Odette

by Jessica Duchen

  Demetrius and Helena had gone; now Puck was on stage, with a test-tube of herbal tea that represented the magic flower juice; then came the atmospheric rumble Chris had composed to accompany Oberon’s lines. Harry took a breath, then stepped into the patch of fuchsia-pink light that awaited him.

  Oberon – in the plumber’s overalls in which their production clad him – circumnavigated the set, spiralling in towards Puck and her motorbike goggles. Because of the glare of light in his eyes, he couldn’t see the audience, but an instinctive energy seemed to draw the speech up though his feet, from the core of the earth. Their first conversation came and went; now he seized Puck by the wrist, pierced her with his eyes.

  ‘I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

  Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

  Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

  With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine…’

  His hands were warming. He drank Shakespeare in like mulled wine. The speech sprang forth; not for a moment did he fear forgetting it. The director had decreed that Oberon would be portrayed as the head of a plumbing company that underpinned the lives of all the humans. Somehow it still worked. No amount of reinterpretation could scratch the words of Harry’s beloved Bard. The way that that man had arranged language lifted him more than music, more than drugs; he lived each second on stage with an intensity he couldn’t reproduce away from it, where he was never as happy or as free. Here Harry Fairweather knew, for three hours, exactly who he was.

  Mitzi waited for dusk, wondering what would happen when it arrived. Outside, the sky was deepening from ivory and ghost-grey to violet and gold. She glanced at the swan. She’d believe the transformation when she saw it, not before.

  The streetlamps glowed as the last daylight dissolved; the swan stirred, shook itself alert, then made its way out of the room, swaying on its webbed feet. Mitzi waited, trying to remember how to breathe. A minute later, a girl’s voice called her name from the bathroom.

  She found Odette in her white shift standing in the dark, gazing at her dim reflection in the mirror. Mitzi hovered, trying to take in the fact that not only could Odette resume her human form as simply as putting on a different dress, but she had even gone delicately into the bathroom to change. Mitzi switched on the light; the swan girl blinked in its harshness.

  ‘Good evening, Mitzi.’ She was pushing her hair back from her forehead to examine the gash.

  ‘Hello there. You look better,’ Mitzi remarked. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘So much better!’ Odette clasped her hands together. She peered at the range of bottles on the shelf. ‘What are these?’ But for her wounds, Odette’s skin was as fine as a child’s. She removed the lid of a small tub and sniffed the contents, which gave out a scent of honey and rose.

  ‘It’s to make your skin soft and keep you looking young.’

  Odette’s eyes widened. She reached out a finger to stroke Mitzi’s cheek. ‘But so soft your skin.’

  ‘So, it works.’

  Odette began to giggle. ‘And what this?’ She pointed at a bottle marked Peppermint Foot Lotion.

  ‘To soothe your feet after a long day out.’

  ‘Da! And this?’

  ‘That’s shampoo.’

  ‘Sham-how?’

  ‘For washing your hair.’ Mitzi began to giggle too – an unfamiliar sensation. Odette, fascinated, was dipping her finger into potion after potion.

  ‘This so funny! I have not touched such things since I was princess. I had silver box of skin oil and cream and rosewater. Many years ago.’

  Mitzi wondered just how many years Odette was talking about. ‘I was thinking, if you would like to try it, we might go out to eat tonight and I can show you Cygnford. It’s so pretty at the moment with all the Christmas lights and I’d love it if you could feel welcome here. Do you know what a restaurant is?’

  ‘I remember! Thank you, I like very much.’

  ‘What do you like to eat?’

  Odette’s peal of laughter was so loud that Mitzi wondered how much Professor Maggie downstairs would hear. Professor Maggie was deputy head of the economics department, six foot tall, black-stockinged and blonde, and would see through attempted deception in a quarter of a second. It would be all the better, under the circumstances, if she could take Odette around Cygnford as a ‘normal’ human being – ‘My friend from Russia’s staying for a bit,’ she rehearsed. Going to a restaurant would be a good start.

  ‘I not eat in restaurant for a long time,’ Odette declared. ‘I like to try. I like to try everything!’

  ‘You must have tried a lot in your many years?’ Mitzi ventured.

  ‘Swan food,’ said Odette, giving a wry smile. ‘Plants in lake. Sometimes I find food from tavern that is not eaten, or kind people give to me. Now all of this new. So kind of you, Mitzi, to think of me.’

  ‘You’ve had to beg for food?’

  ‘Sometimes when nights are longer and colder, before we go west. Even then it is terrible to feel winter beginning.’ Odette shrugged. ‘If the lake starts to freeze, soon I cannot dive.’

  ‘Is it Lake Baikal?’

  Odette’s eyes lit up. ‘You know this lake?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. You must tell me more as we go. I just remembered…’

  … that of course they couldn’t go anywhere with Odette clad in nothing but an antique silk slip. ‘We need to find you something to wear.’

  ‘Mitzi?’ Odette pressed her hands together. ‘Please – may I use sham-how to wash hair? It has been a long time…’

  Mitzi showed her how everything worked and left Odette to enjoy her first-ever power shower.

  A quarter of an hour passed, with steam filtering out around the bathroom door. When Odette emerged, wrapped in a large white towel, Mitzi fetched a comb and the hairdryer and escorted her to the big mirror on the bedroom wardrobe, plus a nearby electric socket. Odette’s fingers curled around the comb handle and she began tentatively to work on her wild hair.

  Mitzi watched as the swan girl, perhaps responding to long-ago muscle memory, made cautious progress with strand after dark strand. A tear glimmered in the corner of one eye. ‘I had comb at castle. With pearl…’ She pointed at the black plastic handle. ‘But it is lost in forest…’

  ‘Well, this one works fine – you look fantastic,’ Mitzi encouraged. A little attention and her house-guest would be a beauty. Mitzi switched on the hairdryer, demonstrated its method and, taking the comb, began to help her smooth out what the book of fairy tales would have termed her ‘raven tresses’. Under her fingers, Odette’s hair as it dried was turning as soft as fur.

  Hunting through her wardrobe, Mitzi knew her jeans would be too long for her diminutive guest, so she gave her a new pair of black tights and showed her how to put them on. Over them went a short black skirt, kept up with a belt, and a scarlet jumper with a v-neck. A pair of shoes that pinched Mitzi were too large for Odette, but didn’t fall off when she walked.

  At last Odette stared at her own slender form in the mirror, the red jersey vivid against her pale skin, and her dark eyes enormous, fringed with curled lashes – and now, instead of the tears, the side of her mouth twitched and she began to laugh. ‘Swan,’ she said. ‘This, a swan!’

  ‘Please don’t tell people that. I’ll find you a coat – but listen, Odette. You must promise me that when we’re out of this flat, you won’t tell anybody about the, um, the spell and the swan?’

  6

  ‘So what’s it like, flying?’

  Mitzi and Odette were walking along Richardson Road, purple and red together. Mitzi felt clumsy beside the delicate girl who looked as if she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine, even with shoes that didn’t fit, and an old crimson coat around her so large it would have concealed her hands had Mitzi not folded back the cuffs and fixed them with safety pins.

  ‘Flying,’ Odette echoed. ‘Yes. I like flying.’

  ‘What does it feel like?’

 
; ‘It feel—’ Odette frowned, seeking words. ‘It feel – you know, air is wide and deep and you can go. You depend only on wind; and sometimes it is for you, sometimes against. Here we may go—’ she pointed forwards, backwards and along a side road. ‘But there are no paths in air. You go wherever, up, down, on, back. It is difficult, because so many ways you can choose, but always you must fly, you cannot stop.’

  At the crossroads, Mitzi paused, but Odette did not; Mitzi grabbed her arm as two bicycles and a National Express coach trundled in front of them.

  ‘So big, these carriages,’ Odette remarked, gazing after the bus.

  Mitzi took a moment to explain buses.

  ‘And these?’ Odette pointed at another bicycle. ‘That is amazing. Is difficult?’

  ‘Not really. You have to practise, but once you know how, you know how.’

  ‘Like flying. Can I learn?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mitzi, wondering if Odette would be in Cygnford long enough to try.

  The pedestrian precinct was filled with shoppers and Christmas partygoers, ambling or prancing along underneath strings of light that traced out the shapes of angels. A seasonal motif of a golden tinsel star gleamed in every window. Odette wanted to stop and stare at each one. ‘I see shop only when I was leetle girl. Long, long ago. What is this?’

  ‘Cameras and lenses.’

  ‘Cameras?’

  ‘For taking photographs.’

  Odette looked blank.

  Mitzi opened the zip section of her handbag and pulled out a piece of card. ‘This is a photograph. Of my father.’

  Odette smiled, surveying the image. ‘He is like you. He has kind face. These pictures so smooth – by a painter so very good!’

  ‘They’re not painted, that’s the point. It’s like… a trick of the light. You’ve never seen this before?

  ‘Never.’

  With a renewed shock, Mitzi tried to remember when photography was invented. So Odette was… how old?

  ‘Where is your father now, Mitzi?’

  ‘He died, quite recently. In April.’

  ‘I am sorry – please forgive.’ Odette seemed embarrassed. ‘You miss him?’

  ‘I’ll always miss him. Even though he never seemed to approve of anything I did.’ Odette’s manner had been so straightforward and frank that Mitzi found herself responding in kind. ‘I think he always wanted something better for me than what I had or what I was doing. Nothing was ever good enough, and that could be difficult.’

  ‘I understand. He loved you, so he wanted best for you.’

  ‘For someone who’s hardly seen a human being in decades, you’re pretty sharp.’

  ‘My father was also like this. I watch him from forest as he grow old and die, but I can do nothing because Baron’s spell, his revenge on my father, forbids me to go there. I miss him also.’

  ‘But when you are human, you can’t still live in the castle?’

  ‘It is a ruin. As if it is dead itself.’ Odette gave a sigh. ‘I found empty hut for shelter, deep in forest and close to lake. Once some wicked people, some hunters I think, burn down my hut. So I build one.’

  ‘But – how?’

  ‘Hard work. I tell you later,’ Odette smiled.

  They walked on, silent; Mitzi was fighting the sensation that Odette could see into her heart better than any of her permanently human friends. Mitzi was the only one of her circle who had experienced such a loss; at the time some retreated or vanished, too frightened to help her – including Pete. She pictured Odette as the swan circling a remote castle, unable to reach her dying father – and she longed to bring her peculiar new friend the consolation that she herself had missed. Instead, she quickened her pace towards the Lansdale Shopping Centre, a handy shortcut to the market square, looking forward to a substantial drink.

  She led the way through the red-brick mall, past shoe shops, stationers and boutiques festooned with signs declaring EXTRA 20% OFF, and past groups of youngsters loitering on the edge of the desultory fountain beside the escalator, the girls with short skirts and bare legs despite the December chill, the boys with baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Odette hurried in her ill-fitting shoes to keep up with Mitzi. Someone wolf-whistled.

  ‘Told you you looked good,’ Mitzi teased.

  Odette glanced round, searching. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Just ignore it. I guess there are more wolves than wolf-whistlers in Siberia.’

  A youth was pacing towards them across the mall; Mitzi, imagining knives, drew back on reflex, but Odette met his gaze head on. Mitzi fidgeted with her handbag strap and put her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to run if necessary. If she had nearly taken Odette for a trafficked sex worker on first sight, what might these local lads be thinking?

  ‘You on holiday, love?’ he grinned into Odette’s face. ‘I could show you the town.’

  Odette stared up at him, smiling.

  Mitzi experienced a flash of understanding: Odette, for all her insights and empathy, must have lived in such isolation that she hadn’t the first clue how to handle this. How strange to be so old and wise, yet at the same time so young and innocent. ‘Bad luck, mate, she’s new around here,’ she announced, grasping Odette’s arm.

  ‘Bloody Polish,’ came the boy’s voice behind them. ‘Too stuck up to do the jobs? Go back where you came from!’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Mitzi growled to Odette, who showed no fear, only bemusement.

  ‘But I’m Russian,’ she protested.

  Safely out in the open again, Mitzi realised her knees were shaking. She steered Odette towards the nearest restaurant, which happened to be Mexican and sported a window in which Christmas trees alternated with images of sunshine, sombreros and garish drinks. It wasn’t quite what she had envisaged for Odette’s first evening in Cygnford, but it was cheap, fun and would forestall any further trouble.

  At the door Odette stopped.

  Mitzi tugged at her sleeve, to no avail. ‘Odette, what’s the matter?’

  ‘He has gone!’

  ‘The yob?’

  ‘What is yob? English word for man?’

  Mitzi felt sweat rising on her forehead. ‘A yob is a particular sort of man – like – well, like them.’

  ‘But I not understand!’ Odette protested. ‘This man – I see he is rough, but he seems interested to know me…?’

  Mitzi hesitated. Someone, somewhere, was missing the point.

  ‘Evening, ladies!’ A cheerful waitress was at their side, menus in hand.

  ‘Table for two, please?’ Mitzi said. The girl ushered them towards a spot in the middle of the busy restaurant, but Mitzi suggested a corner instead – quieter and, perhaps, safer. She wondered what Odette might make of Mexican food.

  They settled down, a candle flickering contrasts of gold light and shadow onto Odette’s face. ‘What is it?’ Mitzi prompted, tucking her handbag under the table and getting her breath. Her hands were still unsteady.

  ‘You see,’ said Odette, her fingers interlaced, ‘is very important man must love me.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think just because someone tries to pick you up in the street that he’s about to be the love of your life?’

  ‘But why he do it? Why he so angry if he not want me?’

  Mitzi clutched the cocktail list, letting the edge of the card dig into her hand. ‘He was only trying his luck, to see if he could get off with you, and don’t you ever, ever go with anyone who does that unless you know exactly who he is and you like him. I thought you said it was dangerous for you, talking to men at home?’

  ‘With them, you know at once,’ Odette said.

  Mitzi despaired. Not only was Odette not a sex worker, but now it was obvious she had never even had sex – however old she really was. How was that even possible? What about life as a swan, amid nature red in tooth and claw? What about the evil Baron, who presumably could do as he pleased with her if he wished? And she’d had nobody to help or advise her, no mother or si
ster or friend… ‘I need a drink,’ Mitzi gulped. ‘Do you know if you like cocktails?’

  ‘Chicken-tail?’

  ‘Cocktail.’ Mitzi took another breath. ‘I’ll order for you, shall I? I expect you’d like the Pina Colada, everyone likes those.’

  ‘I try anything!’ Odette beamed. ‘Is chicken cooked how?’

  ‘It’s a drink.’ Mitzi waved at the waitress. ‘One Pina Colada, please, and one Sloe Comfortable Screw.’ She didn’t explain the double entendre to her guest. ‘Now, how about food? Do you eat meat or do you prefer vegetables?’

  ‘Very long time since I eat this way,’ Odette explained, inclining her neck with grace. ‘You must choose for me, please, Mitzi.’

  ‘All right.’ Mitzi selected a vegetarian enchilada for Odette and a burrito for herself.

  ‘They have no blinis?’

  ‘Blinis? In a Mexican restaurant?’

  ‘When I little girl, I eat blinis all time, but not since then.’

  ‘This is food from a different country.’ Mitzi patted her wrist. ‘Don’t worry, Odette, I’ll get you some blinis. They sell them in the supermarket.’

  The drinks arrived, Mitzi’s tall and pale golden, Odette’s frothing over a wide glass, a pink paper umbrella perching on its rim. Odette’s face registered astonishment and delight. Mitzi took a long draught and let the alcohol flash to her head. She shut her eyes for a moment. She could simply pretend that everything was normal and that she was having an evening out with her visiting friend from Russia…

  A giggle brought her back to earth. Odette’s Pina Colada was almost gone.

  ‘Heavens! Don’t drink it all at once, it’s very strong,’ Mitzi warned, much too late.

  ‘But tastes – mmm!’ Odette laughed. ‘Not much like green swan food and lake water.’

  ‘I bet.’

  Odette copied her, leaning back and closing her eyes; Mitzi spotted two men nearby staring across at her. ‘You know,’ Odette said, ‘it feels good, being human.’