The Green Knight

  The thought of her birthday party gave her no joy. In the past this party had been quite a large affair, but now, owing to some impalpable social attrition, it had become almost family only, including as such Bellamy, Harvey and Joan, also the Adwardens who on this occasion were still away, and Clive and Emil who were away too. Moy had used to make masks for her party, for the family and for privileged others, to match particular costumes or to please her own imagination. They had called her ‘the Wardrobe Mistress’. Moy regarded these creations as ephemeral and would have destroyed them, only Sefton, with the instincts of a historian, stored many of them away, bringing out a few every year. In the past Moy had used papier mâché, only it made such a mess in the kitchen and once blocked up the bath. Later she made do with plasticine, cardboard, stiff textiles, cloth stretched on wire, any odd flexible materials. By now the old customs were lapsing, there was minimal secrecy, guests might wear old masks or worse still buy their masks in shops. Moy thought, I shall make no more masks, something is over forever. Anyway, she thought, this time next year I shall probably be dead. When Moy was unhappy a particular memory image always came back to her. She had visited Venice only once, four years ago, when Emil had persuaded Louise to let him take the girls to Italy for a few days. The marvel of it all had ceased for Moy (luckily upon the last day of her stay) when she had seen, stared at, and finally understood a pair of pictures by Carpaccio, representing the exploits of Saint George. In the first picture a captive princess was being defended by the soldierly saint against a handsome long-tailed winged dragon. The girls had an old joke about how Aleph was to be a sacrificial princess menaced by some monster and rescued by some gallant hero, as it might be Perseus, in this case Saint George. In the first picture the dragon, with wings spread and tail whirling, is leaping up, lifting his front paws, while the very long lance of the saint has passed into the dragon’s mouth and out apparently through the back of its head or perhaps its cheek. Moy shuddered at this picture. Then she looked at the second picture. Here the saint with drawn sword raised, standing before an admiring crowd, has beside him a small animal on a lead, as if it were his pet. It took Moy some time to realise that this miserable diminished creature was the dragon, still alive, its wings clipped and folded, and the end of the lance still embedded in its bleeding mouth. Its shrunken body, awkwardly crouching, and its grievous face expressed its agony as the triumphant saint raised his sword to despatch it. This picture filled Moy with horror and distress and tears came into her eyes. Oh poor dragon! So was she on the side of dragons and indifferent to the fate of princesses? Well, couldn’t he have killed the dragon quickly and mercifully, and not exhibit its misery and its pain? Anyway, why kill it at all? Didn’t Saint Francis make a pact with the Wolf of Gubbio? The dragon was innocent, all beasts are innocent, and princesses should be careful and not make themselves attractive to monsters. Also, by some twist of thought which made it worse still, Moy found herself connecting the poor diminished wounded ‘pet’ dragon with her little hamster Colin, who had run off one day and been killed by a cat. (For Moy knew Colin had been killed, though she pretended to believe the comforting lies the others told her.) She could still feel the touch of Colin’s little claws upon the palm of her hand.

  As tears again came into her eyes she saw, gazing down at the carpet, a very small black thing moving. She knelt down and inspected it. It was so tiny that she could not discern what it was, whether a spider or a beetle or some almost microscopic creature whose name she had never heard. She thought, I must put it somewhere else or I may step on it, or Anax may find it, but it’s so small, I might hurt it unless I pick it up very carefully, I’ll get it to walk onto a piece of paper. As she rose, stepping carefully away to find some paper, there was the familiar rattle of Anax, let in by Sefton, rushing up the stairs, and thrusting the door open with his strong muzzle. He ran to her, scuffling and lifting up his paws. When Moy looked again she could not find the tiny black thing. She sat on the bed with Anax beside her, combing out her hair and using its long strands to dry her tears.

  ‘Whatever possessed you to invite him?’ said Clement to Louise.

  ‘Aleph invited him actually.’

  ‘Oh did she! You should have shut her up.’

  ‘It all happened so quickly, I thought it was all right. We did intend it to be just family. He’ll think we’re very – well rather naive and childish – not grand and – ’

  ‘Louise, what nonsense you talk! You think he’s grand and he thinks we are too?’

  ‘I think he’s – ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He is rather grand, there’s something great and powerful about him, he has authority. I suppose someone in his job would be like that.’

  ‘Oh hell – you think he’s wonderful because he found Anax and now he’s charmed you all, you’re eating out of his hand.’

  ‘By the way, Bellamy rang up yesterday morning and said he isn’t coming, because of Anax I suppose.’

  ‘I wish you’d told me you asked Mir.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought it wouldn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh, really – you are a goose!’

  ‘All right, all right, I should have thought, after that scene, I should have rung you – ’

  ‘What do you think of him anyway, after that scene?’

  ‘I feel very sorry for him. I feel he’s some sort of great person who has been damaged. It must be terrible not to be able to think clearly any more or remember important things. I see now perhaps I shouldn’t have asked him – but he was so nice to us after he brought Anax, and so quiet and sane, and Aleph said – ’

  ‘Oh damn Aleph, she’s a mischief-maker.’

  ‘I can understand that you may feel embarrassed – ’

  ‘Embarrassed! Oh Louise – ! Anyway I certainly can’t stay now, I’m off. It’s getting awfully foggy out there, I’d better go home.’

  ‘You mean you aren’t staying for the party?’

  ‘I mean that! Here’s my mask, you can give it to him.’

  ‘Clement, please, please stay – perhaps he won’t come.’

  ‘Well, maybe he’ll have thought it over and realised I’ll be there. All the same – ’

  ‘I felt so sorry for him, it’s terrible to see somebody so confused and suddenly inventing things. His head was perfectly clear when he was with us and – ’

  ‘So you don’t think he was really a thief and invented it all to protect himself?’

  ‘Certainly not. I think he’s innocent. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why do you want to avoid him? You must make allowances! Oh don’t go away, you’ve upset me.’

  ‘What’s all that row?’

  ‘It’s Harvey and Aleph. Harvey has arrived early too.’

  Clement and Louise were in the Aviary. Roars of laughter came from Aleph’s bedroom. Clement closed the door noisily.

  Sefton had let Clement in and he had run up the stairs to find Louise rolling back the carpet in the Aviary. She had already put on her mask. For her mother, Moy always made a special mild gentle mask, not like the grotesque inventions which she often imposed upon the others. When Clement came in the face he saw raised by the kneeling woman was a pale yellow, faintly speckled like the moon, and almost round with jaggedly cut-out eyes, and a green mouth drooping very slightly, expressing a sort of amused clownish sadness. Louise removed the mask at once.

  According to recent custom the ‘grown ups’ did not feel bound to dress up much for the party, apart from perhaps having a mask, whereas the ‘children’ (and this used to include the young Adwardens) wore full fancy dress. Louise was touched to see that Clement had made a little effort, wearing a silvery satin-tinsel jacket and trousers, doubtless discarded from some theatrical wardrobe, and a long tassellated white silk scarf, such as used to be an essential part of male evening-dress. As Louise watched him he unbuttoned the jacket, removed the black evening tie and stuffed it into his pocket, then brusquely ruffled up
his sleek black crest of hair and nervously scratched his dark eyebrows. His face looked to her thinner, almost gaunt, his unusually red lips pouting and vivid. Louise was wearing a long pure white evening-dress which had belonged to her mother. She put the mask down on the piano. Her arms hung down heavily at her sides, something about her own attitude and the white dress made her feel helpless, like a sacrificial victim. She quite often felt like this. As she continued to stare silently at Clement he took off the white silk scarf and put it gently about her neck. A purple light flashed in the tassels of the scarf as they swung.

  ‘It’s lovely!’ said Louise, stroking the scarf, then beginning to take it off.

  ‘Keep it. It’s yours.’

  ‘Oh but – ’

  ‘It belonged to my father.’

  ‘The dress belonged to my mother.’

  ‘So there we are. And there’s to be dancing.’

  ‘A bit. As we always do. Please don’t go, dear, dear Clement, I want you to stay here and look after me, you will stay, won’t you?’

  ‘Louise, just don’t be silly.’

  Louise thought, yes I am silly, I am a goose, and now I’m going to cry. This evening is going to be a disaster.

  The bell rang, Clement opened the door, voices were heard below.

  Louise said, ‘It’s Joan.’

  ‘Oh God. Who’s with her?’

  ‘Tessa.’

  ‘I thought she’d given us up.’ Tessa went through phases of hostility where Clifton was concerned.

  ‘Joan’s brought her. I think she finds us more amusing after recent events.’

  Still talking Joan entered the room. Her face was white, with scarlet cheeks and lips, and gold dust widely encircling her sparkling eyes, a wreath of golden leaves crowned her flowing dark red hair. She wore a heavy purple robe with a golden girdle. ‘My dear, you don’t mind my bringing my bodyguard?’

  Tessa had simply dressed up in her smart riding gear, complete with hat and whip.

  ‘Isn’t she perfectly brutal? Just look at her boots. Of course I am the Delphic priestess. Hello, Louise darling, when is drinks time? Hello, Clement, kiss me please.’

  Tessa in fact looked much as usual, dressed in an only slightly accentuated version of her usual clothes. Clement gazed at the tight handsome material of the breeches. Tessa, after clicking her heels, and bowing to Louise, had put her whip upon the piano and walked to the far end of the room to look at the books and at a few masks put on display there by Sefton. Louise had gone downstairs to fetch drinks. Clement and Joan stood together.

  ‘Hello, Harlequin.’

  ‘Hello, Circe. Sorry, you’re the Delphic priestess this evening.’

  ‘And you are her master. Clement, let’s come out, shall we? Come to Paris with me.’

  ‘As we aren’t in we can’t come out. Goodbye, I’m just going.’

  ‘Why are you going, I’ll go with you, don’t go, what are your motives? Is it because that madman is coming?’

  ‘How did you know he was?’

  ‘Aleph told Harvey who told me. Let’s stay and see him. He’s rather fun actually, he’s like a big circus animal. Darling, please stay with me.’

  ‘All right, for a little while. What’s that stuff on your face?’

  ‘Flour. Would you like to lick it?’

  Sefton came in carrying a tray with glasses, which she put down on the piano next to Tessa’s whip. Sefton, who never took much trouble on these occasions, was wearing black trousers with long black socks over them up to the knee, a black jacket and a black shirt with a purple scarf at the neck. Joan suggested that she was a Nazi, but she claimed to be a bishop, indicating a pendent cross, the property of Moy. (‘What’s the difference!’ said Joan.) Moy had also made her a mitre, which unfortunately ‘wouldn’t stay on’. The drink, invented by the girls, was imaginative. It consisted of chilled white port, white vermouth, ginger beer, a discreet amount of vodka, and a good deal of apple juice. It was at least guaranteed to taste nice.

  ‘Where’s Moy?’

  ‘Upstairs finishing her mask.’

  ‘Or rescuing a spider or communing with a flint.’

  ‘Tessa should have a mask.’

  ‘She says she’ll use her face.’

  ‘She could have one of those.’

  ‘This drink is stronger than it seems.’

  ‘It’s meant to be.’

  ‘Where’s my crippled son, by the way?’

  ‘He’s with Aleph.’

  ‘Won’t this party go?’

  ‘It’s only starting, give it a chance.’

  ‘Let’s have jollity, Louise will play the piano.’

  ‘Yes, yes, coming, coming!’

  At that moment the door was thrown open and a tall military figure entered in a blue uniform with a blue helmet with a blue plume, and a blue beard and a ferocious blue face with bulging cheeks, and leaning upon his arm a dark-haired woman in a long black gown wearing a mantilla and a black veil. There was laughter and clapping. Harvey hastily took off his veil and his mantilla, suddenly irritable and shy, as one who has made himself ridiculous to amuse the children. He was about to remove the wig of long curly black hair, when Louise, coming to kiss him, begged him not to. He limped to the piano and leaned against it. Aleph however stood still, stiff and tall in her uniform, staring out through the sinister blue face of her mask, her arms and gloved hands pointing downward to her jackboots. Sefton cried, ‘Oh Aleph, don’t!’ Joan said, ‘Really, it’s too much.’ Someone said, ‘Aleph is born to command!’ Then everyone started talking at once. Clement, going to Aleph who was still standing as if paralysed stiffly at attention, gently lifted the helmet off her head, releasing a tumble of dark curly hair. Aleph, taking hold of her blue beard, pulled the mask down, letting it hang about her neck. Then taking the helmet from Clement she smilingly donned it again. Meanwhile Sefton was drawing attention to her little exhibit of former masks on one of the shelves from which the books had been removed, and inviting the guests to try them on. Joan put on a Greek mask which was voted terrifying, and Tessa admired, but would not touch, a genuine Japanese, made in Japan, a mask which Joan had donated, gift she said of a rich friend. Sefton then persuaded Tessa to put on the stripy Cheshire Cat mask, ‘So that she could be a real puss-in-boots.’ Tessa wore this politely for a short while, then put it carefully back on the shelf. She then showed Sefton the proper way to put her mitre on, it was quite easy really. By now Clement had put on his own black elegant, bought in Venice, Venetian mask, which had a long thin tailpiece sweeping down his back, ‘Somehow like a gondola,’ Joan said. Harvey was sitting beside the piano which Louise, having laid aside her moon mask, was preparing to play. He was fiddling clumsily with the high neck of his black dress (an evening-dress of Aleph’s) and pulling at it. A button flew off. Hitching up his skirt, he found it and put it on the piano beside Tessa’s whip. Louise began to play.

  ‘Oh good – !’

  ‘What’s the music?’

  ‘It’s a song – ’

  ‘I know, it’s that fourth of July thing.’

  ‘Is it the fourth of July?’

  ‘It’s wonderful to dance to.’

  ‘You can do anything to this tune.’

  ‘Where’s Moy?’

  ‘She’ll be down in a moment.’

  Tessa was dancing with Sefton, Aleph was dancing with Joan. Clement stood behind Louise and put his hands on her shoulders.

  The sound of dancing was loud enough to drown the sound of the doorbell which Moy up above heard and ran down to open the door. The fog had thickened and cold air together with a speckled sheet of brown fog atoms flowed quickly into the hall. Outside, motionless, was a tall being. For a moment Moy thought, ‘It’s a frog footman.’ Then she saw that it was not a frog. It was a bull: a big savage bull with great curling horns and huge wild dark eyes fixed upon her. Moy stepped back. Peter Mir stepped in, closing the door behind him. Moy uttered a little cry, a sort of mingled cry of dark fear and strange
awful pity. Her guest was already attempting to remove the evidently heavy superstructure which encased his head and shoulders. Moy thought, he’ll suffocate, he’ll die, fall and die, here in front of me, he’ll die! Standing on the bottom stair she reached out her hands, helplessly pawing, towards the hard cold muzzle of the beast. The great head rose at last, carrying with it the black velvet drapery which had covered the shoulders. Peter Mir laid it down on the floor, where it stood upright, glaring.

  ‘I hope I didn’t frighten you.’

  ‘No, yes – ’

  ‘I’m not too late? Or am I too early?’

  ‘No, no, just right. But how do you breathe inside that?’

  ‘Oh quite easily, through the eyes and the mouth – you see it rests on my shoulders and there’s lots of space inside.’

  ‘You didn’t have a coat.’

  ‘No, my car is nearby, illegally parked as usual. What a merry sound is coming from upstairs, they are dancing and singing too.’

  ‘Yes. Well, do come up.’

  ‘Do you know, I feel shy!’

  ‘Oh don’t, I’ll go with you. Shall I announce you?’

  ‘No, please not. Tell me, would you mind? I’d like just to talk to you for a little while, just you, in your room. Can we get there without their knowing?’

  ‘Yes – ’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘No, no – ’

  Moy started up the stairs, Peter following carefully carrying the heavy bull’s head. The door of the Aviary was slightly ajar. Moy gently pulled it, closing it a little more as she passed. They reached the top landing.