Mood Indigo

  ‘It’s Colin marrying that Chloe,’ said his brother disgustedly.

  ‘Why d’you say it like that?’ asked Coriolanus. ‘He’s a lovely boy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s lovely all right,’ said Pegasus, putting his tongue round his lips. ‘But Chloe! She’s got such round little titties that you could never take her for a boy! …’

  Coriolanus blushed.

  ‘Well I think she’s sweet …’ he murmured. ‘She makes you feel you want to touch them … Doesn’t she have that effect on you? …’

  His brother looked at him, stupefied.

  ‘You’re a rotten pig!’ he spluttered, using all his energy. ‘You’re the most depraved person I know … One of these days you’ll end up marrying a woman! …’

  18

  Father Phigga came out of the undervestry, followed by his Unisexton Bedull and a Husher. They were carrying colossal corrugated cardboard cartons crammed with candles, coloured crepe and carnival decorations.

  ‘When the Daubers’ van comes, ask it to drive right up to the altar, Aubrey,’ he said to the Husher.

  This was because the majority of professional Hushers are called Marmaduke.

  ‘And everything has got to be yellow?’ said Aubrey.

  ‘With purple stripes,’ said the Unisexton Bedull. His name on the charts was Adam Browbeadle but he was really called Jeremiah Jingo. He was a big friendly rascal whose gold chain and uniform shone as brightly as a row of frozen noses.

  ‘Yes,’ said Father Phigga, ‘because the Hamarishi Pibosh is coming on later in his caravan to give them the blessing. Come on, let’s tart up the Minstrels’ Gallery with the things in these boxes.’

  ‘How many Minstrels are there?’ asked the Husher.

  ‘Three score and thirteen,’ said the Unisexton Bedull.

  ‘And twenty Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys,’ said Father Phigga proudly.

  The Husher gave a long low whistle.

  ‘And only two people getting married!’ he said with admiration.

  ‘Yes,’ said Father Phigga. ‘That’s the way rich folk do things.’

  ‘And are there many people coming?’ asked the Unisexton Bedull.

  ‘Millions!’ said the Husher. ‘I’m going to carry my long red pikestaff and my big stick with the red knob.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Father Phigga. ‘You ought to carry the yellow pikestaff and the purple stick – they’re much more uppercrust, and you’ll be as swish as a Swiss Guard.’

  By now they were under the gallery. Father Phigga opened a little secret door in one of the supporting pillars. Like an Archimedean screw they began climbing up the narrow winding stair, one after the other. A vague glimmer of light came down on them from above.

  After twenty-four turns of the screw they stopped for breath.

  ‘It’s hard work!’ said Father Phigga.

  The Husher, who was at the bottom, agreed, and Adam Browbeadle, who was in the middle, concurred with this observation.

  ‘Only two more turns and a half,’ said Father Phigga.

  They emerged on to a platform at the opposite end of the church to the altar, a hundred yards up in the air, and the floor below could be barely seen through the mist. Clouds drifted into the church and floated across the nave in fat faithful flocks.

  ‘It’s going to be fine,’ said the Unisexton Bedull, sniffing at the clouds. ‘I can smell thyme passing.’

  ‘There’s hawthorn and catkin too,’ said the Husher. ‘I’m sure I got a whiff of them.’

  ‘I hope the service will be a success!’ said Father Phigga.

  They put down their boxes and began to decorate the Minstrels’ music-stands with chains and bells. The Husher unwrapped them, blew away the dust, and then passed them on to the Unisexton Bedull and Father Phigga.

  Above them the pillars rose and rose and appeared to join together far, far away. The matt stone, a lovely creamy white in colour, was bathed in a calm, clear light reflected from the soft, sweet burst of day that caressed the church. At the very top everything was peacock-blue and turquoise.

  ‘We’ll have to polish up the mikes,’ said Father Phigga to the Husher.

  ‘I’m just unwinding my last chain!’ said the Husher, ‘then I’ll get on with it.’

  He took a red woollen duster out of his satchel and energetically began to rub the first microphone stand. There were four mikes, set out in a straight line at the front of the Minstrels’ gallery and rigged up so that every time there was a peal of bells outside the church, a tune would be played inside.

  ‘Hurry up, Aubrey,’ said Father Phigga. ‘Jeremiah and myself have finished.’

  ‘Wait for me then,’ said the Husher, ‘I’ve got five minutes’ grace.’

  Adam Browbeadle and Father Phigga put the lids back on the boxes of decorations and stacked them in a corner of the gallery where they could easily be found again after the wedding.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said the Husher.

  All three buckled the belts of their parachutes and leapt gracefully out into space. With a silky splash the three big rainbow-coloured flowers burst open and, some time later, they made perfect landings on the polished paving of the nave.

  19

  ‘Am I pretty?’

  Chloe was looking at herself in the flecked silver bowl where an uninhibited goldfish was playfully performing. On her shoulder the grey mouse with the black whiskers scratched its nose with its paw and looked at the rippling reflections.

  Chloe had put on her stockings – the same colour as her blonde skin, and as fine as the fumes of incense – and her high-heeled shoes of white leather. The rest of her was naked, except for a wide bangle of blue gold which made her delicate wrist seem even more slender.

  ‘Do you think I should get dressed? …’

  The mouse slid round Chloe’s round neck and settled on one of her breasts. It looked up at her from below – and seemed to think that she should.

  ‘In that case, I’ll have to put you down!’ said Chloe. ‘You know you’re going back to Colin’s tonight. But don’t forget to say good-bye to the others here! …’

  She put the mouse down on the carpet, looked out of the window, let the curtain fall back and went over to her bed. Her white dress was all laid out on it, with Isis and Alyssum’s water-clear dresses on either side.

  ‘Are you two ready yet?’

  In the bathroom, Alyssum was helping Isis do her hair. They too were already wearing their shoes and stockings.

  ‘None of us is getting ready very quickly – either in there or out here,’ said Chloe, pretending to be angry. ‘Do you children realize that I’m getting married this morning?’

  ‘You’ve still got a whole hour left!’ said Alyssum.

  ‘And that’s plenty!’ said Isis. ‘Your hair’s done already!’ Chloe laughed, tossing her curls. It was warm in the steam-filled bathroom, and Alyssum’s back was so appetizing that Chloe softly caressed it with the flat of her palms. Isis, sitting in front of the glass, let her supple scalp succumb to Alyssum’s scientific manipulation.

  ‘You’re tickling!’ said Alyssum, beginning to laugh.

  Chloe touched her deliberately where she was most ticklish – under the arms right down to the hips. Alyssum’s skin was warm and tingling.

  ‘And what about me?’ said Isis, who was doing her nails until they had finished.

  ‘You’re both so lovely,’ said Chloe. ‘It’s a pity you can’t come as you are. I wish you could both stay in just your shoes and stockings.’

  ‘Go and get dressed, honey,’ said Alyssum, ‘or you’ll miss everything.’

  ‘Kiss me,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m so happy!’

  Alyssum pushed her out of the bathroom and Chloe sat on the bed. She smiled to herself when she looked at the lace of her dress. First of all she put on a baby cellophane bra, and then a pair of white gingham pants. They brought out the beauty of her firm outlines to its fullest extent.

  20

  ‘All right?’ said Col
in.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Chick.

  For the fourteenth time Chick was trying to tie Colin’s tie and he just couldn’t manage it.

  ‘Try doing it with gloves on,’ said Colin.

  ‘Why?’ asked Chick. ‘Do you think it will work any better?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Colin. ‘It was just an idea.’

  ‘A good job we gave ourselves plenty of time!’ said Chick.

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin. ‘But we’ll still be late if we don’t get this right.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Chick. ‘We’ll manage it soon.’

  He performed a swift series of closely linked movements and sharply pulled both ends at the same time. The tie snapped in the middle and he was left holding half of it in each hand.

  ‘That’s number three!’ remarked Colin. But his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘All right,’ said Chick, ‘I know it is … Be patient!’

  He sat down on a chair and thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

  ‘I can’t think what we’re doing wrong,’ he said.

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Colin. ‘It’s never happened before.’

  ‘No,’ said Chick, flatly. ‘Let’s try it without looking.’

  He took a fourth tie and carelessly wound it round Colin’s neck, while he let his eyes follow every detail of the flight of a flutterwing. He put the thick end over the thin one, brought it back through the loop, then with a twist to the right, a quick slip underneath, and … But unfortunately, at that very moment, his eyes fell on his work and both ends of the tie brutally snapped together, squashing his index finger. He yelped with pain.

  ‘Oh, sod the existential horror!’ he said.

  ‘Did you hurt yourself?’ asked Colin, full of sympathy. Chick was sucking his finger furiously.

  ‘Now I’ll have a black man’s pinch,’ he said.

  ‘Poor old thing!’ said Colin.

  Chick muttered something and looked at Colin’s neck.

  ‘Just a minute! …’ he whispered. ‘It’s tied itself. Don’t move …’

  He stepped back quietly, without lifting his eyes from the tie, and picked up a bottle of aerosol fixative from the table behind him. Slowly he steadied the extremity of the tiny tube as he took aim and stealthily closed in on the tie. Colin hummed quietly, pretending to be looking at the ceiling.

  The fine spray landed bang on the heart of the knot. The tie sprang into the air, turned a rapid double somersault, and then fell rigidly into position, crucified by the solidifying spirit.

  21

  Colin left the house, followed by Chick. They were going to walk round to fetch Chloe. Nicholas was going straight to the church to join them there. He was putting the last touches to a special meal he was cooking that he had discovered in ffroydde and which ought to turn out terrifically.

  There was a bookshop on the way and Chick stopped to look in the window. In the very centre of the display a copy of Heartre’s Mildew, bound in purple morocco embossed with a clock standing at five o’clock to represent the arms of the Marchioness de Mauvoir, sparkled like a precious jewel.

  ‘Oh!’ said Chick. ‘Just look at that! …’

  ‘What?’ said Colin, coming back. ‘Oh! You mean that? …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chick.

  Just to look at the book made his mouth water. A narrow stream of saliva began to form on the pavement between his legs and wind its way down to the kerb, trickling round the little heaps of dirt.

  ‘Well?’ said Colin. ‘You’ve already got it, haven’t you? …’

  ‘Not with a binding like that! …’ said Chick. ‘Oh, you’re such a bore!’ said Colin. ‘Come on, we’re supposed to be in a hurry.’

  ‘I bet it’s worth a doublezoon or two,’ said Chick. ‘Of course it is,’ said Colin, and marched off. Chick went through his pockets. ‘Colin!’ he called … ‘Lend me the money.’ Colin stopped once again. He shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t think,’ he said, ‘that the twenty-five thousand doublezoons I promised you are going to last very long.’

  Chick blushed, his nose drooped, but nevertheless he still held out his hand. He took the cash and sped into the shop. Colin waited outside, anxiously and impatiently. Seeing Chick come out with such a radiant smile he shook his head once again, in pity this time, and a semi-smile sketched itself across his own lips.

  ‘You’re nuts, my poor Chick! How much was it?’ ‘Forget it,’ said Chick. ‘Come on, let’s run.’ They hurried off. Chick seemed to be galloping on seven-league dragons.

  Outside Chloe’s door people were admiring the handsome white car ordered by Colin that had just driven up with its liveried chauffeur. The seats were covered in white fur, and inside it was all warm and cosy and full of music.

  The colour of the sky was permanent blue and the clouds were scarce and wispy. It wasn’t too cold. The winter was coming to an end.

  The bottom of the lift began to swell under their feet and, with a big soft huff and a puff, gently burst its way up to the right floor, carrying them with it. Its door glided open for them. They rang. Then the flat door opened. Chloe was waiting for them.

  Besides her cellophane bra, her little white pants and her stockings, her body was protected by two layers of muslin, with a very full veil of fine tulle that fell from her shoulders, leaving her head completely free.

  Alyssum and Isis were dressed in the same way, but their dresses were the colour of water. Their perfumed hair shone in the sunshine and the heavy locks nestled lightly on their shoulders. A choice between them would have been impossible. Colin knew how to make it. He dared not kiss Chloe for fear of spoiling the way she had been arranged, so he made up for it with Isis and Alyssum. They were more than willing to help him out, seeing how happy he was.

  The whole room was filled with white flowers – the ones Colin had chosen – and on the pillow of the unmade bed there was the single petal of a crimson rose. The smell of the flowers and the perfume of the girls mingled intimately and Chick took himself for a bee in a hive. Alyssum wore a lilac orchid in her hair, Isis a scarlet rose and Chloe a big white camellia. She held a spray of lilies and a tiny chain of ivy leaves, all freshly lacquered and glistening, shone beside her wide bracelet of blue gold. Her engagement ring was inset with little square and rectangular diamonds which spelt out the name Colin in Morse. Under a vase of flowers in a corner, the summit of a cameraman’s skull slowly rose. He was shooting among the leaves down below.

  Colin posed for a few moments with Chloe, and then with Chick, Alyssum and Isis. Then they all lined up and followed Chloe into the lift. Its cables stretched so much under the extra weight that there was no need to press the button – but they all took great care to jump off at the same time so that there would be no chance of any of them being swept up again with the car.

  The chauffeur opened the door. The three girls and Colin sat in the back, with Chick in the front – and off they went. All the people in the street looked round and energetically waved, thinking it was Royalty or the President, and then went on their way, filled with shining golden thoughts.

  The church was not far away. The car whizzed round elegantly in the shape of a heart and pulled up at the foot of the steps.

  At the top of them, between two big pillars covered with carving, Father Phigga, the Unisexton Bedull and the Husher were on parade prior to the ceremony. As a back-cloth, long lengths of white silk hung to the ground, and the twenty Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys were dancing a ballet. They were wearing white cassocks, with red shorts and white shoes. The girls, who had been called in to make up the right number and to make things more pleasant, wore little red pleated mini-skirts instead of the shorts, and had red feathers in their hair. Father Phigga was on the drums, the Unisexton Bedull on the fife, and the Husher backed them up with maracas. All three joined in the chorus together, after which Father Phigga did a quick dance, then grabbed a double-bass and with his bow gave a fabulous solo based on variations on the main theme from the Bridal March. r />
  The three score and thirteen Minstrels were already up in their gallery playing, and the bells were ringing merrily on high.

  Suddenly a brutally discordant and hopelessly lost chord rang out. The conductor, who had taken a step back too near the edge, had just toppled over into space, and the deputy conductor had to take over without a break. At the very moment that the first conductor squashed himself flat on the floor-slabs below, they played another shattering chord to cover the din, although the church still trembled on its foundations.

  Colin and Chloe looked with admiration at Father Phigga, the Unisexton Bedull, the Husher and his Hush-Hushers and Offsidesmen as they stood to attention at the door of the church waiting for the ceremony of the presentation of the pikestaff.

  As a finale, Father Phigga did a juggling turn with chopsticks and Indian clubs, and Adam Browbeadle produced such an agonized caterwauling from his fife that half the narrow-minded old maids who had been waiting on the steps to see the bride forced a straight and narrow path through the crowd to scurry inside and pray. On the last chord the Husher snapped the strings of his double-bass. Then the twenty Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys came down the steps, one after the other, with the girls forming up on the right, and the boys on the left, of the door of the car.

  Chloe stepped out. She was completely radiant and ravishing in her white dress. Alyssum and Isis followed her. Nicholas had just arrived and hurried to join the group. Colin took Chloe’s arm, Nicholas took Isis’s, and Chick took Alyssum’s, and they all mounted the steps, followed by the Kissitwell brothers – Coriolanus on the right and Pegasus on the left – while the twenty Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys trotted along behind in twos. Father Phigga, the Unisexton Bedull and the Husher, after they had put down their instruments, held hands and danced in a ring while they waited.

  Half-way up the steps, Colin and his friends carried out a complicated manoeuvre in which they all changed places and got themselves in the right order for going into church. Colin was with Alyssum, Nicholas with Chloe on his arm, followed by Chick and Isis and, last of all, the Kissitwell brothers – but this time with Pegasus on the right and Coriolanus on the left. Father Phigga and his stony henchmen stopped going round in circles, went to the head of the procession and then, singing a gay old Gregorian chant, made a dash for the door. As they passed through, the Hush-Hushers banged each of them on the head with a thin crystal balloon filled with consecrated water, and stuck a little stick of lighted incense in their hair. It burned with a yellow flame for the men and a purple one for the remaining sex.