by Jeremy Welch
All improbable and impossible. Again the voice of Umuntu spoke in Sebastian’s head.
“Not all is as it appears.”
The stage lit up as a piano was wheeled to centre stage; there was no trap door.
Umuntu tap danced towards the piano, tight black trousers giving emphasis to his strong thighs. His back and shoulders fighting against the confines of a tight white shirt. On his head sat a small black trilby set at forty-five degrees. He sat down and started to play a rag-time melody, pausing intermittently to let the brass band play alone.
Sebastian nudged Zoe.
“I didn’t know he could play the piano.”
“You seem to know everyone performing. Not just those two,” she said with a hint of relief as if she had miscalculated when they had bumped into Salt and Pepper.
The stage now had the whole cast dressed in colourful striped blazers, each carrying a bottle of champagne. Umuntu paused his piano to wipe the top of the upright piano with a duster, the spotlight bouncing off the perfectly smooth surface. As the cast tap danced around Umuntu they placed each bottle of champagne on the piano top. Umuntu continued his rag-time as Ricard and Philippe mounted the ends of the piano balancing on their toes. The tempo of the piano increased; in unison and from different ends Ricard and Philippe placed their hands palm down on the top of the champagne bottle necks. As if in slow motion they raised themselves into a handstand using one hand on the bottle top, the other held parallel to their bodies. They looked like two gannets the second before breaking the surface of the water. The crowd fell silent, then clapped as if this was the end of the act. Umuntu crashed a chord; Philippe and Ricard with military precision placed their spare hand onto the next bottle simultaneously releasing the other, repeating the movement before dismounting from the piano gymnastic style with a backward somersault. Throughout Zoe had been holding Sebastian’s hand and with each movement of the two on the bottle tops she squeezed as if from her via his hand the next bottle would be safely reached. Her relief after the somersaults was wild clapping and smiles of happiness for their safety.
“Something not to try at home,” she shouted into the deafening applause.
The brass band played a melody as the stage was cleared for the next act. The coloured lights swirled around the audience, talk impossible with the volume of the music.
Sebastian watched as ice creams were licked, melted droplets dabbed from the chins of children. Excited exchanges of looks of wonderment between couples and nods of respect from others.
“It’s him. There, over there. The one I told you about at lunch.” He pointed at the empty stage, struggling to be heard above the music. Sebastian had spotted the rabbi. He was dressed exactly as he had last seen him at the police station: long black coat, white tieless shirt. He was alone in not clapping. His ringlets now more disciplined as they poked from under the rim of his black Fedora. From behind his Fedora were two small child’s faces bobbing in and out of view as they tried to see the stage through the rim. As the lights moved across the audience his face was spot lit or in darkness. When in the light he had the look of a man who was rarely questioned, a hard definitive look that ordered authority from his fellow man. Not the look associated with his calling. His wife sat one seat away demurely dressed with a headscarf of modesty covering her hair. A child, their daughter, aged about six, sat between them obviously bored. To occupy her time she bit her nails; with each approach of hand to mouth he slapped her hand, hard with discipline. Sebastian imagined hearing the slap. The child’s mother waited until after the slap to offer a momentary furtive look of sympathy. The child looked down at her shoes, sullen and sore.
Zoe looked in the direction of Sebastian’s stare but not knowing who she was looking for shrugged her shoulders as the lights dimmed. The next act was missed by Sebastian as he couldn’t take his eyes off the rabbi; for some reason the sight of his face, the resolute configuration of his features made him think of Dasha, Irena and Sacha and what role he played in their lives. No matter how minor or major that role it was executed without question from him or questions from them. He wanted to know how involved that role was; he also wanted to have that resolute belief so apparent in the features of the rabbi. The look on the rabbi’s face only confirmed to Sebastian that it was his duty to get the phone back to Irena. Although he hadn’t seen her since the attack, he had been indecisive, but not now. Now he knew he would return it to her.
His moment of introspective thoughts was brought to a conclusion by Zoe squeezing his hand.
“That must be included in your review.” She spoke over the applause.
“Yes, it’s the best so far,” he replied aware that he had missed it and was there for a purpose as important as his newly made decision. Reaching for his pad he started to write some notes and concentrated on the stage.
The centre of the stage was occupied by a small table and on top of the small table was a square-shaped object covered by a cloth that trailed to the floor. The stage was lit in a haunting green, the air thickening with dry ice falling off the stage and covering the feet of the audience. The band started a thoughtful tune as the cloth rose into the roof. The square-shaped object was a clear glass box no more than two foot wide and high. Lowered from the ceiling in a tight pair of trousers was Dasha. His body was so lean he looked like a single tendon taken from an anatomical drawing.
“This is impossible surely,” Sebastian spoke into the darkness.
Dasha opened one side of the glass box, threw his arms out to the audience and then to the opening of the box. The audience responded with murmurs and looks of disbelief. The music stopped, to be replaced by a slow drumbeat and a noise like a marble swirling in a glass bowl. The music increased its speed to the clapping of the audience. Dasha first placed one of his feet into the impossibly small glass box. As if his body was boneless and fluid flesh he flowed his torso backwards into the box, his arms retracted like the fleeing of a squid after his torso, and with his thumb and index finger he pulled the glass door shut. His eyes, Sebastian noticed, fixed on the rabbi. Those that didn’t clap held their hands up to cover their eyes and peek through their fingers as the condensation from his breath misted the glass. The foetal-positioned Dasha was now invisible through the frosted glass. The music stopped. The marble noise in the glass slowed to almost a lament. The clapping abated. The audience looked at each other, some questioning whilst others looked worried, as if something had gone wrong with the act. For the first time that night the Spiegeltent was silent. A crash of concert cymbals broke the silence. The door opened slowly, Dasha flowed onto the stage, stood up and with an exaggerated suave movement of his hand rearranged his hair, fell into the gymnastic position of a crab and scuttled off stage.
Sebastian spent the rest of the evening performances making notes and trying to decide how he could distil ten pages of notes to the prescribed hundred words of his review. He knew he was biased and wanted to make a special mention of Salt and Pepper. Their solo act was a seemingly suicidal ballet dance. They both arrived on stage to the snorting of fire from their mouths, firstly at each other, then above the heads of the audience. Even in the banquettes at the back the heat could be felt on his cheeks. Standing shoulder to shoulder facing opposite sides of the audience with swords in each hand they waited as Umuntu set the swords aflame and retreated. Salt and Pepper juggled the lit swords above their heads creating an arch of fire. Catching the falling swords they stood still, paused and tilted their heads back. Tapping the still burning swords together to confirm they were made of metal they held them above their heads. The swords and flames disappeared into the slender slits of their mouths. During the act Sebastian had glanced at the rabbi, his face impassive, his wife’s curled in imagined pain and his daughter surreptitiously nibbling her nails. The finale of their act was to place two neon strip lights down their throats; their gullets glowed like a radioactive drain. It was the first time that the child h
ad shown any interest at all; she looked at her nails, looked at Salt and Pepper, ran her tongue around her teeth and smiled.
When the show ended the audience was reluctant to leave. They sat in their chairs under bright white light but collectively thought if they stayed in their seats the lights would dim and the show recommence. The silence from the band confirmed that it was the end.
Walking out Zoe linked her arm through Sebastian’s. They walked slowly at first.
“I thought that was a great show. It’s impossible to believe that the body can do those things, mine certainly can’t.” Her voice was reverent in respect of what she had seen.
Sebastian was distracted and his eyes followed the Fedora. He wanted to know where it was going. He pulled Zoe along with him as he hurried through the crowd. The rabbi walked towards a group of three policemen; his wife and daughter followed behind. Sebastian arrived as the group of laughing policemen broke up and started to move off.
“Have a good evening, Inspector Bloogard!” one said to a man in his early fifties not in uniform. The inspector was standing next to a pretty girl of twenty, her arm loosely held in the crook of his arm. The rabbi stopped without warning, alarming his entourage who bumped into each other but avoided bumping into him. It was the raincoat man from outside the police station near Dam Square; he didn’t have his coat with him on the balmy summer evening.
“Rabbi.” Inspector Bloogard nodded his head in acknowledgement.
The rabbi looked at him, then at the young woman.
“This is my daughter.” The inspector looked at her with paternal pride.
The rabbi nodded curtly to the daughter, gave a fleeting look of disdain to Inspector Bloogard and walked past without a word exchanged; his family with heads down followed in the wake of his black coat.
The crowd swallowed the rabbi and his family. Sebastian looked at Inspector Bloogard. He looked like a man that would welcome imminent retirement. The face was etched with lines of questions unanswered, a face that spoke of an inability to understand what he had seen. When he spoke to his daughter these lines disappeared and his face shone with happiness, the lines replaced by an almost youthful smoothness, a face of hope for another.
“Sebastian, do you know them?” Zoe studied the daughter, youthful with alert and innocent but curious eyes. She remembered her late teens. She looked just like that when she had met Sebastian.
“No but I have seen him before. It doesn’t matter. Let’s get to the Vlinder for the after-show party.” He smiled at her; he wanted to tell her of his suspicions: the rabbi, the inspector, Irena, Sacha and Dasha. But unable to understand his thoughts himself he dismissed them and focused on the remainder of the evening. The last few hours before Zoe went home, leaving him alone to finish the book. The thought filled him with urgency to enjoy the remaining time together tinged with an impending loss. He pulled her towards him, kissed her forehead.
“God, I’ll miss you,” he whispered into her ear as he squeezed her close. She placed her hands on his hips and pulled him closer pushing her pelvis towards him. He felt a rush of blood to his groin. She laughed.
“We don’t have to stay too long at the party, do we?”
“No,” his voice replied through a contracted throat.
2
Sebastian had suggested they walk. He didn’t want the evening to end and by walking he hoped to slow the movements of the clock but knew from maternal homilies that procrastination was the thief of time.
Arriving at the Vlinder he could hear the voices from outside; it was busy and excited.
“Do we have to go, can’t we just go out for dinner?” Zoe sounded nervous.
Sebastian remembered the last time he had said that to Zoe; he thought of Clarissa and with shame remembered the evening’s end.
“We don’t have to stay for long, promise.” Sebastian knew this evening would not end the same way as it did in London. This evening had a meaning, a start or perhaps a restart. He squeezed her hand to give her courage as he pushed the door open.
The troupe looked happy and excited as they mingled with the guests. Hugo and Ricard stood talking to Dasha; all three still had stage makeup on and their eyes were made larger by mascara. They looked like backing singers for the Velvet Underground meeting on a night out. Umuntu walked over to them with a wide smile.
“All hail the man whose words will make or break the show.” His arms wrapped round Sebastian and Zoe. “Come, let me get you a drink.”
They made their way to the bar where Salt and Pepper were standing flirting with a journalist. The size and direction of travel of Umuntu was enough to open a gap in the crowd.
“Sebastian, meet Jan, he writes for the arts magazine Blend Bureaux. You can compare notes, but make sure the reviews are glowing.” Umuntu turned to order drinks, cutting the invisible cord between Sebastian and Zoe. She looked nervous being left alone with Umuntu. Sebastian turned to look for her but Jan pulled at his arm to draw him into conversation.
Umuntu noticed her discomfort.
“Here, let me introduce you to Salt and Pepper whilst I order some drinks.”
Zoe held out her hand unsure which one to shake first.
“Hi, I’m Salt.”
“Hi, I’m Pepper.”
They replied in unison covering her hand with theirs.
“I’m Zoe, a friend of Sebastian’s,” Zoe said feeling at ease with the touch of their hands.
“We know who you are, you’re the one in the photograph.” Salt smiled at her welcomingly.
Zoe felt less assured and wanted to know how they had seen the photograph. She knew it was stored in Sebastian’s drawer. Before she could ask they were interrupted by Anneke who took the twins by the elbow.
“Come on, you two, the show doesn’t end when the audience leaves. Go and talk to the journalists, they’re the ones that keep us in a living.”
She turned to Zoe.
“Hello, I’m a friend of Sebastian’s too. We don’t know each other, well you don’t know me but I know you.” Her smile offered some shared knowledge, a shared pleasure.
Zoe looked over her shoulder for Sebastian; he was unwillingly engaged in conversation with a group.
“Everyone seems to know who I am but I don’t know anyone here apart from Sebastian,” Zoe said nervously.
Umuntu placed a glass of white wine by her side.
“You’ve met Anneke, she has been helping Sebastian with his book.”
Anneke flicked her hair in acknowledgement of the compliment. Zoe recognised the name and studied her face. She saw a broad face, almost square, not pretty but attractive. Far too much makeup, she thought. Anneke’s eyes defiant and willing to defend a secret if challenged.
“He read it to me last night. I really enjoyed it, I always knew he could do it. What do you think of it?” Zoe sipped her wine waiting for the answer from Anneke.
“I’ve never read it. I know it will be good.” Anneke spoke through her veil of hair, a hint of a shared knowledge established between them. “I think he will finish it quite soon.” She reached out and touched Zoe’s elbow, squeezed gently. Her eyes fixed on Zoe. “Excuse me but I have to talk to one of our sponsors. I’m glad it’s you. I hope we’ll meet again.”
She was gone before Zoe could think of a reply. She stood alone in the noise of laughter and movement of people. Zoe didn’t like Anneke; she was somehow involved with Sebastian in a way that she was not. She wanted to leave. She looked towards Sebastian and caught his eye; he lifted his arm up holding up two fingers. Two minutes in a room full of strangers was a long time, thought Zoe.
To avoid the embarrassment of being a lone woman in a bar she turned towards the counter. Her eyes scanned the mirror behind the bar. It was dark outside and the lights of the bar reflected off the mirror intermittently as the reflection was disturbed by the photographs posted. S
he moved her gaze from one happy photograph to another, each showing groups of people laughing around tables with glasses. The sepia photographs were of diners in black tie telling of the former glory of the Vlinder as an eatery of the theatre crowd. The barman lifted a bottle of gin and one of vermouth off the shelf to make a martini. Hidden behind the bottle was a poster of a woman in a high-collar multi-coloured embroidered dress walking along a catwalk advertising the new collection from Jurgen. She studied the face of the woman; recognising her but not knowing any models she was unable to place her. Her eyes moved to look for Sebastian hoping he was extricating himself from the group; as she did her eyes met Anneke’s in the mirror. She was smiling, a smile of further shared knowledge, a secret shared. Zoe looked again at the poster. The girl in the poster looked like Anneke, well perhaps a few years ago. Not exactly the same; Anneke’s face was broader, much bigger features, almost a parody, and she was not as attractive as she was in the photograph.
She felt the familiar hands of Sebastian on her waist.
“Let’s go before I have to admit to anyone that I’m not a journalist.”
She was glad of his arrival and protective arms. Zoe had felt uncomfortable as soon as she had arrived at the Vlinder. The troupe still covered in makeup looked sinister to her. She had been further disconcerted by the way she was known to many without any reciprocity of knowing them. She hadn’t wanted to go in the first place; she wanted to be alone with Sebastian; she needed to be with him, to regrow what they had had many years ago. His passion had returned, she could see that now; she wanted to be part of that passion.
Zoe wanted one more look at Anneke before they left; she scanned the room for her unsuccessfully. At the door she had a last look for her; she was standing next to Umuntu engaged in conversation with others but looking at Zoe. Whether it was in response to a question or addressed to her she didn’t know but Anneke raised her finger to her lip. “Don’t tell, it’s our secret,” it seemed to say. Her eyes slowly slipped from contact with Zoe and returned to the speaker next to her.