Dreams of Sex and Stage Diving (10 page)

“Yes, she is.”

Everyone laughed.

“What if she succeeds?”

Mo assured them that she would not. He had experience of Elfish and was confident of her inability to learn lines under pressure.

A thin, black-clad woman with long blonde hair and tattooed shoulders walked into the pub, causing the heads of all the band to swivel.

“I know her,” said Cody. “That's Amnesia. I thought she'd left London.”

ELFISH WAVERED BETWEEN going out and getting on with things or spending the whole day in bed. It was vital to her endeavours that she kept busy. Unfortunately she did not feel like keeping busy.

She had a new bottle of whisky, cheap from the supermarket. To bring the television up to her room, stay under the blankets, drink whisky and pretend to learn the speech was a powerful temptation.

Eventually, late in the day, she dragged herself up. She was wearing several T-shirts and many pairs of socks. Both the T-shirts and the socks were ragged, dirty and caked in ages-old sweat. She pulled on her leggings, stuffed her feet in her boots and manoeuvred her arms through the ripped lining of her leather jacket.

Outside the sun shone and Elfish squinted in disapproval. She hated it when the sun shone brightly. It hurt her eyes, even when they were covered by her hair.

“Hello, Elfish,” came one cheerful voice, followed by another.

Cary and Lilac were standing outside, holding hands.

Elfish came to a halt, glowering. She could not be sure but she had the distinct impression that the young lovers were gently squeezing each other's hands in a secret message of devotion.

This was too much for Elfish. She glared evilly at them, stormed
back into her house, grabbed the television from the living room and marched upstairs.

She brought out her bottle of whisky and, without removing her leggings, boots or jacket, switched off the light and got into bed. She passed the afternoon watching game shows and soap operas, drinking whisky and smoking joints, all the time sinking into a grimmer and grimmer mood till eventually she drank and smoked enough to lose herself in unconsciousness and bad dreams.

Outside, unaware of the dire effects their embraces had wrought, Cary and Lilac were about to embark on a mission to earn money. Even now they were gathering up buckets of water and clean cloths in preparation for standing at crossroads and harassing motorists into having their windscreens cleaned whether they liked it or not.

“THIS IS HOPELESS,” complained Cleopatra, and it was. One might have thought that with the occupants of the raft being who they were, they would have done better against the adversaries who continually battered them. Pericles and Red Sonja were both notable warriors. Cleopatra had received military training and had commanded a fleet at the Battle of Actium. Even Ben Jonson had been a handy man in a tavern brawl. However, their efforts at fighting back were completely futile.

The problem was that their enemies were just too strong for them. Every effort to steer the raft back towards the shore was thwarted. Every time Botticelli rigged up a rudder a sea monster would emerge to destroy it or a winged gryphon would plummet from the sky to rip it to shreds. Red Sonja slashed this way and that with her broad-sword but for each gryphon she killed two more would appear.

Mick Ronson had by this time more or less given up and sat in the middle of the raft playing his guitar, which did not really please anyone else.

“I can see it!” screamed Botticelli.

“What? What?”

“The edge of the world!”

Mick Ronson laid down his guitar and gazed at the horizon with amazement. As an inhabitant of the twentieth century he had been convinced that the world was round and had no edge but sure enough, some way off, there was a mighty foaming waterfall which could only be the place where the ocean disappeared into the endless void.

“Get busy on that steering device,” commanded Cleopatra, and leapt to lend her weight to Red Sonja who was busy trying to hold off the squadron of gryphons which harassed Botticelli as he laboured. But as two more appeared for each one killed the sky was soon full of the terrible creatures. Botticelli was forced to retreat and the rudder was once more smashed. The raft swept inexorably on towards the edge of the world.

“This is ridiculous,” said Elfish, grimly working the controls in front of Aran's terminal. “How do you beat these gryphons?”

“You can't,” said Aran. “They're too powerful.”

“Well, that's no fucking use, is it?” complained Elfish, standing up in disgust.

“I think it makes for an excellent game,” said her brother.

“I think it's stupid. And what am I doing playing your dumb video game? I'm meant to be learning a speech. Today I got to line five and then it all went out of my mind again. I've only got six days left.”

Elfish departed, guilty and angry at herself for wasting time. Aran was sorry at her distress but was quite pleased to be left alone to get on with his computer game.

He was just programming in a new character, Bomber Harris, who appeared from the sky after being kidnapped by a pterodactyl, when his labours were interrupted once more.

It was Elfish again.

“Look at this!” she wailed, practically knocking Aran down in her
haste to get from his front door through to his kitchen. Aran took the piece of paper she had thrust at him and followed her to the fridge where he found her desperately emptying beer into her mouth. Elfish finished one can and moved on to another while Aran read the note.

I am the Fairy Mab: to me 'tis given
The wonders of the human world to keep:
The secrets of the immeasurable past,
In the unfailing consciences of men,
These stern, unflattering chroniclers, I find.

—SHELLEY

 

“Well?” demanded Elfish.

“Lousy poem,” said Aran. “Sounds like a crossword clue.”

“Never mind what it sounds like!” raged Elfish. “What about all those hours of research you said you did? You told me you couldn't find any more Mab poems apart from another one by Herrick and now Mo has replied to my Herrick with this poem by Shelley. Even I have heard of Shelley. It can't be that obscure. Did you do any research for me at all?”

“Hours of research,” protested Aran. “Laborious, backbreaking, meticulous—”

Elfish cut him off, marching across the living room to take Aran's
Children's Wonderful Encyclopaedia
from the bookshelf. She practically ripped it open at “S” and scanned through it for Shelley.

“Aha!” she said with triumph. “What about this then?
Queen Mab.
Listed here as an early work by Shelley. In nine cantos, whatever that means. Well?”

“Even the most careful researcher can occasionally miss some obscure reference,” said Aran.

“It's in your
Children's Encyclopaedia
for God's sake!” bawled Elfish. “For all I know it might be one of the best-known poems in the English language! Exactly how long did you spend in the library?”

Aran could only defend himself rather lamely while Elfish berated him. “Can I count on no help at all from anyone? Are you all completely useless?”

Eventually Aran was obliged to promise faithfully to find a new Queen Mab poem for his sister.

“No matter how strenuous an exercise it proves to be.”

Elfish was placated, more or less.

“So did you make any progress with the speech?” asked Aran.

“Of course I didn't!” yelled Elfish, exploding again. “How am I meant to learn a speech when every time I turn round Mo and Cody annoy me by sending me another poem? Soon I'll be able to paper the walls with them. They are mocking me. Well, they won't get away with it.”

Aran tried to make things up to his sister by helping her with the speech but their joint endeavours met with no success. Elfish in her state of tension could not remember a single line. Her best mental efforts were entirely in vain. Faced with impending disaster Elfish cursed and raged against the world. It was in fact so hopeless that Aran wondered if he should program Elfish into his computer game as she seemed to be fast becoming another person whose life had subsided into failure.

WALKING HOME FROM Aran's, Elfish was gloomy. She had a disturbingly clear picture in her mind. It was a vision of hundreds of Mo's friends and hundreds more of her enemies standing in front of the stage next Saturday, laughing at her.

It was time for resolute action but her experiences that day had left her too drained to take any kind of action at all.

I am defeated, she thought, struggling in through the front door.

I am never defeated, she thought, as she climbed the stairs. She picked up her Shakespeare once more. She read for several minutes before abandoning it.

I am still not defeated, Elfish told herself. But I'll do it tomorrow. She went to bed with her whisky bottle.

Her sleep was interrupted by the arrival of Aran around two A.M. He appeared to be badly shaken.

“What's happening?” mumbled Elfish.

“A terrible experience,” said Aran, mopping his forehead. “I came with an idea for the backdrop you want.”

Elfish blinked. Befuddled as she was by drink and sleep she was conscious enough to be surprised at her brother's unwarranted activity. Something about her band must be registering powerfully
within him to bring him out of his home at this time of night. Unless of course he was just feeling guilty about his lack of research on her behalf.

“What idea?”

“But when I reached your house there were these two young people outside, holding hands—”

“Cary and Lilac,” snorted Elfish. “They're always doing it.”

“But that wasn't all. They had a handful of daisies and they were putting them in each other's hair.”

Aran shook with painful emotion. Such a wanton display of love was even more ruinous to his fragile state of mind than it had been to Elfish's. Unable to say any more, he grabbed for Elfish's bottle of whisky and slid into bed beside her.

“It was awful,” he muttered. “It shouldn't be allowed.”

“There, there,” said Elfish. “Don't worry, it'll pass.”

“Don't they realise the harm they might do, hanging around in public putting daisies in each other's hair?”

Aran drank deeply, and rambled on for a while about how Cary and Lilac should be severely punished.

“Run them out of town, I say.”

Elfish leaned forward to switch on the TV. Night-time programmes had begun and
American Gladiators,
one of her favourites, was on the screen.

With the alcohol, the TV and his sister's presence Aran began to make a slow recovery.

“What was that about a backdrop?” asked Elfish, during the adverts.

“The backdrop. I forget.”

Aran searched his memory.

“Right. The backdrop. I know someone who can paint you one.
Aisha. When I was round her house she was painting something on canvas. She's a good artist. She'd do it.”

Elfish considered this.

“She might. But Aisha is renowned for her personal problems. In an area full of sick people, she stands out. How do you know her?”

“I went to bed with her.”

Elfish was reasonably impressed by this because Aisha had a regular boyfriend and was very beautiful. She asked her brother how it had happened.

“We were with some friends at a gay men's nightclub. I can't remember why we'd gone there. After dancing for a while she started kissing me. None of the gay men seemed to mind.”

“I expect they'd seen worse.”

“No doubt. The club had a fur-lined toilet.”

“So what was it like in bed with her?”

Aran said he could not remember very well except Aisha had made a lot of noise.

“I mean really a lot, an abnormal amount of noise, practically screaming. I was slightly concerned in case the neighbours complained. Also she seemed to be having more fun than me. But I don't remember much more than that till I woke up the next morning. Aisha was still extremely beautiful, which quite impressed me, after a late and drunken night. No doubt I looked dreadful. When I went out the room to the toilet I noticed a postcard sticking through the letterbox. I read it. It was from her boyfriend Mory in Canada. I hid it under the rug in case she saw it and felt too guilty to fuck again. Then I made some tea and Aisha woke up and we had sex again. It would have been fine except in the morning, after fucking, Aisha had a severe panic attack and I had to get dressed quickly and leave. I know from experience that if someone asks you to leave because
they are having a panic attack it is no good hanging around trying to make yourself useful, they just want you to go. I don't know why it happened. Still, apart from that, it was fun.”

“Will you see her again?”

“I don't expect so. The postcard said her boyfriend is coming back soon so she'll be busy. I like Mory, he's a painter as well.”

Elfish reached for the whisky bottle. “So did this make you feel any better about splitting up with your girlfriend?”

Aran shook his head and said no, it had made him feel worse. Elfish mused on Aran's suggestion.

“You might be right. Aisha might paint me a backdrop for Queen Mab, and that would be a good thing to have.”

They settled down to watch the rest of
American Gladiators
with interest, making comments about their favourite gladiators and the games they liked best. Their mutual favourite was the assault course where each contestant had to flee through a barrage of tennis balls fired by a gladiator from a huge gun, stopping off at various places to fire back with weapons of their own.