! I do not care how vivid your imagination may be; but you cannot seriously, even at your age, think that Miss Jay was going to dress Mrs. Blondin as a mandrill.” She changed her tone. “But I do think you thought there was a promise and, because you thought that, when you have apologised to Miss Jay I shall tell you what we propose to do to make it up to you. I don't expect you to apologise for anything except allowing your imagination to run away with you to such an extent that you could think Miss Jay would break a promise.”

Mark wrestled with himself. He was so convinced that he had been promised, that it was very hard to be fair about it, but at last he managed to say to Miss Jay:

“Well, I'm sorry if I said you broke a promise when you didn't.”

Miss Jay accepted this.

“Thank you, Mark.”

Madame beckoned him to her and held out a hand.

“Now hear what we have planned for you instead. How would you like to be a bear?”

Mark's world reeled. He flew off his branch, cast aside his feathers and dressed himself in fur.

“What sort of bear?”

“Polar,” said Madame.

Mark turned to Miss Jay.

“All the songs will have to be set very low to be sung in a growl.”

Miss Jay had a horrifying vision of what Mark, as a bear, might do to her nursery rhymes. She spoke slowly and rather severely, so that there might be no mistake this time.

“The nursery rhymes come first, and for those you wear the Kate Greenaway dress that you saw in the box. You will sing the nursery rhymes just the same as you did when you were a bird, but you will be dressed as a boy.”

Madame took up the conversation.

“You know all about the ballet in the second half. We want a Polar bear in that. If you sing the nursery rhymes well you shall be that bear, but one of the other children will understudy you, and if you don't sing well then you won't be the bear.”