Radcliffe

by David Storey

  People turned their chairs to face the lighted stage, crushing against one another in the heavy atmosphere and tearing up their uncompleted housey-housey forms.

  ‘And now, Ladies and Gentlemen.…’ The secretary reached up again to the switches, the microphone still pressed to his cheek. ‘We have your favourite and mine, the one and only Gormless Gordon the gump from Gorseforth.’

  A spotlight lit the stage to one side of the white figure: he stepped hurriedly into it. A burst of laughter ran through the hall: he’d pulled his trousers down to his groin and they sprang up to his armpits on the thin elastic braces. ‘A’ve come … and to prove it I’m here!’ He made a shy undulation of his body within the tight jacket and large trousers. ‘I know you wouldn’t think it, love, would you.’ He laughed, opening wide an empty mouth. ‘I don’t look as though I’m all here, do I love?’ He leaned down as if he spoke privately to Audrey. They laughed up at him.

  A large, fat woman sat at the piano at the side of the stage out of range of the spotlight. She turned and smiled down at the audience, then nodded her head at the comedian.

  ‘You think I’m bloody simple, don’t you?’ he said, waiting for the response to die down. An anxious expression gave his face an almost feminine concern. He was looking down at Tolson, then nodding, and glancing at Leonard, who stared up at him with a sombre intentness. ‘I’m not simple, you know. I’m not.’ He said it with a fierce, mocking exasperation. ‘As a matter of fact, I was up at the nut-house only the other day … sorry, the mental horsepital. No. And it wasn’t for that. I’m not daft, you know. No, it was just that we were thinking of sending our Sally there. She’s so fat. She’s alus eating. She never stops.… Only the other day she had an argument about it with her boy friend and he hit her under the left breast and shattered her knee cap.’

  The audience was laughing, distracted, and staring up at the swaying painted figure with expressions of half-resentment. Tolson leaned on the table and on Audrey’s chair, nodding his head for her to look at Leonard: he was gazing at the performer with an intense, frozen embarrassment, a cautious look of hatred.

  ‘Anyway, like, I went up to the mental insti … insti … to the rat kennel, and I saw this chap who’s supposed to be in charge. I could tell he was in charge because he shook hands. Well … he didn’t shake hands exactly. He got hold of my left hand, and got hold of my right hand, put them together and said, “How d’you do.”… I said to him, “Why d’you do that – put my left hand into my right hand and say, ‘How d’you do?’” He said, “Don’t you always shake hands when you meet strangers?”… No, though. I said to him, “I can see you’ve got two heads but I didn’t bang ’em together when I came in, did I?”… “You can see I’ve got two heads?” “Yes, I can see you’ve got two heads.”…’

  Leonard had turned away, staring round at the attentive, grimacing faces. He was surrounded by a wall of bodies. He half stood, then sank down as Tolson turned towards him laughing.

  ‘Double vision!’ Tolson said.

  Leonard rubbed his glass between his hands.

  ‘… Half way across this hall and I saw this other chap hanging on a chandelier. Hanging on a chandelier! And I sort of noticed him, then I looked again, and I caught hold of this doctor’s arm and I whispered to him, quietly like, “There’s a man up there, hanging on the chandelier.” And he just looked up and said, “Oh, that’s all right, my man.” “How d’you mean, that’s all right?” I said. “Oh, it’s perfectly all right. He thinks he’s an electric wire, that’s all.” “An electric wire?” I said. “Yes. It’s perfectly all right.” “But why don’t you tell him he’s not?” “What,” he said, “and put all the bleeding lights out?”’

  The men laughed thickly, sullenly, watching now as the comedian opened his painted mouth, then pursed it, whistling and beating himself violently with his small fists, thumping his thighs to encourage the sounds around him. The woman at the piano had played a few bars of introductory music.

  ‘I’ve come, you know! And to prove it I’m here!’ He laughed soundlessly, his face split by his featureless mouth. ‘But our Sally. You should see her, you know. She’s so fat. When she gets on a bus the driver rises to the top deck.… And she’s always buying clothes. Always those biblical gowns … you know the kind: low and behold.’

  Tolson had lain his head on his arms, bending over the table; he looked up sideways at the stage, his shoulders shaking silently with laughter. Leonard watched him acutely.

  ‘And it’s not as if the wife’s responsible … she’s as thin as a rail. In fact she’s so thin that when I had her tattooed on her chest the colours came out on her back.… Mind you, she’s not as young as she was. Not by a long way. She isn’t. I was only thinking yesterday, she’s got so many wrinkles on her face that if you put a cord through her ears you could run it up like a Venetian blind.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Tolson said. ‘Have you ever seen such a pissed-up wreck?’ He laughed into his bare arms, glancing up for Audrey to share his amusement. The crowd was leaning forward to laugh as the emaciated figure tapped the ash of his cigarette down the front of his trousers. Leonard was staring up at him now, blushing and confused, his hands gripping the edge of the table, then turning to gaze at Tolson. He watched Tolson with a wild, almost frantic expression.

  ‘I can’t look through the knot-hole in her leg any more it’s bunged so tight with dry rot.…’ His voice was lost in the dull surge of amusement. ‘I’m to give you a little dirty … I mean, a little ditty, entitled, “You have worked for me a long time, mother, now go and work for yourself”… Hickory, dickory, dock, two mice ran up her frock. One reached her garter, the other was smarter.… No, no. I don’t think I’ll give you that one. Instead I would like to render that song well loved by the patrons of this establishment, “Don’t cry in the beer, old man, it’s three parts water already”.’

  The pianist began slowly to play the tune, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.

  ‘Seriously, though.… No, seriously, Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to give you a song of my own choosing to which I’m very attached, called “Please take back your heart, my dear, I only ordered liver”, or, as it’s entitled in Russia, “When the sheets are short then the bed seems longer”. When we reach the line, “Father, cut your toenails, they’re tearing mother’s hair”, I want you all to join in the chorus, which is …’

  He began to sing, ‘Some … where under the bedclothes, here with you, I find two little so-and-so’s, and one little what-not too.…’

  The secretary was fastening up the housey-housey forms in a large cardboard box. Then soundlessly, only his lips trembling beneath his moustache, he began to count the money, sliding it across the table under a particularly slender hand.

  ‘I undid that and loosened this, I gave her just a little kiss, I burrowed here and hurried there, soon had her little what-not bare, I wandered high, I wandered low.…’

  ‘What’s his name?’ a man said, leaning over Tolson. ‘Gormless what?’

  ‘Gordon.’

  ‘Aye. Gormless Gordon. Have you ever seen such a shit!’ He laughed pleasurably at the lighted stage. Applause had broken out as he came to the end of the song, and with a final tug of his trousers, holding them down to his groin then allowing them to spring up, he turned to leave the stage. The trousers fell from his armpits to the floor, dragging round his ankles. With a mock gesture of embarrassment, his arms flung up in the air, he scurried to the back of the stage and disappeared through a small door marked ‘Artists’.

  15

  ‘I wouldn’t say he enjoyed it, Denis,’ Tolson said. He pressed Audrey’s back to draw her more closely into the group: the asphalt yard was crowded with the members leaving the club. ‘Len. This is Denis Blakeley.’

  The comedian turned from talking to Audrey to look at Leonard, who stood with his arms held stiffly to his sides. Blakeley was dressed in a raincoat, his face only half-illuminated by the gas flares over the yard. He had t
hin, sharp features, his hair brushed smoothly back over his scalp. He smiled at Leonard and said, ‘If not, why not?’

  ‘It’s not important,’ Leonard said, getting ready to go.

  ‘Oh, but it is.’ Blakeley caught his arm and limped a step nearer. For a moment Leonard had the clear recollection that on the stage Blakeley hadn’t limped at all. Then he was suddenly confused as he saw Blakeley’s face close to his and the anxious, vaguely feminine look, inquisitive and almost sensitive, exaggerated by the faint patches of white powder still adhering to his skin. ‘I think it’s important or I wouldn’t do it.’

  Leonard didn’t reply: he gazed slowly at Tolson.

  ‘Come on. What didn’t you like?’ Blakeley said. He was friendly, even courteous in a slightly absurd way, waiting patiently yet still gripping Leonard’s arm. ‘What didn’t you like about it? I don’t mind what you say, but for God’s sake just say it.’

  ‘It’s the way you pandered down to them,’ Leonard said. He seemed cold, his face frozen by the orange light. ‘You don’t have to feed yourself to them.’

  ‘Oh, now.…’ Blakeley shuffled closer as if he had been encouraged. ‘Are you sure that’s what I do?’

  Leonard moved away, but as Tolson said, ‘Come on, leave him, Denis, he takes all this stuff too seriously,’ Blakeley called over his shoulder, ‘No, you get off on your bike.… Me and Radcliffe here have something to talk about.’ He looked at Leonard confidingly, pressing his hand firmly against his back.

  ‘Ah, now leave him,’ Tolson said. He sounded strangely concerned.

  But Blakeley was already guiding Leonard towards the brick pillars of the gateway. ‘Now, Vic, there’s no need to worry. I shall look after him. I’ll take every care. Good night, Audrey.… Good night, love. Night, Vic. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.’ He called once more over his back. Then they were in the comparative darkness of the street. ‘Vic’ll be all right,’ Blakeley said, winking and glancing back.

  They walked in silence for some time. Leonard felt the man as some impediment of his own as he limped beside him. He glanced at his eroded face only once, then felt himself walking along as if that stiff, exaggerated articulation were a feature of his own mind.

  ‘How long have you known Tolson … Vic, then?’ Blakeley said.

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Who was it before that?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, never mind. From the way he talks about you, you’d think he’d known you a lifetime. He’s always been threatening he’d let me meet you. He met you at Ewbank’s apparently? How long have you worked there, then?’

  ‘Only this summer.’

  ‘What did you do before?’

  Leonard didn’t answer, but Blakeley said, ‘No, I’m asking you.’

  ‘I sometimes work in an office. Sometimes not at all.’ But when Blakeley questioned him further he wouldn’t reply. When they reached the road up to the estate Leonard stopped.

  ‘Oh, you go that way, then?’ Blakeley said.

  ‘It’s the quickest from here.’

  ‘What you were saying back there,’ Blakeley began difficultly. ‘I know exactly what you mean. But it’s not … how can I put it?’

  Leonard had a brief suspicion he was being derided. He couldn’t be sure that Blakeley by his expression and gestures wasn’t mocking him. Yet he stood gazing at him aloofly.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that I take it seriously. I take it more seriously perhaps than you imagine – performing. Being an artist as I look upon it.’ He moved round Leonard, drawing his leg in a stiff, angular arc, and looking away into the looming darkness of the estate. ‘Back there, I could see what you mean. Pandering down to them. Yes, I can see that. But then, that’s not the way I look at it. I know these things are difficult to talk about. But I feel you’d understand if I can explain.… It’s important to me, you see.’ He smiled and caught hold of Leonard’s arm. ‘No. I can see you think I’m that bit pretentious.’ He stated it hurriedly as if by self-criticism he could secure Leonard’s real attention. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I have several theories about art … about being an artist, what I do. Look!’ He suddenly laughed, catching Leonard’s sleeve more sharply. ‘Why don’t you come home with me? Just for a few minutes. Have a cup of tea or a drop of something. I only live a few houses away.’ As he saw the tortured look of indecision on Leonard’s face he added more confidently, ‘I must stress that I’m a family man. I wouldn’t say that they’re my entire life.…’ He laughed again, holding Leonard’s arm more tightly and beginning to walk with him up the nearest avenue. ‘That would be fatal wouldn’t it? But without them, the family, I just don’t know what I should do.… The amusing thing is that I like to think that without me they’d be in a similar plight. Do you know what I mean? We’re completely together. We stick together. You must see them.… You don’t mind me talking like this, do you? But I’m afraid I’ve no patience with politeness and all that shit. I like to talk straight away, straight off about the important things. And to me what I do and my family are the important things.… I know a man hates to meet another man’s family like that. But if you don’t meet my family I can’t honestly say that you’ve really met me.’ He laughed again, enjoyably. The road wound steeply up between the darkened houses.

  Leonard, though alarmed, appeared to follow the man simply at his insistence. When they reached the gate to the council house and he glanced back he was almost relieved to see that in fact Tolson had been following them. He was some distance lower down the dimly-lit road, sitting on his silent machine after freewheeling down the opposite incline. There was no sign, however, of Audrey.

  Although it was late there were three children playing in the small living room. One of them was completely naked and the other two only half-dressed; they looked up at Leonard without curiosity and went on shouting as they threw themselves aimlessly over the furniture in some strenuous game. The walls of the room were covered in photographs of Blakeley in different costumes and parts.

  ‘So you’ve managed to catch him after all. Well, you were quick.’ A woman of about thirty sat in the corner of the room sewing one of the children’s clothes. Leonard, confused by the sudden brilliance of light and the shouting stared sullenly, almost aggressively, at her. She smiled at him directly as if she recognised something familiar in his response. Not unlike Blakeley in looks, she had a more confident, trusting face, and a decisive, undismayed expression, vaguely self-amused.

  ‘Oh, now.…’ Blakeley said, but the woman went on, ‘He said he was going to get hold of you on your own, Tolson or no Tolson.’ She continued sewing, yet looking up at him undemandingly, vaguely contemptuous.

  ‘I thought all these’d be in bed by now,’ Blakeley said, so disappointed that he appeared to forget Leonard completely and went to sit by the stove that dominated the small room. He gazed at the low fire, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

  ‘My mother’s upstairs,’ the woman said to him. ‘We’re trying to find them all something to sleep in. Now stop it!’ She stood up and caught hold of the two noisiest, half-clad children and flung them down on a large settee, hitting the legs of the oldest so hard that all three were immediately silent. They became aware of Leonard standing palely in the door.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said. ‘We’re not very straight but we’ve left things a bit late tonight.’ She pulled a stack of ironed clothes from an easy chair and he took off his raincoat and sat down.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Blakeley said, watching him fold his coat over the arm of the chair. ‘This is my eldest daughter, Kathleen.’

  She seemed about to add something to her father’s introduction, but her expression suddenly lightened and she said, ‘What do I call you? Leonard … or Mr. Radcliffe?’

  ‘Oh … Leonard.’ He nodded his head, smiling. She seemed pleased that her abruptness should confuse him.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to the children. ‘Upstairs. We’ll fi
nish you off up there. And if you make any noise you know what to expect.’

  They responded eagerly. They pushed each other out of the room and ran noisily up the narrow stairs.

  ‘She’s very good with the kids,’ Blakeley said. ‘She treats them like pigs and they’ll do anything for her. It’s very strange is that. I’m sorry about all this. As you can see, I’ve got a fair whack of a family. And I can tell you – we only meant to have the one. Kathleen. But these last few years they’ve been tumbling out. ‘Course, it gives Kathleen a good laugh, seeing her mother stuffed up so late in life. The wife’s over fifty, you know.’

  ‘Were you intending, then, to bring me back here?’ Leonard looked at him with the same shyness, an expectancy that drew a heavy blush down his face. He seemed disconcerted by what had happened.

  ‘Well, there you are again. I told them I might. Tolson said he’d bring you along … and introduce us. I can tell you, I was more nervous than I’ve ever been tonight, knowing you were there.’

  ‘Why?’

  Blakeley laughed and glanced casually at him. ‘Ah, well.… Perhaps you don’t know what a pride Tolson takes in you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Oh. You must know him as well as I do by now. Vic has a great lust for power. Unconditional power.… He has this lust to possess people.’ He stated it awkwardly and provocatively, but Leonard remained silent. The ceiling groaned with the children overhead. ‘I suppose with not knowing him long you don’t realise. And then again, it might be a part of everybody, and I haven’t noticed.’ He laughed slightly though, it seemed, without any change of expression. ‘But with Vic it’s built up into something that dominates all the rest of his life. I mean, although he’s never told you about me – and I’ve known him now for seven or eight years, since before he was married – he’s told me all about you right from the beginning. You see, when you said you hadn’t known him long, as a matter of fact it’s nine weeks and four days, to the nearest day. He came here the evening of your very first day at Ewbank’s.’ He brushed his hand against his face, then laughed; it was almost a gesture from his performance. ‘Do you know how he described you? Can you guess?’ He watched Leonard’s expression with some satisfaction. ‘He came bursting in here and said, “Do you know, I’ve met a prince today.” That’s how he described you. And when I said, “How d’you mean, a prince?” he said, “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just how I’ve always imagined a prince was”.’ Blakeley laughed, knocking his fist slightly against his thigh. ‘Then he started to tell me about a prince he’d read about as a boy. At school … there you are. You fulfilling some childhood fantasy of Tolson’s. And he’s kept you to himself ever since.’