Mood Indigo

  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.

  33

  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.

  ‘You’re not angry with me? …’

  ‘Angry? Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve got such a stupid wife …’

  He kissed the hollow of her worried shoulder.

  ‘Put your arm back inside, Chloe. You’ll catch cold.’

  ‘I don’t feel cold,’ said Chloe. ‘Listen to the record.’

  There was something unearthly in the way Johnny Hodges played. Something inexplicable, yet perfectly sensual. Sensuality in its purest state, quite separate from anything physical.

  The corners of the room softened and curved with the music. Colin and Chloe were now lying in the centre of a sphere.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Chloe.

  ‘It was “The Mood to be Wooed”,’ said Colin.

  ‘That’s just how I felt,’ said Chloe. ‘But how will the doctor be able to get in here with a shape like this?’

  34

  Nicholas went to open the door. The doctor was standing on the step.

  ‘I’m the doctor,’ he said.

  ‘Smashing,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you would be good enough to follow me …’

  He lured him along behind him.

  ‘There,’ he said when they were in the kitchen, ‘taste that and tell me what you think.’

  A peculiarly coloured brew, verging towards Caucasian purple and bladder green with a slight bias towards chrome blue was fizzing in a vitrified receptacle of silicon, soda and lime-juice.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘A beverage …’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I know that …’ said the doctor, ‘but what does it do?’

  ‘It picks you up,’ said Nicholas.

  The doctor picked up the glass, passed it under his nose, smelled it, gave a broad grin, inhaled deeply, tasted it, then swallowed it down and held his stomach in both hands, letting his little black bag drop.

  ‘Does it work?’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Wow! … It certainly does,’ said the doctor. ‘It could massacre an army … Are you a vet?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘just a cook … Well then, so it works, does it?’

  ‘It’s not bad,’ said the doctor. ‘I feel like a boy again …’

  ‘Come and see the patient,’ said Nicholas, ‘now that you’ve been disinfected.’

  The doctor set off, but in the wrong direction.

  He was far from being master of his movements.

  ‘Ho, hum!’ said Nicholas. ‘Well now! … I hope you’ll be fit enough to examine the patient …’

  ‘Of course,’ said the doctor. ‘But I’d like to have a second opinion, so I’ve asked Gnawknuckle to come along too …’

  ‘Good,’ said Nicholas. ‘In that case, come this way.’

  He opened the door leading to the fire escape.

  ‘Go down three floors and turn right. Just go straight in and you’ll be there …’

  ‘OK,’ said the doctor …

  He started on his way down and suddenly stopped.

  ‘But where will I be?’

  ‘Why, there! …’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Oh! Good! …’ said the doctor.

  Nicholas closed the door. Colin came in.

  ‘What was all that?’ he asked.

  ‘A doctor. He seemed stupid, so I’ve got rid of him.’

  ‘But we need one,’ said Colin.

  ‘Of course,’ said Nicholas. ‘Gnawknuckle’s on his way.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Colin.

  A bell tinkled again.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ said Colin. ‘I’ll go.’

  In the corridor the mouse ran up his leg and perched on his right shoulder. He hurried and opened the door for the professor.

  ‘Good evening!’ said the latter.

  He was all dressed in black, except for a blinding yellow shirt.

  ‘Physiologically,’ he declared, ‘black over a yellow background provides the maximum contrast. I might add that it doesn’t tire the eyes, either; and it also prevents the wearer being run over in heavy tr
affic.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Colin, nodding his approval.

  Professor Gnawknuckle must have been about fifty. The inches round his waist were exactly the same as his age. He was very fussy about ensuring that neither should exceed the other. He had a clean-shaven face with a little pointed beard and non-committal specs.

  ‘Would you like to come with me?’ said Colin.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said the professor. ‘I’m thinking about it …’

  He thought about it and went.

  ‘Who is it that’s ill?’

  ‘Chloe,’ said Colin.

  ‘Ah!’ said the professor, ‘that reminds me of a tune …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin. ‘It’s the same one.’

  ‘First,’ concluded Gnawknuckle, ‘let’s go and see her. You should have told me sooner. What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Colin.

  ‘Neither do I,’ confessed the professor. ‘We might as well face facts.’

  ‘But you will find out?’ asked Colin anxiously.

  ‘I may do,’ said Professor Gnawknuckle, doubtfully. ‘I haven’t examined her yet …’

  ‘Come on then …’ said Colin.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes …’ said the professor.

  Colin led him to the bedroom door and suddenly remembered something.

  ‘Mind how you go in,’ he said. ‘It’s round.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m used to that,’ said Gnawknuckle. ‘She’s pregnant? …’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Colin, ‘don’t be silly … The room’s round!’

  ‘Completely round?’ asked the professor. ‘Have you been playing an Ellington record then?’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ said Colin.

  ‘I’ve got some at home too,’ said Gnawknuckle. ‘D’you know “Slap Happy”?’

  ‘I prefer …’ began Colin. Then he remembered that Chloe was waiting, and pushed the professor into the room.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the professor. He went up the ladder.

  ‘Good evening,’ replied Chloe. ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Floundering flukes,’ answered the professor, ‘my liver puts me through it at times, you know. Do you know what it’s like?’

  ‘No,’ said Chloe.

  ‘Of course not,’ replied the professor. ‘You haven’t got anything wrong with your liver, have you?’

  He went up to Chloe and felt her hand.

  ‘A trifle warm, eh? …’

  ‘I can’t tell.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the professor. ‘But that’s a red herring.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I’ll sound you, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Chloe.

  The professor took an amplified stethoscope out of his little black bag and put it on Chloe’s back.

  ‘Start counting,’ he said.

  Chloe counted.

  ‘That’s not right,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s twenty-seven that comes after twenty-six!’

  ‘Of course it does,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s enough, anyway,’ said the doctor. ‘Have you been coughing?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chloe, and she coughed.

  ‘What’s wrong with her, doctor?’ asked Colin. ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘Well! …’ said the professor, ‘she’s got something the matter with her right lung. But I don’t know what it is …’

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Colin.

  ‘She’ll have to come and see me for a more detailed examination,’ said the professor.

  ‘I don’t very much like the idea of taking her out, doctor,’ said Colin. ‘Suppose she has another attack like the one she had this afternoon?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the professor. ‘It isn’t serious. I’ll give you a prescription, but you must be sure to take it.’

  ‘Of course, doctor,’ said Chloe.

  She put her hand to her mouth and began coughing.

  ‘Don’t cough,’ said Gnawknuckle.

  ‘Try not to cough, darling,’ said Colin.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ said Chloe, between coughs.

  ‘There’s a funny kind of music you can hear in her lung,’ said the professor.

  He seemed rather puzzled and put out.

  ‘Is it normal, doctor?’ asked Colin.

  ‘To a certain degree …’ replied the professor.

  He pulled his little beard and it sprang back on to his chin with a sharp snap.

  ‘When shall we come and see you, doctor?’ asked Colin.

  ‘In three days time,’ said the professor. ‘I’ll have got my apparatus working again by then.’

  ‘Don’t you often use it?’ asked Chloe this time.

  ‘No,’ said the professor. ‘I much prefer making scale models of aeroplanes. But people are always pestering me so I’ve been on the same one for a year now and I can’t seem to find the time to finish it. It gets exasperating after a while! …’

  ‘It must do,’ said Colin.

  ‘They’re sharks,’ said the professor. ‘It amuses me to compare myself to the poor shipwrecked mariner whose slumbers are watched by voracious monsters waiting for the precise moment to capsize his fragile craft.’

  ‘How poetic,’ said Chloe, and she laughed, very quietly so that she would not start coughing again.

  ‘Be careful, honey child,’ said the professor, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s a stupidly poetic image because in the New Scientist for 16 May 1931 it’s clearly stated that, contrary to current opinion, only three or four of the thirty-five known species of sharks are man-eaters. And even they only attack if they are attacked first …’

  ‘What a lot of things you know, doctor,’ said Chloe, full of admiration.

  She rather liked this doctor.

  ‘What a lot of things the New Scientist knows,’ said the doctor, ‘– not me! And, on that word, I shall bid you Good-Night.’

  He gave Chloe a big kiss on her right cheek, patted her on the shoulder and went down the little ladder. His right foot got tangled round his left foot, his left foot round the bottom rung, and he tumbled all the way down.

  ‘You have to know the knack of this gadget,’ he remarked to Colin, rubbing his back vigorously.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Colin.

  ‘And anyway,’ added the professor, ‘there’s something lugubrious about this spherical room. Try putting on “Slap Happy” – that ought to bring it back to shape. Otherwise I should try planing it.’

  ‘Orders understood,’ said Colin. ‘Can I offer you one for the road?’

  ‘OK,’ said the professor. ‘Bye-bye, my dear,’ he called to Chloe, before going out of the room.

  Chloe was still smiling. From down below you could see her sitting on the big low bed as if she were on a trampoline, theatrically lit by the bedside lamp. The rays of light filtered through her hair with the luminosity and colour of sunshine through fresh young blades of grass, and the light that had been close to her skin touched with gold those objects that it went on to illuminate.

  ‘You’ve got a very pretty wife,’ the professor said to Colin when they were out of the room.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ said Colin.

  Tears suddenly began to run down his cheeks because he knew that Chloe was in pain.

  ‘Now, now,’ said the professor, ‘you’re putting me in an embarrassing position … I’ll have to do something to make you feel better too …’

  He delved into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little notebook bound in real leather.

  ‘Look, this is mine.’

  ‘Your what?’ asked Colin, doing his best to remain patient.

  ‘My wife,’ explained the professor.

  Colin opened the notebook out of politeness, and then burst out laughing.

  ‘There! You see!’ said the professor. ‘It never fails. They all laugh. But you must tell me … What is there so funny about her?’

  ‘I … I don’t …
know,’ burbled Colin, and doubled over, a helpless prey to a seizure of extreme high hilarity.

  The professor took back his wallet.

  ‘You’re all the same,’ he said. ‘You think a woman has to be pretty … And what about that drink? Am I still going to get it?’

  35

  Colin, closely followed by Chick, pushed open the door of the remedy shop. It went ‘Ding!’ and the glass in the door shattered into a terrifyingly complex jigsaw over a display of phials and laboratory instruments.

  Disturbed by the noise, the crapothecary looked up. He was thin, tall and old, and his head sported an erect white mane like a crown.

  He sprang to his counter, grabbed the telephone and dialled a number with that swiftness that can only be acquired as the result of many years of experience.

  ‘Hello!’ he said.

  His voice was like a fog-horn, and the floor around his long flat black feet flowed evenly backwards and forwards while showers of spray hit the counter and bounced off again.

  ‘Hello! Gershwin House? Would you come and put some new glass in my shop door? In fifteen minutes? … Hurry then, in case another customer comes in … OK …’

  He put down the phone and it struggled to clamber home over the dial.

  ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’

  ‘Make up this prescription …’ suggested Colin.

  The chemist snatched the sheet of paper, drew a pair of eyes, a nose and a mouth on it, and then applied eye-shadow powder and lipstick to them.

  ‘That’s done!’ he said, blacking one of the eyes with a rubber stamp proclaiming his name and address.

  ‘Come back this evening at six of the clock and your remedy will be ready.’

  ‘We’re in,’ said Colin, ‘a great hurry.’

  ‘We’d like,’ said Chick, ‘to have it straight away.’

  ‘If you’d,’ replied the salesman, ‘like to wait, then I’ll see what I can do.’

  Colin and Chick sat and waited on a long seat upholstered in purple plush that was facing the counter. The shopkeeper bobbed down behind his counter and disappeared through a secret door, crawling away almost silently. The shuffling of his long thin body over the parquet grew fainter and fainter and finally faded away into nothing.