We were no sooner sitting in front of our ration of strawberry jam and two slices of bread than Anna Wertz immediately launched into something that may have been a speech.
“Silence, Anna Wertz, hold your peace,” said Dr. Gambit so suddenly and in such a penetrating nasal voice that I dropped my spoon. Even without the trumpet I could hear him perfectly.
“Today for the benefit of a new member of Our Little Society I shall outline the basic principles of Lightsome Hall. Most of you have been here for some time and are thoroughly acquainted with our Purpose. We seek to follow the inner Meaning of Christianity and comprehend the Original Teaching of the Master. You have heard me repeating these phrases many, many times, yet do we really grasp the meaning of such Work? Work it is and Work it shall remain. Before we begin to get even a faint glimmer of Truth we must strive for many years and lose hope time and time again before the first recompense is awarded us.”
I noticed that he had a slightly foreign accent which was difficult to place. Nevertheless his nasal voice was as audible as any siren. He seemed to inspire everybody with great respect, they all chewed their food and looked at their plates with serious faces.
While he spoke I was able to examine a large oil painting on the wall facing me. The painting represented a nun with a very strange and malicious face.
“These apparently simple, though infinitely difficult, principles are the core of Our Teaching,” went on Dr. Gambit. “There are two little words which will ever supply the Key to the understanding of Inner Christianity. Self Remembering, my friends, are the words which we must strive to keep present through all our daily activities.”
The face of the nun in the oil painting was so curiously lighted that she seemed to be winking, although that was hardly possible. She must have had one blind eye and the painter had rendered her infirmity realistically. However the idea that she was winking persisted, she was winking at me with a most disconcerting mixture of mockery and malevolence.
“Self Remembering must not, however,” continued the doctor, “make us into dreary fanatics. We can remember Ourselves and be excellent and merry companions at the same time.” The thought of Dr. Gambit being merry was rather frightening so I stole a look at Anna Wertz to dissipate the image. She was staring at her plate, looking absolutely furious.
One or two ladies asked Dr. Gambit questions and I timidly applied my hearing trumpet so they could see I was taking an intelligent interest. The first lady who spoke was wearing a rather smart striped blouse and waistcoat and had her hair cropped like a man. Later I found out she was a French Marquise called Claude la Checherelle. This impressed me deeply as I had only met a few aristocrats during my life.
“Should we try to Self Remember while playing snakes and ladders?” she asked.
“We Self Remember at all hours and at all occupations or recreations,” replied the doctor. I noticed that his spectacles gave a keen glance at my trumpet.
A small woman with a worried expression and sparse fluffy hair was the next one to speak. I could see she was fighting down her embarrassment. “You know Doctor, I do indeed make efforts but I keep on forgetting to Remember Myself, it is most humiliating.”
“The very fact that you observe this fault in your own character is already an improvement,” said Dr. Gambit. “We Remember Ourselves in order to try and create objective observation of Personality.”
“Well I will go on trying most sincerely to improve although I do realize I have a dreadfully weak nature.” She was, however, looking very pleased. I wondered if she had made her own blouse, which was pink with a blue bow at the neck. I always admired people who know how to sew. Carmella was an admirable needle-woman. But it was better not to think about Carmella yet.
They were getting up from the table and I just had time to cram the last morsel of bread in my mouth before I was addressed by the French Marquise. “Claude la Checherelle,” she said, extending her hand in a frank and friendly manner. If I had known then that she was a Marquise I would have been embarrassed to have my mouth full, however I didn’t know, so I swallowed the bread without choking and said “Good afternoon” politely.
“Let me tell you,” she said, taking me firmly by the arm, “how we defeated the German army in Africa back in forty-one. It was many years ago but the memory is still vivid . . .”
So that was a typical teatime assembly at Hall. There are few human activities which are typical for any length of time, however.
Three days passed before I had my first private interview with Dr. Gambit. During that time I began to sort out the identity of my other companions and even to get to know them a little. Altogether there were ten of us aged over seventy and under a hundred. The oldest inhabitant was ninety-eight. Her name was Veronica Adams. She had been an artist in her time and still continued to paint water colours although she was totally blind. The fact that she couldn’t see what she was doing did not prevent her making a large production of work on the coarse toilet paper provided for our use. She could measure a yard a day and in this manner did not always paint over what she had done the day before.
After Veronica in order of age came Christabel Burns, Georgina Sykes, Natacha Gonzalez, Claude la Checherelle (the Marquise I already mentioned), Maude Wilkins, Vera Van Tocht, Anna Wertz.
Our daily activity was supervised by Mrs. Gambit, who was lying down most of the time with a sick headache, so we got along on our own. Whenever she appeared, however, the atmosphere became noticeably tense. We were all afraid of her in spite of her constant smile.
Apart from Dr. and Mrs. Gambit and three servants nobody, apparently, lived in the main building. We all occupied our individual huts, or bungalows as they were called. It was several weeks before I learned who lived in the tower of the castle and by that time I knew everybody and the huts allotted to them; everybody, except the person who lived in the tower.
Veronica Adams lived in the boot-shaped hut that had surprised me when I first arrived; Anna Wertz occupied a Swiss chalet which on closer observation turned out to be a cuckoo clock. Not, of course, a cuckoo clock that really worked, but there was a lead bird looking out of a window under the roof. The window was not a real window, actually it was modelled on the wall of the hut and did not look in or out on anything. The Marquise lived in a red toadstool with yellow spots. She had to climb a small ladder to get inside and this must have been very uncomfortable.
Maude, who I mentioned during the first teatime assembly, and who actually did make her own clothes, very cleverly I think from brown paper patterns, shared living quarters with Vera Van Tocht, in a double bungalow which must have once been a birthday cake. Originally it had been painted pink and white although these colours had not been able to resist the summer rains. There was a cement candle on the roof with a cement flame which was difficult to recognize at first because the yellow paint on the candle flame had turned dark green. I sometimes thought the birthday cake hut must have improved with time and I hoped it would never be repainted with its original colours.
Georgina Sykes occupied a circus tent, or rather a cement representation of a tent with red and white stripes. The words “lk n and njoy he ow” were painted over the door, and for a long time I thought these were some mysterious foreign words. Actually it read “Walk in and enjoy the show,” but time and ivy had overgrown the words.
Natacha Gonzalez had an Eskimo’s igloo.
During fine weather there were plenty of concrete benches to sit on in the garden. Not, of course, that we spent most of our time sitting about. We always had plenty to do, gardening, cooking and other occupations mostly of a domestic nature.
The place I preferred was what we called the bee pond. This was really a stagnant fountain overgrown with water lilies and enclosed with walls prettily covered with white geraniums, rambling roses and jasmine. This secluded spot was the haunt of thousands of honey bees that zimmed all through the warm days at
their business. I could sit amongst the bees for hours on end and feel happy, although why they pleased me so I cannot tell.
During the morning hours we were busy, although I noticed that Anna Wertz often lay on her deck chair outside the cuckoo clock taking the sun. If she was not lying on her deck chair, unique of its kind at Hall, she was standing in the door of somebody’s hut talking. This seemed to irritate some people but personally I became used to it.
On the afternoon of the second day, later on I lost count of time, I had a visit from Georgina Sykes. At that time I did not know her name and identified her by her height. She was much taller than anybody else and wore very stylish clothes with a certain jauntish ease I had to admire. That day, I remember, she was dressed in a long black kimono and red trousers, Chinese style. This struck me as being very elegant. Her hair was cut in a long bob and although no longer abundant was cleverly arranged over a small bald patch to give the impression of a casual pageboy coiffure. Her eyes must have been large and beautiful before the pendulous mauve flesh had gathered underneath. However they still had a rather daring expression, accentuated by mascara applied with certain inaccuracy around the eyelids.
“There are times when this place gives me the pip,” I heard Georgina say after I had applied my hearing trumpet. “The beastly Gambit Female wants me to peel potatoes and I can’t possibly scrounge in the kitch’ when I have just done my nails.” To my surprise she also wore red nail varnish which covered most of the tops of her large bony fingers.
“I thought Mrs. Gambit was a very kindly person,” I said. “She smiles so much.”
“We call her Rachel Rictus,” said Georgina stubbing out a cigarette on my table. “Her name is Rachel, her smile is Rictus. She is a dangerous and horrible creature.”
“In what way is she dangerous?” my mind went back to the invisible crematorium. I felt anxious again. I wondered if Mrs. Gambit took upon herself the punishing of the inmates of Lightsome.
“She absolutely loathes me because of the doctor. He is a libidinous fellow and stares and stares at me during meals, this makes Rachel Rictus squirm with fury. Of course how can I stop her beastly husband devouring me during meals?” Georgina lit another cigarette with a loud cackle of mirth, “And he is always making excuses to get me into his boudoir for cosy talks.”
All this seemed very strange. Dr. Gambit was a middle-aged man and at least forty years younger than Georgina. However one never can tell with human nature and I have had too many surprises in my time not to expect them in the general order of life.
“What particular type of medicine is the doctor’s speciality?” I asked in order not to show my surprise, which would not have been polite.
“Gambit is a kind of Sanctified Psychologist,” said Georgina. “The result is Holy Reason, like Freudian table turning. Quite frightful and as phoney as Hell. If one could only get out of this dump he would cease to be important, being the only male around, you know. It is really too crashingly awful all these women. The place creeps with ovaries until one wants to scream. We might as well be living in a bee hive.”
Our talk at that moment was interrupted by Mrs. Gambit who appeared in the doorway carrying a bucket of potatoes. I sincerely hoped she had not been listening to our conversation.
“There are at least two members of the community missing for the morning tasks,” she said, her hand pressed to her brow, which looked agonized. “It is possible that I might do everything alone while you all sit around and gossip. Everything is possible. Still for your ultimate advantage I must not allow the habit of laziness to kill your already slim chances of saving your souls. Or what might become souls with perseverance and Work. One could hardly give this dignified title to the fickle emotions most of you use instead of an immortal Self.”
With a pained smile she turned towards the kitchen regions. Georgina stuck out her tongue at the receding back. Nevertheless we got up and followed her, talking quietly about the weather.
“There will be Movements at five o’clock this afternoon in the workshop,” said Mrs. Gambit over her shoulder. “Anybody who is late will forfeit her supper in the usual way.”
“What are the Movements?” I asked Georgina but she merely made a hideous grimace. Mrs. Gambit heard my question and stopped, setting down the bucket of potatoes.
“You had better hear at once about the Movements,” she told me. “Anyone who does not understand their Significance can never get the full meaning of Inner Christianity.
“The Movements were given to us in the past by Somebody in the Tradition. They have many meanings I am not at liberty to disclose to you yet as you have only just arrived, but I can say one of their outer meanings is the harmonious evolution of the Whole organism to different Special rhythms which I play to you on the harmonium. Do not expect to grasp the meaning of the Movements when you first begin, just start off as you would any ordinary task of the day.”
I did not dare ask her if these Movements were gymnastics. I felt very worried and only nodded my head several times. I had meant to nod once, looking at her with what I hoped was an intelligent expression. Somehow my head went on nodding nervously and I had a job to get it stopped.
Georgina nudged me and said something but I could not hear as I had forgotten my trumpet in the lighthouse. I had begun to like Georgina, she seemed so gay. She must have belonged to some fashionable group of people before her family found her too senile to keep at home. She must have had a very exciting and sophisticated life. I hoped she would tell me about it one day, which she did, several times over.
In the kitchen we all sat around a large scrubbed table peeling vegetables. Those who were not present must have been occupied with other work outside. Including Mrs. Gambit there were five of us. Georgina, Vera Van Tocht, Natacha Gonzalez and myself. Mrs. Van Tocht, whom I never could call by her first name, was very imposing. She was fat, so fat that her face and shoulders were almost the same width. In the midst of all this face were little puckered features, cunning eyes and pursed mouth.
Natacha Gonzalez was also on the heavy side but looked quite small compared to Mrs. Van Tocht. Natacha wore her hair in a bun. Having Indian blood she had more hair than anybody else and we envied her. Her face was a pale lemon colour, denoting a bad liver. Her eyes were large like prunes, with heavy lids.
Everybody talked and worked at the same time but as I could not hear them I dedicated myself to cleaning French beans; French beans in this country are rather coarse and have strings on each side like ropes. We had been working for about an hour when there was a strange incident. Natacha Gonzalez poured all her vegetables and dirty water into my lap and got up with her arms raised and her eyes popping. She stood rigid for at least two minutes and collapsed into her chair. Her eyes were now closed and her head sunk on her breast.
“She hears voices,” yelled Georgina in my ear. “When she does that she thinks she is getting a stigmata and starts fattening up for Easter.” In spite of her fainting condition I saw Natacha’s mouth tighten, as if she heard. Mrs. Van Tocht looked at Georgina angrily and got up to administer wet dishcloths to Natacha’s head. Mrs. Gambit said something I could not hear but looked uninterested.
After a while the vegetable peeling was resumed. When the clock struck twelve we went out for a walk around the garden before lunch. I had to change my dress as I was soaking wet, having received a large pan full of water in my lap. I hoped not to catch cold. Anna Wertz was stretched comfortably in her deck chair and seemed to be talking to herself.
That afternoon I arrived in the workshop punctually at five o’clock for the Movements. There were chairs around the walls but the room was otherwise bare except for the harmonium. We all sat down in silence till Mrs. Gambit appeared and stood beside the harmonium. I had thoughtfully brought my trumpet so as not to miss anything. I felt very anxious.
“This afternoon we are going to begin with Primary Zero,” said Mrs. Ga
mbit passing a hand across her brow. “We have a newcomer amongst us who has no experience yet of the Work. For her benefit I will give a demonstration of Primary Zero.” She paused, looked at the floor for a moment as if collecting herself, then started to rub her stomach in a circular clockwise movement and tap the top of her head with the other hand. I felt relieved as I had done this in the nursery and did not have much difficulty repeating Mrs. Gambit’s movements. After a moment’s demonstration she sat down at the harmonium and applied herself to the instrument with great energy for somebody of such a delicate constitution. Not only did her arms, elbows and shoulders heave, but she actually bounced up and down on her seat, as if riding a mechanical horse. We all did the movements, changing hands every ten rounds on the stomach. It was not too strenuous but I was pleased when we stopped.
Mrs. Gambit twirled around on her seat and addressed me before I got the trumpet to my ear. “Eh? eh? eh?” I said as she repeated: “Marian Leatherby, the first movements are not Widdershins. Please watch Maude Wilkins carefully, she is familiar with most of the exercises.”
We repeated the same thing four times and each time the harmonium got louder. “Now everybody get up and we will run through numbers four and five bis. Marian Leatherby kindly stand by me and watch the others, you will participate next time.”
I walked over and stood by her obediently and they started what was for me impossible to follow. The only thing which was clear was that they stood on one leg like storks and wobbled dangerously. The rest was a series of jerks where arms flew out in all directions and heads twisted and turned till I thought their necks must break. Then a terrible thing happened to me. I started to laugh and could not stop. Tears poured down my face and I covered my mouth with my hand, hoping they would think I had a secret sorrow and was weeping and not laughing.
Mrs. Gambit stopped her exercise on the harmonium. “Mrs. Leatherby, if you are unable to control your emotions kindly leave the room.”
The Hearing Trumpet Page 4