Mirror, Mirror

by Paula Byrne

  Mother said that if she was Leda seduced by Zeus in the shape of a swan, then he was Ganymede raped by Zeus in the shape of an eagle. I hated eagles. I especially hated the vicious-looking eagle on my German passport.

  To my dismay, Mother made no attempt to hide her lust from Boni: ‘Sweetheart, that flat chest, and those triceps. You know he has an M tattoo just for me. He calls me POW for perfection of womanhood. I’m sailing with him for a few days. You’re so busy with your novel, and you must take care of the Child. You know how the Pirate fears little girls. Besides, Lord Tod has taken a dislike to the Child. He’s such a strange doll. So vain, too. He’s always looking at himself in his tiny hand mirror.’

  ‘Joan, stop this servant-girl chatter.’

  ‘Boni, you can’t love. You never give yourself.’

  ‘You always do, and that’s the problem with you.’

  I left the room when they started to fight. Mother usually invoked Papa Hem to incite Boni’s jealousy. But I knew that Boni was jealous of the Pirate in a way that was different. Mother would leave in a rage, and he would start to drink. It always ended the same way.

  Later I crept back to check Boni was OK. He was asleep, empty bottles all around him. I saw that a yellow page with his neat handwriting had fluttered to the floor, and I picked it up and read it, knowing that she never would:

  She is Madonna of the flighty heart. Nike of Samothrace, broken mirror of a dark god: ‘She had no country.’

  Here I stand, miserable and with the sharp claws of jealousy in my stomach, longing for you, despising you, admiring you, worshipping you, because you cast the lightning that set me ablaze, the lightning hidden in every womb, the spark of life, the black fire, here I stand no longer like a dead man on furlough with his small cynicism, sarcasm and portion of courage, no longer cold: alive again …

  You love the intoxication, the conquest, the Other You that wants to die in you and that will never die, you love the stormy deceit of the blood, but your heart will remain empty – because one cannot keep anything that does not grow from within oneself.

  Something had gone wrong, at some point the ray of his imagination had failed to hit the mirror, the mirror that caught it and threw it back intensified into itself, and now the ray had shot beyond into the blind sphere of the unfillable and nothing could bring it back again, not one mirror or a thousand mirrors.

  Jack had an idea. ‘Kater, you’re a good swimmer. Let’s swim out to the island. We can carry our clothes above our heads and then we can dress for lunch.’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to ask Mother.’

  ‘That’s done then. I’ll meet you at the beach in one hour. But don’t tell the others. It’s our secret.’

  I was surprised that Mother agreed to my wish, but she was having lunch with the Pirate, so she was probably glad to get rid of me. When I saw her at the water’s edge, waving and watching me with anxiety etched over her lovely face, I felt a surge of sorrow and happiness. She only walked away when she saw that we had arrived safely at our destination.

  Jack looked so much thinner than when I had first seen him. There were rumours swirling around that he had been very ill, but when I saw his grin of triumph when we reached the island, I forgot about his emaciated body. We ate delicious croustine, mopping up the garlicky sauce with thick crusty bread, and Jack drank ice-cold pink wine.

  After eating, we wandered to a rock pool, and Jack drew my attention to a pair of jewel-coloured damselflies. They twirled and looped in a slow dance, their spindly, emerald bodies entwined in the warm air, high above our heads. I gasped when I saw them bending together in the final climax to form the shape of a heart. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I turned my face away, but I knew that he understood how I felt.

  Later, he lay in the sun resting, while I sat watching him sleep. I guess that was the last time, as a child, that I felt truly happy.

  When We Were Girls Together

  Madou is happier than I have seen her in a long time. She has heard word from her mother and her sister that they are well, and that war might be averted, after all. Her sister is moving to Bergen, with her husband and baby. There is no need to send money. They have plenty from her husband who has gone into the film industry. Boni sulks, but she pays him no heed. She knows that he loves nothing better than playing out a doomed romance against the background of an all-engulfing war. The last golden summer with his golden puma. He is in love with the glory of it all.

  Papi is in Paris with Sofi. She has returned from the sanatorium. Kater plays happily with the Kennedy children. The ambassador has returned to London for an emergency meeting with Chamberlain. In his absence, Madou decides that she will help herself to the eldest boy. He has a beautiful body, with strong arms and chest, and tiny hips, like a wasp.

  The Pirate has left to pick up a dear friend, but promises Madou that she will return bearing gifts; whatever her heart desires. She will bring silk dresses, and jewels and maybe a doll for Madou, so that they can seal their friendship. Madou waves her off from the shore, and slinks away to the Kennedy cabana. When she returns, her face is flushed and dewy. She has not taken a young boy before, and she has enjoyed the taste of fresh meat.

  But then Papi calls, telling her that he needs more money. There’s always someone who needs her money. Perhaps she can sell her emeralds? What about her new agent in Hollywood? Has he called? He has heard news from Paris that the German situation has changed, again. They will need money to travel.

  She is alarmed. But then the Pirate returns, laden with gifts. The Kennedy boy is forgotten, and bouquets of lilac and lavender fill the air. The August sun is hot. Ice cubes are ordered, and Madou traces the cubes around the contours of her naked body, to the Pirate’s delight. Later, they dress for dinner. They make a very pretty couple; she in her flimsy gown, she in a fisherman’s top and beret. The Pirate tells her of her oldest friend, who waits for them in the dining room. They were once lovers. It was she who presented him with Lord Tod and the doll-child sealed the unnervingly close bond between them.

  Madou is delighted. She considers sexual jealousy low-class and bourgeois. She would like to meet this friend, perhaps they can all have fun together on the Orlando, where they will not be disturbed. The Pirate confesses that her special friend is no oil painting. She is comely rather than pretty, and is heavy-set, and hairy, though her voice is gentle and sweet.

  Madou’s laughter is like the tinkle of tiny, silver bells.

  Heads Up, Charley

  Her name was Viola, which evokes delicate spring flowers, but she looked like a rhinoceros. She had an immense body, large head, short neck, broad chest, and small feet. If she had slipped off her shoes to reveal three toes, I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

  She was the Pirate’s dearest friend. I learned later that the Rhino gave her Lord Tod as a way of cementing their love. She was good at presents, just like my mother. l still longed for an evening dress that didn’t look like a Christmas tree.

  One day a parcel arrived for me. I tore apart the layers of cloud-pink tissue and there it was: the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was a midnight blue satin sheath, which miraculously seemed to skim over my bulging hips and flattened my tummy. It had three-quarter length sleeves, and fell to just below the knee.

  I had no idea who had sent the dress, but later the Rhino appeared and whispered that she had persuaded Mother that I needed a grown-up dress, that I was no longer a child. Her kindness was touching. Her voice was so soft. She bought heeled shoes to match, and a blue velvet evening bag. Inside was a ruby red lipstick in a silver bullet casing. It was my first lipstick.

  She made time for me. Knowing that I loved reading, we would sit with our books in the cool of the evening. She insisted that I should have a chaperone when my mother was partying. ‘You never know what could happen,’ she would admonish Mother, ‘leaving the Child alone in the even
ings.’ For once in her life, my mother was put in her place. Gloriosky!

  Everybody liked Viola. Despite her off-putting plainness and heavy girth, she was pleasant and courteous. She looked like a nurse out of a storybook. She wore a serge navy suit and a white blouse with a pussy-bow, even though it was scorching hot. She always looked so efficient, so capable in her sensible brogue shoes. Her hands were large and workmanlike. Her only concession to vanity was her scarlet-painted long fingernails.

  I liked her. She was so attentive. She took a lot of trouble to please Mother, while at the same time being so kind to me. Once she had built Mother’s trust, she turned her focus onto me, and I was so flattered, so grateful to have the spotlight on me, no matter for how brief a time.

  She seemed to understand me, she saw that I was lonely. I loved the fact that although she clearly admired Mother, she wasn’t enraptured, wasn’t caught in her spell in the way that everybody else was. There were times that she spoke up for me. She told Mother, firmly, that I was no longer a child, and that I needed more independence. But Mother wasn’t to worry: she would take care of me. Sometimes she would squeeze my arm.

  She came to lunch with the ambassador’s family. That day, the Pirate was wearing a white T-shirt, which showed off her bulging biceps and tattoos. I was fascinated by the blue coiled serpent that snaked up her arm. It had eyes like jewels. A telegraph was delivered to the table. Mother chuckled and handed over the telegram to the ambassador.

  ‘Papa Joe, look at this. It’s insulting. Who do they think I am?’

  ‘Well, Joan, slow down. I’m not so sure.’

  The Pirate had given Mother a gold and cabochon sapphire Cartier compact. She took it from her beaded purse, and examined her face for perspiration. It really was so stiflingly hot.

  ‘But that boy, that dreadful cowboy, with the stutter. That string bean. James somebody. Really, Papa Joe? Make a cowboy film with an unknown actor. But I will do what you command.’

  ‘You need the money. What is there to lose? Go back to America.’

  ‘Papa Joe, if there is a war, will you look after the Child? Bring her back home?’

  ‘I’ll look after her as if she’s my own.’

  Mother decided that she would return to America and make the film. It would prove to be yet another of her brilliant decisions.

  She put me in Boni’s hands: ‘The Child is all that matters. You cannot understand maternal love. It’s the strongest love of all.’

  ‘Puma, I will protect the cat. You know that.’

  ‘The Pirate will help you, and Viola.’

  ‘I will protect the Child.’

  Ace of Clubs

  She packs her bags, leaving her vanity until the last, as she always does.

  The ritual is familiar by now. Trunk and cases are carted away, then the final act is to fold my leather casing. I am in the dark. But not for long. On the ship, in the hotels, I am opened again and placed beside the bed.

  Madou is bidding farewell to Europe, and the France that she loves. This time our journey will be a new adventure: though she is superstitious and fears flying, she plans to go by air. She wonders if she should bring the Child, but she seems so happy here with the Kennedy children, and Boni. There are many people to take care of her daughter, and she will be busy with the film. She worries about what will happen if war breaks out, but she can hardly believe that would be possible when everything in France seems temporarily becalmed.

  As soon as she is settled back in Hollywood, she will send for the Child. Times are different than back in the old days, when Mo made all the living and travel arrangements. Now, we are on our own. And, she reminds herself, the Child is no longer a child. Viola is correct. Independence would be a good lesson. But she feels responsible for not letting her grow up, keeping her perpetually a child, with her doll and her fairy tales.

  Perhaps now is the time to sever the ties. Perhaps now is the time for the Child to let her go. Madou had a rude awakening when her father died, and she was forced to grow up. She was being selfish keeping her a child. A little of life’s realities would be a good thing. Nobody wants a child to be a soft, prissy creature, as the children of hard-bitten characters usually are. She remembers what her own mother used to say: the weak are more likely to make the strong weak, than the strong are likely to make the weak strong.

  Besides, at the suggestion of the Pirate, she has put her daughter under the care of Viola, who trained as a governess. Every well-brought-up girl has a governess. As for me, before we left the Riviera I saw how Viola was looking at the Child. She seemed to see beyond the physical unpleasantness. To see something special, unknown to the rest of us. How charming. There again, Viola is also lacking in the beauty department, so I’m sure she understands how it feels to be a changeling child. She’s a darling to spend so much time and money on the Child. Buying exactly the appropriate presents for a young lady on the eve of adulthood: books, make-up, and clothes. Anyone would think she is after something.

  Madou usually protests when the focus is on her daughter, but, for once, she seemed to be satisfied that Viola had the Child’s best interests at heart. ‘Yes, yes,’ Madou confides to me, ‘Kater is thirteen now, and it is time to let her experience the world.’

  Touch of Evil

  Mother used to say to me: ‘Think twice before burdening a friend with a secret.’ When she left for Hollywood, I was happy to be with Boni. He would tell wonderful stories and sometimes he would let me read fragments from his book about my mother. With my mother gone, he could write worry-free, and he worked feverishly in his room, a brandy by his side, along with a supply of American cigarettes.

  Hungry, I ordered French fries and steak hâché. I felt full and warm. Replete. Then there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to find the Rhino, clutching something in her arms. She told me that she had someone she wanted me to meet. It was Lord Tod.

  I had never set eyes on Lord Tod, though I had heard the tales of his ample wardrobe and fine things; his engraved silver cigar case, and his Cartier watch. The Rhino told me to shake his hand. He had the happiest face I had ever seen. It was smooth and apple-cheeked. He looked like a real boy. He was wearing a striped shirt, Oxford bags, and a beret at a jaunty angle. He terrified me.

  I asked her if she had the Pirate’s permission to bring him, knowing how inseparable they were, like mother and baby.

  She ignored my question, and set him on the side table, legs crossed, cigar in his hand.

  ‘Kater, it’s time for bed. I’m your governess now. Your mother’s instructions. Undress, please. Brush your teeth. Good girl. Do as I say.’

  ‘But what about Boni? Does he need to eat? Shall we call him?’

  ‘We don’t need to concern ourselves about him. He’s fine. Everything is OK.’

  I felt reassured by her OK. American, calm, just what was required. A word my mother never used because she hated it so.

  The last thing I remembered was her putting a blindfold over the doll’s knowing black button eyes. An unwilling witness to my evening’s event.

  ‘Now, Kater. Little Pussy Cat. You must lie in bed, quiet now.’

  Boni woke me early the next morning.

  ‘Kater, we need to leave now. Pack lightly, we are headed for Paris. We are to leave in the Puma.’

  ‘Boni, have you heard from Mutti? Did she telephone from America? Are Jack and the others coming too?’

  ‘No questions for now, darling. We will talk on the way.’

  ‘Of course, Boni.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  Boni’s face was creased with worry. We left the hotel without even saying goodbye to our friends. Boni was calm and quiet. What was I now? We saw men walking alongside the dusty roads, walking mules and horses, their faces full of despair. After we had driven a few miles, he spoke.

  ‘Kater, war has been declared. Your mother has arr
anged for our passage from Paris. I want you to remember this journey. Look at the faces of these men. They still remember the last war; they have given up already.’

  ‘Boni, are we going to die?’

  ‘One day, Kater, but not today.’

  I was mostly worried about Jack and his family. Would they get back to London safely? I wished I’d had time to say goodbye. I even spared a thought for Lord Tod, but not for the Rhino.

  My only hope was that I would never have to set eyes on her again.

  Boni talked and talked on that journey, telling tales of war and misery, how there was no glory in war, only the sounds of mothers weeping. When we got to Paris it was dark. I looked for the lights of the Eiffel Tower, but they had been put out.

  ‘Kater, this is Paris. The City of Lights. Now she is suffering her first blackout. Beautiful Paris. We must say goodbye to her properly. Let’s go to Fouquet’s and bid her farewell.’

  And that’s what we did. But first he drove his Puma to his garage.

  ‘Guard my Puma from the Boche, my friend. But if you must flee the city, then use her. Pumas are good at escaping.’

  That summer’s night the Parisians drank the cellar dry at Fouquet’s. The sommelier came to Boni with a dusty bottle: ‘Monsieur, we don’t want the Boche to find this, do we?’

  ‘We don’t, my friend.’

  Boni poured a small amount into a glass and gave it to me.

  ‘You will never forget this summer’s night, Kater, and you will never forget this wine.’

  He was right. I never forgot. And now that I am old, I remember every detail vividly. I remember the goodness of this man. Maybe he was the one to whom I could unburden my shameful secret.