Mood Indigo (12 page)

Chloe was getting ready.

‘Tell Nicholas to make some Satchmo sandwiches,' she said, ‘so that we can go out straight away … I said we'd all meet at Isis's place.'

On the spur of the moment, Colin kissed her on the shoulder, and then ran to tell Nicholas. Nicholas had just finished bandaging the mouse and was making it a little pair of crutches out of twigs of bamboo.

‘There we are,' he said, putting it down. ‘Try walking on those till this evening, and then everything should be all right again.'

‘What happened?' asked Colin, tickling the mouse behind the ear.

‘It wanted to get the tiles in the corridor sparkling again,' said Nicholas. ‘It managed it, but it hurt itself in the process.'

‘You shouldn't worry about them,' said Colin. ‘They'll get their shine back by themselves one day.'

‘I don't know,' said Nicholas. ‘It's very odd. It's as if they couldn't breathe properly.'

‘They'll soon be back to normal,' said Colin … ‘At least, I'm almost certain they will … Haven't they ever gone like it before?'

‘No,' said Nicholas.

Colin stood for a few moments beside the kitchen window.

‘Perhaps it's just wear and tear,' he said. ‘We could try putting new ones down …'

‘That would be very expensive,' said Nicholas.

‘Yes,' said Colin. ‘We might as well wait and see.'

‘What did you want?' asked Nicholas.

‘Don't do any cooking,' said Colin. ‘Just make some Satchmo sandwiches … We're going out straight away.'

‘OK then. I'll get dressed,' said Nicholas.

He put the mouse on the floor and it hobbled off towards the door, tottering between its little crutches, its black whiskers sticking out on either side.

The appearance of the street had completely altered since Colin and Chloe had been away. The leaves on the trees were enormous now, and the pale complexions of the houses had been lost under a gentle green shade prior to taking on the soft beige of summer. The pavement was growing soft and springy underfoot, and the air smelt of pomegranates and strawberries.

It was still fresh, but you could tell that fine weather was on the way by the blueness of the window-panes. Green and blue flowers – and some flowers that were between blue and blue – were growing all along the kerbs of the pavement, and the sap trickled round their slim stems with a light damp sound like a kiss between a pair of amorous snails.

Nicholas was the first one out. He was wearing a sports suit of warm mustard tweed over a roll-neck sweater with a Fair-Isle pattern based on the wood-engraving of a Salmon à la Glamis taken from page 607 of the Colour Supplement to ffroydde's
Household Management
. His crepe-soled canteloupe leather shoes hardly bent the tops of the vegetation. He was careful to walk in the double tracks that had been cleared to let the traffic through.

Colin and Chloe followed him, Chloe holding Colin's
hand, breathing deeply the scented air. She was in a little white woollen dress, with a short jacket of leopard-skin which had been treated to elongate the spots and make them spread out in echoing overlapping ovals and curious optical patterns. Her spun hair flowed freely, exhaling a heady perfume of pink jasmine.

Colin, his eyes half-closed, let himself be guided by this perfume, and his lips trembled like the wings of a butterfly every time he breathed in. The fronts of the houses abandoned their severe rectitude to join with him and, as a result, the relaxed features of the street occasionally misled Nicholas, forcing him to stop and check up on their names at the corners.

‘What shall we do first?' asked Colin.

‘Go round the shops,' said Chloe. ‘I've only got one dress left.'

‘Don't you want to get one from Miss Hart and Miss Nell as usual?' said Colin.

‘No,' said Chloe. ‘I want to go round the shops and buy some ready-made dresses – and things and things and things!'

‘Isis will be thrilled to see you again, Nicholas,' said Colin.

‘Oh, will she? Why?' asked Nicholas.

‘I've no idea …'

They swerved into Sidney Bechet Street – and they were there. The housekeeper was sitting at the door in a mechanical rocking-chair whose engine popped to the rhythm of a polka. It was all rather old-fashioned and charming.

Isis greeted them. Chick and Alyssum were there already. Isis was wearing a red dress and smiled at Nicholas. She
kissed Chloe and they all permutated their interkissings for a few moments.

‘You look so well, Chloe darling,' said Isis. ‘I thought you were ill. But I can see you aren't.'

‘I'm much better,' said Chloe. ‘Nicholas and Colin looked after me marvellously.'

‘How are your little cousins?' asked Nicholas.

Isis blushed to her eyebrows.

‘They take turns to ask me about you every other day,' she said.

‘They're lovely girls,' said Nicholas, half-turning away, ‘but you are firmer.'

‘Yes …' said Isis.

‘And the honeymoon?' said Chick.

‘Went off very well,' said Colin. ‘The road was terrible to start with, but we managed to get over it.'

‘It was all lovely,' said Chloe, ‘except for the snow …'

She put her hand on her heart.

‘What are we going to do?' asked Alyssum.

‘I could tell you about Heartre's lecture, if you like,' said Chick.

‘Have you bought many books of his while we've been away?' asked Colin.

‘Oh, no! Not many …' said Chick.

‘And how's work?' asked Colin.

‘Oh! … All right …' said Chick. ‘I've got a pal who takes over when I have to go out.'

‘For nothing?' asked Colin.

‘Well … Almost,' said Chick. ‘Do you want to go to the Rinkspot straight away?'

‘No, we're going to the shops first,' said Chloe ‘But if the boys want to go skating …'

‘That's a good idea,' said Colin.

‘I'll go round the shops with the girls,' said Nicholas. ‘I've got some shopping to do too.'

‘That's fine then,' said Isis. ‘But let's hurry so we'll have time for a moment or two on the rink afterwards.'

Colin and Chick had been skating for an hour and the ice was beginning to get crowded. The same girls and the same boys were constantly going round and round, forever falling over in the same way and being swept away by the sweeper-serfs and their squeegees. The risk-jockey had just lifted from the turntable a chorus that the regulars had been learning by heart for weeks. He replaced it by the flip-side – an action that was thoroughly expected as his habits were beginning to become well-known. But the record suddenly stopped and a stentorian voice could be heard over all the loud-speakers but one, which stubbornly went on with the music. The voice asked Mr Colin if he would
go
to the Manager's Office as he was wanted on the telephone.

‘Whatever can that be for?' said Colin.

He flew to the edge of the rink, followed by Chick, and landed on the rubber matting. He grabbed the rail and rushed into the control cabin where the microphone was.

The risk-jockey was scrubbing the surface of a well-worn record from the top of the charts with a wire-brush to get rid of the scratches.

‘Hello!' said Colin, picking up the phone.

He listened.

Chick watched him. Firstly he looked shocked, and then turned the same colour as the ice.

‘Is it something serious?' he asked.

Colin made a sign asking him to keep quiet.

‘I'll be straight there,' he said, and hung up.

The sides of the cabin closed in and he just managed to squeeze out, followed closely by Chick, before he was crushed. He twisted his ankles with every step. He called to one of the attendants.

‘Open my cubicle for me quickly. No. 309.'

‘Mine too. No. 311,' said Chick.

The attendant dawdled along. Colin looked round, saw him ten yards behind and waited till he had caught him up. Taking brutal aim with his skate, he gave him a savage karate chop under the chin and the attendant's head flew off and landed on the top of one of the ventilation shafts while Colin took the key which the body was still absent-mindedly clutching in its hand. Colin opened a cubicle, kicked the trunk inside, spat on it and dashed off to No. 309. Chick slammed the door.

‘Whatever's the matter?' he asked breathlessly when he got there.

Colin had already taken off his skates and put on his shoes.

‘It's Chloe,' said Colin. ‘She's been taken ill.'

‘Seriously?'

‘I don't know,' said Colin. ‘She's fainted.'

He was ready and rushed out.

‘Where are you going?' cried Chick.

‘Home! …' shouted Colin, and he disappeared, followed by the reinforced echoes of the concrete stairs.

At the other end of the rinkunabula the half-suffocated
maintenance men from the ventilation plant were crawling out because the air-conditioning had collapsed. They fell down, exhausted, all round the rink.

Chick, stupefied, one skate in his hand, looked in bewilderment at the spot where Colin had disappeared.

Under the door of Cubicle No. 128, a thin bubbly trickle of blood was stickily oozing out, and the red liquid began to drip on to the ice in fat heavy steaming drops.

He ran like mad, seeing the people slowly toppling over to right and left like ninepins, making soft plopping noises on the pavements like a bombardment of empty cardboard boxes.

Colin ran on and on and on. The steep horizon, squeezed into a narrow space between the houses, was whizzing towards him. It was growing dark underfoot. A night of amorphous and inorganic black cotton-wool. And a sky without colour; a ceiling. Another sharp angle – arid he ran to the peak of the pyramid, his heart held by less gloomy visions of the night. But there were still two or three more streets to cross before he would be home.

Chloe was lying weightlessly on the fine bed where they had spent their wedding night. Her eyes were open, but she was breathing badly. Alyssum was with her. Isis was helping Nicholas who had searched through ffroydde for a pick-me-up, and the mouse was chopping up exotic herbs and seeds with its sharp teeth for a special night-cap.

But Colin knew nothing about this. He was running and
he was scared. Why can't we always be together? Things were always happening to alarm us. Perhaps it was an accident. She's been run over. She'll be in bed. I won't be allowed to see her. They'll stop me going in. But you don't really think I'd be afraid of seeing my darling Chloe? I must see her, whatever they may say. No, Colin, don't go in. Perhaps she's only got a minor injury – and tomorrow it will all be over. We'll go out to the park again together, and sit on the bench again, holding hands, her hair mingling with mine. I still steal her pillow and have pillow-fights with her every night. Hers is too hard for her. It stays stiff under her head, so I take it because it smells of her hair. Never again to smell the sweet smell of her hair …

The pavement rose straight up to meet him. He stepped over it with a giant stride and he was on the first floor. He went in, opened the door – and all was calm and quiet. There was nobody in black, no priests. The carpets and their blue-grey patterns were all at peace. Nicholas said, ‘It's nothing to worry about,' and Chloe smiled. She was happy that he was back home again.

Chloe's hand, warm and relaxed, rested confidently in Colin's. She was looking at him, reassuring him with her clear bewildered eyes. Underneath the platform in the bedroom worries were mounting up on top of each other, eager to stifle the ones lower in the pile. Chloe was conscious of an opaque force inside her body. She did not know how to struggle with the opposing presence in her
chest and fight back. When she dared she coughed, to try to dislodge the enemy that was clutching on to something deep inside her. When she breathed deeply she felt she was being sacrificed alive to the featureless wrath of the enemy and its insidious evil. But she hardly seemed to be breathing and the smooth sheets over her long naked legs seemed to pour calm oil on each of her troubled movements. At her side, Colin watchfully and tenderly looked down at her. It was growing dark in the shape of concentric ripples round the minute luminous centre of the lighted lamp that was set in the wall at the side of the bed, and screened by a round plaque of unpolished crystal.

‘Put on some music for me, Colin,' said Chloe. ‘Put on something that you like.'

‘It will tire you to listen,' said Colin.

His voice came from far away. He looked ill. His heart filled every corner of his chest, and he had only just realized it.

‘Of course it won't,' said Chloe. ‘Please! …'

Colin got up, scrambled down the little oak ladder and went over to the panel that controlled loud-speakers in all the rooms. He switched on the one in the bedroom.

‘What have you put on?' asked Chloe.

She smiled. She knew perfectly well.

‘Remember?' said Colin.

‘I remember …'

‘You're sure you're not in pain?'

‘It doesn't hurt very much …'

At the spot where a river joins the ocean there is a barrier that is very difficult to navigate. Wrecked ships dance helplessly in the great eddies of foam. Between the night outside and the light of the lamp, memories flowed
back from the darkness of the past, banging against the light and, immersed in its glow, gleaming and transparent, flaunted their white fronts and their silver backs.

Chloe tried to sit up a little.

‘Come back and sit by my side …'

Colin went up close to her and snuggled himself across the bed so that Chloe's head rested in the hollow of his left arm. The lace of her light nightdress made a frivolous interlaced pattern over her golden skin, tenderly broken by the rising of her breasts. Chloe's hand clung to Colin's shoulder.