The Malacia Tapestry (5 page)

‘It has long been known through the learned alchemists that there are certain salts what have an empathy with or aversion against the light, so that some say they are fallen from the sun or the moon. I have developed here a process whereby a judicious mixture of silver iodine will secure on a slide of glass an image of whatever is placed before the zahnoscope. A second process involving oils of lavender and heated mercury fixes the image permanently on the glass. This is painting without hands, my dear de Chirolo …'

When he beamed at me, he looked years younger.

‘Why tell me your secret?'

He shook his head. ‘It's not mine but Nature's. All what wish can share it. You do not realize the oppressiveness of the state what we live in –'

‘I love my native city.'

‘I what am a foreigner should not criticize? Nevertheless, any such scientific processes what I describe are suppressed … Justice is denied – and beauty.'

He snatched from one of the exhibition racks a slide which he urged me to hold up to the light. It was a volcanic eruption. I stared through a volcano in full spate, with streams of lava furrowing its snow-clad slopes – to see one of the most beautiful faces I had ever come across, a face with a high-bridged nose, two dark-golden eyes, a mouth that was flashing a brilliant smile – though not in my direction – and a delicate head of cultivated unruly hair, jet-black and tied with a length of blue ribbon at the back.

Even as this face materialized through the volcanic eruption, it turned into profile and then went into eclipse, with only the tresses and ribbons at the back of the head available to my view. Even that was thrilling enough; but never had I seen a profile so adorable, or so originally designed, with the entire physiognomy depending from that patrician nose, without the nose being too large even by one delicious millimetre.

Lowering Mount Vesuvius slightly, I regarded the body to which this fabulous head was such an exquisite adjunct. Though I beheld it only from behind, I saw that the waist was slender, the hips generous, and the buttocks altogether matchless enough to put the snowy slopes of any volcano to shame. The whole enchanting figure was sheathed in a long, crisp dress of apricot-coloured silk which swept to the floor. My aesthetic senses, roused by the proportions of the face, were overtaken by my carnal ones and I resolved to approach this beauty at whatever cost.

All the while, Bengtsohn was talking in his cranky way, mistaking the subject of my absorption, ‘… this beautiful view was never touched by human hands …'

‘Glad I am to hear you say it.'

‘The exciting effect of fire and snow in conjunction …'

‘Oh, yes, and that conjunction …'

‘Yet this is but an imitation of an imitation …'

‘No, that I can't believe! This is the real thing at last.'

‘You flatter me, but the zahnoscope can be made to capture the real thing, to go straight to life rather than art …'

I put the slide down. The vision was preparing to leave the gallery; I might never see her again and my happiness would never be complete.

‘You must excuse me, Maestro – I do have more preference for life than for art, just as you do. You must manage your affairs and I mine –'

Seeing I was making to go, he grasped my arm.

‘Listen, please, young man. I'm offering you work and money. All-People can't be mistaken. You have not work or money. I want to do a new thing with the zahnoscope. I want to mercurize – that's how I call it – I want to mercurize a whole story on slides, using real actors, not just paintings. It will be a dazzling new success, it will be revolutionary – and you can take prominently part in it. Now, come into the workshop and let me explain properly all.'

‘I've just seen a friend – who's the fair creature at the far end of the gallery?'

He answered sharply. ‘That's Armida Hoytola, daughter of the gallery-owner, a difficult, flighty girl. She's a parasite, a class enemy. Don't waste your time –'

‘A thousand thanks for the meal, but I cannot work for you. All-People looked at the wrong constellation. There is other work more fitting …'

I bowed to him and left. He drew himself up, folding his arms over his ancient coat, with the funniest expression on his face.

At the far end of the gallery, beyond the counter, was a doorway into a coffee lounge. My fair creature was making her way through it with a friend. No chaperons that I could see. The friend was about the same age as – Armida? – Armida! – and striking too in her own way, a plump girl with chestnut ringlets. On an ordinary day she would certainly have attracted one's attention; her only fault was to be caught with the divine Armida. They made a pretty pair as they moved into the lounge, although I had eyes for only one of them.

Pausing in the doorway, I wondered whether to appear tragic or cheerful; the poverty of my clothes decided me on the latter course.

The two of them were settling at a nearby table. As Armida sat back, our eyes met. Streams of animal magnetism poured across the room. On impulse, holding her gaze, I went forward, seized one of the empty chairs at her table, and said, ‘Ladies' – but I addressed myself only to her – ‘I see in your faces such human warmth that I venture uninvited to thrust my company upon you. I desperately need counsel and, since we are total strangers to each other, you can give me impartial advice at a time when my whole life is in crisis.'

There was hauteur in their manner directly I started speaking. As they looked at each other, I saw that the companion with the brown hair was quite a beauty, by no means as elegantly slender as Armida, but with a chubbiness that had its own undeniable attractions. Whatever passed between them I know not; I only know that when they looked back towards me, the ice had slightly melted.

‘Perhaps your crisis will allow you time to drink chocolate with us,' Armida said in a voice freighted with light musics.

Gratefully, I sat down. ‘Five minutes only … Then urgent business must take me elsewhere. You were enjoying the exhibition?'

‘It's tolerably familiar to us,' said Armida, waving a dismissive hand. ‘What is your crisis, sir? You have us agog, as I expect you intend.'

‘We all confront crises in our lives …' But that would not do. ‘My father,' I said, thinking quickly, ‘he's a stern man. He is forcing me to decide my future career. I have to tell him by the week's end whether I will enter the Army or the High Religion.'

‘I'm sure your heart's pure enough for the Church,' said Armida, smiling with enough warmth to cook an egg. ‘Is it not brave enough for the Army?'

‘My dilemma is that I wish as a good son to please my father, but I want to become something more fulfilling than a monk or a grenadier.'

Two pretty heads went to one side as they gazed upon me. My head was turned completely.

‘Why not,' said the brown-haired one, ‘become a player? It's a terribly varied career which gives pleasure to many.'

My hopes rose within me, so much so that I reached forward and seized her hand where it lay on the table. ‘How kind of you to suggest it!'

Armida said, ‘Pooh, not a player! They're poor and the stories they play out are dull … It's the lowest form of animal life! There's no advancement in it.'

The effect of this speech from those lips was enough to cool my blood by several degrees, down almost to frost level. Matters were only saved by Armida's leaning forward and adding, confidingly, ‘Bedalar's latest fancy is a player – he's handsome, grant you that – so she thinks nothing male is of any use unless it basks before the limelights every evening at seven.'

Bedalar put out a pretty tongue at her friend. ‘You're only jealous!'

Armida showed her an even prettier tongue back. I could have watched such rivalry all evening, while thinking how cordially I would receive that nimble little tongue into my own cheek. So involved were my senses that only later did Bedalar's name register on me; I had heard it before that day.

Armida's air of imparting a confidence had soothed me, but there was a chill in the conversation, as the two girls gazed at each other and I gazed moodily at them.

Fortunately, chocolate arrived in a silver pot, and we occupied ourselves with drinking.

Setting down her cup, Bedalar announced that she must leave.

‘We all know whom you're going to meet, so don't be coy,' said Armida. Turning to me as her friend left, she said, ‘The new-found player. He's out of work, so they can enjoy a rendezvous at any old time that Bedalar's chaperon is out of sight. I have a friend of high connection – one must not say whom – who is involved with his duty today, and many other days as well.'

I thought this was more unkindness and said, ‘Perhaps you wish me to leave …'

‘You may go or stay as you like. I didn't invite you to sit down.'

It was no good sulking before this little minx. ‘I came voluntarily, yes; I now find myself unable to leave voluntarily. I am already under such a spell as it would take a dozen gentlemen of connection, drunk or sober' – I thought I'd strike there – ‘to disperse.'

She half-pouted, half-laughed.

‘How silly I shall look on the street with you running behind my carriage. And you even sillier, following rather like a carriage dog.'

‘I make it a rule never to run behind carriages. Let's walk together instead. Come, we will walk in Trundles Park and see who laughs at us.'

I rose and offered my arm. She got up – and what a movement that was! La Singla could not have managed it better – and said with exquisite seriousness, ‘And I'm supposed to pay for the chocolate consumed by all and sundry?'

‘Is this not your father's establishment? Do you insult them by trying to offer them money?'

‘You know who I am … I don't frequent many strata of Malacian society, so I have no notion who you are.'

When I told her my name, I noted that it was unfamiliar to her, although in view of her poor opinion of players that was possibly as well.

I offered my arm again. She rested four gloved fingers upon its upper surface and said, ‘You may escort me to my carriage.'

‘We are going to walk in the park.'

‘You are presumptuous if you believe I will do anything of the sort. I could not at all afford to be seen in the park with you.'

We stood looking at each other. Close to she was startling. Hers was a face which beauty made formidable; yet there was about her mouth a kind of wistfulness which seemed to contradict the hauteur.

‘May I see you tomorrow, then, in whatever circumstances you prefer?'

She adjusted her hair and the ribbons in her hair, and put on a bonnet which an assistant brought. A smile grew about her lips.

‘You'll be involved in battles or canticles tomorrow, won't you?'

‘Swords and holy vows alike mean nothing to me where you're concerned. You are so beautiful, Miss Hoytola, I've never seen anyone like you.'

‘You are certainly a forward young fellow – though I don't necessarily hold that against you. But I begin a special commission – not work of any kind, naturally – tomorrow, and so shall not be at liberty.'

We moved towards the door, which a lackey opened, bowing low and hiding a glint of envy in his eye. We emerged into the mid-day street, almost empty as siesta took over Malacia.

‘What sort of commission, Miss Hoytola?'

A frown, barely rumpling the exquisite brow. ‘That's no concern of yours. It happens to be something to please the whim of my parents, who fancy they cannot have enough portraits of me, doting things. So I am to pose a little for a mad foreigner in our employ, one Otto Bengtsohn. He's something of an artist in his fashion.'

Although I had lingered to the best of my ability, we were at her equipage. The carriage shone like a crown with sun and polish. A highly groomed mare waited between the shafts. The powdered driver was opening a door for Armida. She was lifting her apricot skirts, preparing to climb in and be whisked away.

‘We must part here, sir. It was pleasant making your acquaintance.'

‘We shall meet again, I feel sure.'

She smiled.

The door was closed, the driver mounted behind. The whip was cracked, she waved, they were off. Stand still to act effectively; it had no application here.

As I turned, the gallery was closing for siesta, the blinds were being drawn down. I walked slowly away.

Of course I could not be in love.

Strolling down the street I ran over our brief conversation in my mind. I was far too poor for her, for Armida Hoytola. Yet she had been interested. Her friend could be Bedalar, Caylus Nortolini's sister, whom de Lambant had mentioned. If Bedalar deigned to look at a player, then her friend might also find it fashionable. Unbidden, a picture came to my mind of my marrying Armida and walking secure in the sort of society I knew I would enjoy …

The vision passed, and I was left with her words about the commission with Bengtsohn. There lay my opportunity!

At once I turned down the expansive Exhibition Road and into the narrow alleys behind, until I found myself again in the gloom of the Court of the Dark Eye.

A group of men, all dingily dressed, stood in the darkest recesses of the court; there were women among them, old and young. They turned guiltily as I entered. One of them came forward, carrying a stout stick; it was the apprentice I had met, Bonihatch.

‘What do you want?'

‘I need to speak to Bengtsohn.'

‘We're busy. There's a meeting, can't you see? Shove off, as you did before.'

But Bengtsohn moved up behind him, saying mildly, ‘It's siesta and we talk of pigeon racing, de Chirolo. What do you wish from me? You left me abruptly enough.'

I gave him a bow. ‘My apologies for that discourtesy. I had a mission.'

‘Thus it seemed.'