Carmella went through this advice several times, then took her leave with a few final instructions, such as putting snipers in the trees around the bee pond, installing secret radio stations and a series of outposts with tom-toms which would relay coded messages.
After Carmella’s stimulating visit I was feeling quite excited and happy. It was not long before I met Georgina, to whom I immediately communicated our plans, omitting some of the less practical ones such as the tanks, the snake oil, the secret radio stations and the snipers. I emphasized the hunger strike as not only desirable, but urgently necessary.
“I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself,” said Georgina. “We must make the meeting tonight. After dinner everybody can pretend to go to their bungalows as usual, and when the Gambits, Van Tocht and Natacha are nicely tucked in we sally forth and meet at the pond.”
“We had better inform Veronica Adams, the Marquise, Christabel and Anna Wertz so they know more or less why we are meeting, and don’t let on to Natacha and Mrs. Van Tocht,” I said. “People can say they have a stomach ache and can’t eat supper. This might even be a good way to initiate the hunger strike.”
So, being agreed, we set out to tell the other ladies of our plans.
•
Dinner that night was a most lugubrious affair. The only persons to take food were Dr. Gambit, Mrs. Van Tocht and Natacha. Mrs. Gambit had retired early with aspirin and a sick headache. The rest of us sat and watched them eat. The tension was appalling.
“I am not going to attempt to find out why you have all lost your appetites,” said Dr. Gambit at the end of the meal, “I will however say this. Hysterical complaints have no place in the Work. Psychosomatic illness kills just as effectively as any other physical disease. If you deliberately allow your lower centres to take hold of your organism you will soon become victims to a mass deteriorisation which may have serious consequences.”
With that he dabbed his mouth with a table napkin and rolled it up into the bone napkin ring which we all used. Clean table napkins every day would have made the laundry bill excessive according to Mrs. Gambit.
Evening recreation in the lounge did not last as late as usual. Everybody was relieved when Dr. Gambit rang the bell and we all retired to our respective habitations.
The Abbess looked down upon us with her sardonic smile.
There was no moon that night, but luckily we all had candles which were put in each bungalow for occasions when the electricity failed, which it most often did.
By the time we were all assembled at the bee pond it must have been about eleven-thirty. The circumstances were so unusual that I hardly noticed the curious fact that some bees were still buzzing over the still dark water of the fountain. I heard them in some dormant part of my consciousness, although I have since wondered if it were not some acoustic peculiarity produced by my hearing trumpet.
I opened the meeting with a complete enumeration of the facts, which were all substantiated by Georgina. Then biscuits were passed around and there was a general discussion.
We all agreed that a hunger strike was by far the most practical solution, although there was a certain doubt as to how long my supply of chocolate biscuits would keep us alive.
In order to combat the chilly evening air I had brought the hot water bottle filled with sweet port, and we passed this around now and again. It would really have been a very pleasant gathering if we had not been menaced by starvation at a future date.
“I also have a supply of sweet biscuits that I would be pleased to put at the disposal of the community,” said Christabel Burns. “I brought a biscuit for each person in my pockets, as I had also visualised our hungry condition after retiring without dinner. The supply was somewhat limited so I only brought each person one biscuit. Happily Mrs. Leatherby also has a private supply of chocolate biscuits, which are very nourishing. We ought to be able to hold out quite a time, at least until Dr. Gambit is sensible enough to expel Natacha and Mrs. Van Tocht from the Institution.”
Christabel handed us each a biscuit, which was neatly wrapped in soft paper. They were so small that each one would hardly have made a mouthful.
“You will find a scrap of paper in each biscuit with your fortune written on it,” said Christabel. “I suggest each one of us reads out her own fortune.”
Each person bit her biscuit in two and we read out our scraps of paper in turns. We were sitting in a circle around the pond. The order was moonwise. Veronica Adams, the Marquise, Anna Wertz, Georgina, Christabel Burns. I was last.
“Although you have given up hope, you will meet True Love again,” read Veronica Adams.
“The battle is almost won, do not dissipate yourself unnecessarily. Victory is near.” This was for the Marquise.
“Toil and Trouble will not always be your lot. A great change is imminent, be of good heart.” Anna Wertz was about to make some commentary but Christabel held up her hand for silence, and she was accepted by mutual agreement as the head of the meeting. The candles guttered in a slight breeze.
“Your courage and goodwill are soon to reap a reward. Do not fear those who bear you ill will, they soon shall fall in shame,” read Georgina, cackling with mirth. The next person was Christabel, who read: “Devotion and service to a holy cause is your destiny.”
I unscrewed my own scrap of paper and read out: “Help! I am prisoner in the tower.” There was a slight pause and Christabel, as if to avoid further discussion, pulled a very small tom-tom from under her shawl and began to pat it in rhythmic beats. We began by nodding our heads in time to the drumming, then our feet. Soon we were dancing round and around the pond, waving our arms and generally behaving in a very strange manner. At the time none of us seemed to find anything unusual about our weird dance. None of us felt tired. Even Veronica Adams, who was almost one hundred, pranced around as merrily as the rest. Never before had I experienced the joy of rhythmic dance, even in the days of fox trot in the arms of some eligible young man. We seemed inspired by some marvellous power, which poured energy into our decrepit carcasses.
Christabel began to chant in time to the rhythm of her drums:
“Belzi Ra Ha-Ha Hekate Come!
Descend on us to the sound of my drum
Inkalá Iktum my bird is a mole
Up goes the Equator and down the North Pole.
Eptàlum, Zam Pollum, the power to increase
Here come the North Lights and a flight of wild geese
Inkalá Belzi Zam Pollum the Drum
High Queen of Tartarus Hasten to Come.”
This chant was repeated time and time again till a cloud gathered over the round pond and we all shrieked in unison: Zam Pollum! Ave Ave Queen of all Bees!
Then it seemed that the cloud formed itself into an enormous bumble bee as big as a sheep. She wore a tall iron crown studded with rock crystals, the stars of the underworld.
All this may have been a collective hallucination although nobody has yet explained to me what a collective hallucination actually means. The monstrous Queen Bee slowly revolved over the water, beating her crystalline wings so rapidly that they emitted a pale light. As she faced me I was thrilled to notice a sudden strange resemblance to the Abbess. At that moment she closed one eye, as big as a tea cup, in a prodigious wink.
Then she slowly faded away, beginning with her barbed sting and ending with the tips of her curly antennae. A delicious scent of wild honey was left in the air.
For some miraculous reason nobody heard our revels. We all regained our respective bungalows unmolested, to fall into a deep dreamless sleep. Before we retired Christabel told us that we would meet again within three days, at midnight.
By mutual and silent consent we never discussed the apparition of Zam Pollum, the High Queen of Bees. Yet we were full of courage and determination to carry out our purpose.
Of course it was not easy to sit through all
meals without tasting so much as a crumb of bread. Under the increasingly foreboding spectacle of Dr. Gambit we were obliged to renew our efforts continually. Hunger was also difficult to resist, as two biscuits a day did not really make a solid diet. Dr. Gambit gave us a lecture every day, to no avail. We were unmovable.
Mrs. Gambit did not tire of making caustic remarks through her agonized smile. None of us talked to either Natacha or Mrs. Van Tocht and I noticed they began to look haggard as time passed. They took to prowling around together and emerging in unexpected places, hoping no doubt to overhear our conversations. We were extremely prudent, and even Anna Wertz started speaking short sentences in an undertone.
Another matter made the hunger strike increasingly difficult. The weather had suddenly turned so cold that hoarfrost glittered over the garden every morning. This was a strange occurrence for a country beneath the tropic of Cancer. Towards midday the frost melted in the sunshine, but the days continued to get colder and in our underfed condition we suffered greatly. None of us possessed fur coats, so we would go around shivering in blankets. In spite of the hardships the sparkling white frost brought a strange joy into my heart, and I thought about Lapland.
We had all given up our morning tasks in the kitchen in spite of the efforts made by Mrs. Gambit to mobilize help. Since we ate nothing we could not be induced to work either. We had plenty of time to wander around either talking, dreaming or occasionally thinking. Often enough I wondered about the message I had received in the biscuit. The more I thought about it the more urgent seemed those cryptic words: “Help! I am prisoner in the tower.”
I had always suspected that somebody lived in the tower, but I had not the vaguest idea who that might be.
One day I met Christabel as I was looking for twigs to make a fire. We had taken to lighting bonfires in the garden to keep warm during the lunch hour. I took the opportunity to return the History of the Abbess and ask some questions. How, for instance, did the portrait of Doña Rosalinda come to be in America?
“That happened during the Spanish Civil War,” replied Christabel, “a Spanish refugee called Don Alvarez Cruz de la Selva brought it into the country when he escaped the Fascists. He must have been a descendant of Doña Rosalinda and lived here for some years until he died and the house was taken over by the Gambits.”
“Did they buy the house or did they rent it?” I asked Christabel.
“The Gambits rent the house from Alberto de la Selva, son of the original owner, who now runs a grocery store in the city.”
“Do they also rent the tower?” I asked suddenly, and I noticed Christabel made a short pause before she replied: “The tower is never actually used by the Gambits. In fact half of it is inaccessible because the staircase leading up to the tower room was walled up with only a small barred window in the wall to allow ventilation.”
“Christabel,” I said. “Who lives in the tower?”
“I am not allowed to tell you,” said Christabel. “That is something you have to find out for yourself. There are three riddles you have to answer before you are allowed to enter the tower. The first is:
‘I wear a white cap on my head and my tail
All seasons my caps I wear without fail
Around my fat belly my girdle is hot
I move round and round tho’ legs I have not.’
“The second riddle concerns the first and rhymes as follows:
‘I never move as you whirl round and round
I sit and I watch you with never a sound
If you tilt far enough caps become belt
New caps are made the old caps will melt
Though legless your whirling will then appear lame
I seem to move but I don’t, what’s my name?’
“If you find the answer to the first riddle you ought to find the solution to the second. The third however is not so easy, although it still concerns the first and the second. It goes like this:
‘One of you turns while the other will sit
And though the caps change they always will fit
Once in the life of a mountain or rock
I fly like a bird though bird I am not
When you get new caps my prison will break
The watchers who slept will now be awake
And over their land I will fly once again
Who is my mother? What is my name?’
“If you find the answer to these riddles you will understand who lives in the tower.”
The weather had become so bitterly cold that we hastened to collect more twigs for the fire. The rest of our group, including Georgina, Veronica Adams, the Marquise, and Anna Wertz, had made a fine large fire on the lawn, and they were boiling water drawn directly from the warm spring which tasted slightly of sulphur. The Marquise had acquired some tea, which was a great luxury for us.
“Quite like old times,” said the Marquise happily. “I bribed the gardener to buy us some tea, and since he could get us tea, I took the opportunity of getting two kilos of sugar.”
“Sugar,” we said in chorus. “O bravo!” Two kilos of sugar would probably save our life, as some of us were suffering so much from undernourishment that we feared pneumonia. Sugar would give us energy and help to keep us warm. The sweetened tea was the most delicious elixir I had ever tasted.
In the afternoon there was a light snowfall and most of us were huddled under whatever covers we could find. Mrs. Gambit went to each bungalow telling us that Dr. Gambit wished to see us all assembled in the lounge, he had something particular to say. She was so unusually polite that some of us felt positively alarmed.
“Please sit down,” said Dr. Gambit when we were all present including Natacha and Mrs. Van Tocht. “What I have to say will not take long, but you might as well be comfortable, as I fear some of you may have lost strength during the last few days.
“Apparently there is some reason that prevents you from eating food in the dining room in the usual manner. I have done what I can to persuade you to eat it, to no avail. Owing to the unusually cold weather, lack of proper food may make you take risks which you do not fully realize.
“During this incomprehensible behaviour you have ostracized two of the community, Natacha Gonzalez and Mrs. Van Tocht, causing them great unhappiness. These two admirable and highly spiritual women have been so deeply pained by the aggressive attitude of the rest of the community that they have communicated with their respective families, who are arriving to take them away from the Institute tonight.”
There was applause, but Dr. Gambit went on speaking without taking notice. “The lamentable result of your attitude towards two of the only people here who have benefited by the Work will be an irreparable loss to the Institute. I can only hope your own future remorse will finally be acute enough to make you realize the great injustice you have done to your two companions. That will be all at the present. I hope to see everybody seated in their usual places and eating normally at suppertime.”
Georgina very courageously got up and delivered the following speech as our spokeswoman: “Dr. Gambit, my companions and I have absolutely no remorse that the two females who we consider to be a public danger are being removed from our midst. We will assemble at mealtimes when we are perfectly sure that the food we are eating has not been tampered with. This will be twenty-four hours after they have gone and after we have begun to supervise the preparation of our own meals. How these meals will be organized in the future will be put to the vote, as most of us no longer want to hear your dreary sermons while we eat.”
Dr. Gambit’s spectacles flashed. Mrs. Gambit stood up, upsetting her chair. “Georgina Sykes,” she said harshly, forgetting to smile, “the day has not yet come when you are running this Institute. Our routine will take up its normal course from tomorrow on.”
“That is going to be a matter of debate between you and Dr. Gambit and the rest of us,�
� said Georgina. “Because we have absolutely no intention of letting ourselves be intimidated by your beastly routine ever again. Although freedom has come to us somewhat late in life, we have no intention of throwing it away again. Many of us have passed our lives with domineering and peevish husbands. When we were finally delivered of these we were chivvied around by our sons and daughters who not only no longer loved us, but considered us a burden and objects of ridicule and shame. Do you imagine in your wildest dreams that now we have tasted freedom we are going to let ourselves be pushed around once more by you and your leering mate?”
A shudder passed over Mrs. Gambit, but the doctor spoke up first: “We will adjourn this discussion, it is useless and beside the point,” he said and hurried from the room, closely followed by Mrs. Gambit, Natacha and Mrs. Van Tocht.
We were about to leave for our bungalows and an evening ration of sugared tea which we were to brew in Veronica Adams’s boot when the maid told me a Mrs. Velazquez was waiting for me in the parlour. Carmella, of course. And this was the cause of Dr. Gambit’s change of mind. Somehow I never had believed he would relent through human kindness. Mrs. Gambit, I imagined, must have found the spectacle of our hunger strike a pleasant and economical way of keeping down expenses in the kitchen.
Carmella sat in the parlour, swathed in a sheepskin cloak that looked warm and comfortable. “Carmella,” I exclaimed, “you really do have second sight, to come at the right time. We were down to our last three remaining biscuits, and if the Marquise had not managed to obtain a kilo of sugar we would not have eaten for twelve hours.”
“As I did not hear from you,” said Carmella, “I began to get worried. I decided upon a brilliant plan. I had a short interview with Dr. Gambit where I told him my niece writes for the newspaper (as a matter of fact I doubt if she can write at all, although her cakes are tasty), and that she was becoming very interested in the hunger strike at the Institute for old ladies. I even insinuated the reason that had provoked the hunger strike. Further I said that if the two offending members were removed from the rest of the community I would be willing to hire their double bungalow myself and pay twice the price they had given for food and lodging. I believe it was the latter portion of the argument that turned his opinion in my favour. His spectacles positively twinkled with greed.”
The Hearing Trumpet Page 13