On The Yankee Station_ Stories Part 9

AUGUST 7.

Luncheon with Rose at The Compleat Angler, Marlow. Menu: Oeufs Oeufs Magenta; Mock Turtle Soup; Turbot; Curried Mutton Magenta; Mock Turtle Soup; Turbot; Curried Mutton au riz; au riz; Orange Jelly. Not bad for these straitened times we live in. Wines: a half bottle of Gonzalez Coronation Sherry. Orange Jelly. Not bad for these straitened times we live in. Wines: a half bottle of Gonzalez Coronation Sherry.

SUNDAY.

Tea with the Padre. Bored rigid. He talked constantly of the bout of croupous pneumonia his sister had just endured.

Suddenly realised what it was that finally put me off Phoebe. It was the way she used to p.r.o.nounce the word "piano" with an Italian accent. "Would you care for a tune on the piano?" piano?"

AUG. 15, 17.05.

Stone crash-landed on the links at Beddlesea. He was on the way back from a recce, of the new base in the Mendips. Unharmed, luckily. But the old Gadfly is seriously damaged. He trudged all the way back to the clubhouse from the 14th fairway, but they wouldn't let him use the phone because he wasn't a member.

Rose asked me today if it was true that Randall was the best pilot in the squadron. I said, don't be ridiculous.

Read Reggie's article: "Air power and the modern guerrilla."

500TH DAY OF THE STRUGGLE.

It's clear that Verschoyle is growing a beard. Broad-mead and Collis-Sandes deserted. They stole Stone's Humber. It's worth noting, I think, that Collis-Sandes played wing three-quarter for Blackheath.

WED. P.M P.M.

Verschoyle's beard filmy and soft, with gaps. He looks like a bargee. The Padre seems to have taken something of a s.h.i.+ne to yours truly. He invited me to his rooms for a drink yesterday evening. (One Madeira in a tiny clouded gla.s.s as big as my thumb, and two pet.i.tbeurres.) pet.i.tbeurres.) Croupous pneumonia again... Croupous pneumonia again...

On the way home, stopped in my tracks by a vision of Rose. Pure and naked. Harmonious as a tree. Rose! Rose!

Mendip base unusable.

71ST MONDAY.

Verschoyle shaves off beard. Announcement today of an historic meeting between commands at Long Hanborough.

6TH SUNDAY BEFORE ADVENT.

Working late in the hangar with young Fielding (the boy is ruined with acne). Skirting through the laurels on a short cut back to the mess, I notice a torch flash three times from Randall's room.

Later, camped out on the fire escape and well bundied up, I see him scurry across the moonlit lawn in dressing-gown and pyjamas with what looks like a blanket (a radio? semaph.o.r.e kit? maps?), heading for the summer-house.

The next morning I lay my accusations before Verschoyle and insist on action. He places me under arrest and confines me to quarters. I get the boy Fielding to smuggle a note to Rose.

Visit from Stone. Tells me the autogiro has broken down again. News of realignments and negotiations in the cities. Drafting of the new const.i.tution halted. Prospects of Peace. No word from Rose.

3RD DAY OF CAPTIVITY.

Interviewed by Scottish psychiatrist on Verschoyle's instructions. Dr. Gilzean; strong Inverness.h.i.+re accent. Patently deranged. The interview keeps being interrupted as we both pause to make copious notes. Simple ingenuous tests: Word a.s.sociation DR. GILZEAN.

ME ME.

lighthouse - - a small aunt a small aunt cave - - tolerant gra.s.s tolerant gra.s.s cigar - - the neat power station the neat power station mouth - - mild mild key - - kind kind lock - - speedy vans speedy vans cuc.u.mber - - public baths public baths midden - - the wrinkling wrists of gloves the wrinkling wrists of gloves

Rorschach Blots.

DR. GILZEAN.

[image]

Dr. Gilzean p.r.o.nounces me entirely sane. Verschoyle apologizes.

FIRST DAY OF FREEDOM.

Stone's party in the mess. Verschoyle suggests the gymkhana game. A twisting course of beer bottles is laid out on the lawn. The women are blindfolded and driven in a harness of ribbons by the men. Stone steers Miss Bald into the briar hedge, trips and sprains his ankle. Randall and Rose are the winners. Rose trotting confidently, guided by Randall's gentle tugs and "gee-ups!" Her head back, showing her pale throat, her knees rising and falling smartly beneath her fresh summer frock, reminding me painfully of days on the beach, plunging into breakers.

At midnight Verschoyle rattles a spoon in a beer mug. Important news, he cries. There is to be a peace conference in the Azores. The squadron is finally returning to base at Bath. Randall has just got engaged to Rose.

SAINT JUDE'S DAY The squadron left today for the city. The mess cold and sad. Verschoyle, with uncharacteristic generosity, said I could keep the monoplane. There's a 'drome near Tomintoul in the Cairngorms which sounds ideal. Instructed Fielding to fit long-range fuel tanks.

First snows of winter. The Sow & Farrow closed for the season. A s.h.i.+vering Fielding brings news that the monoplane has developed a leak in the glycol system. I order him to work on through the night. I must leave tomorrow.

P.M. Brooding in the mess about Rose, wondering where I went wrong. Stroll outside, find the snow has stopped. Observation: Observation: when you're alone for any length of time, you develop an annoying inclination to look in mirrors. when you're alone for any length of time, you develop an annoying inclination to look in mirrors.

A cold sun s.h.i.+nes through the empty beeches, casting a blue trellis of shadows on the immaculate white lawn.

Must write to Reggie about the strange temptation to stamp on smooth things. Snow on a lawn, sand at low tide. An overpowering urge to leave a mark?

I stand on the edge, overpoweringly tempted. It's all so perfect, it seems a shame to spoil it. With an obscure sense of pleasure, I yield to the temptation and stride boldly across the unreal surface, my huge footprints thrown into high relief by the candid winter sun....

Bat-Girl!

Arthur's got this amazing tongue. Very long and pointed, pale pink and thin as a knife. He can curl it right round my fingers-very flickery. And, it's wet and warm-not like a cat's, which is rough and dry. I can tell you it doesn't half give me a funny feeling. I lie on my back and he licks away at my hands for hours. He seems quite happy and I get quite carried away sometimes. s.h.i.+vers all through my body.

Arthur's my bat, of course, and he and I do an "act" together. My aunt Reen runs the show. There's me-Tracy, the bat-girl-and my younger sister Lorraine, snake-girl. I used to be snake-girl but that was when we only had one stall. Then someone gave Reen this big fruit bat and she thought, why not expand? She set up a new stall and here I am, having my fingers licked all day. SEE THE FABULOUS BAT-GIRL! SEE THE FABULOUS BAT-GIRL! 1,000 1,000 IF ANIMAL NOT REAL!! IF ANIMAL NOT REAL!!

It sounds quite glamorous, I know, but to be honest it's not much of a job. We do the summer fairground circuit all over England and in the winter go back to Yorks.h.i.+re where my uncle Ted's got a battery hen-farm. I can tell you that after a few months with those b.l.o.o.d.y hens I'm aching to be out on the road again. You see, my big problem is that I always need some excitement in my life.

Above the pay booth and running the length of the front of the stall there's a big picture of a blond girl with no clothes on, and there's a bat crawling across her body with its wings spread. The booth is new, so the colours are still bright and not too badly chipped and also it's quite warm, which is just as well because it can get quite parky lying around inside a cage all day. I'm not nude, mind you. I wear a swimsuit, one piece, pink with a big bow that holds the two halves of the front together. Arthur hangs upside down from the top of the cage licking my fingers. I dip them in a pot of honey-which he absolutely loves-and he just licks it all off.

Lorraine's set-up is basically the same, except it's not quite so smart. Also, the python does nothing but sleep and I think that what people like about the bat-girl is that they can see the bat is actually alive. He's quite big, is Arthur; he's got a brown furry body about a foot long with nasty-looking claws. And then of course there's his tongue, in and out, slipping all over my fingers. It seems to fascinate some people-they stare for ages. His wings remind me of a leather umbrella.

We'd been in Swindon for a week and had just come down to Oxford for Saint Giles fair. It was my second year in Oxford, though my first as bat-girl, and I wasn't looking forward to it that much. Funny mixture of people you get in Oxford, I always say. There's some right rough ones, don't you believe it. And then there are these student types, they think they're so b.l.o.o.d.y clever, with their tweed jackets and their haw-haw voices. I remember when I was snake-girl last year, a whole crowd of them had stood and talked about me for twenty minutes as if I wasn't there. Really rude too: "Eoh ai'm convinced she's not alive," one of them says. "Ai'm going to claim my thousand quid." Gets on my wick, that clever-clever lark. Give me the lads from Blackbird Leys any day.

The thing was, I knew there would be extra trouble this year because of the painting Reen had put up of the naked girl. In Lorraine's snake-girl painting she's wearing a bikini, but for some reason Reen decided she'd make bat-girl nude. I said if they're all coming in thinking I'm starkers I want an extra fiver a day for all the aggro I'm going to get. Reen paid up, so I'm not complaining, but my G.o.d, you should hear some of the things that get said to me: "Take 'em off, darling" and "Let's have a look then" and that's not the half of it. The problem is this revealing swimsuit Reen makes me wear and the fact that I'm fairly big up top. It's a funny thing about being big-made-blokes seem to think they can say anything to you.

Still, it's water off a duck's back as far as I'm concerned. I'm used to it now so I just lie there and carry on reading my book. I always take a book into the cage because it's a long day and it can get very boring. I read mainly men's books: spies and thrillers, that's what I like. I like a bit of excitement, as I said. That's really why I joined up with Reen soon as I left school. I'm eighteen now and I'm saving up for this dance course in London that I've seen advertised in a magazine. "Felaine la Strade, Ecole de Dance." Five hundred pounds for two months of lessons. You get a diploma, and at the bottom of their prospectus it says: "Many of our graduettes have secured positions in West End shows." Well, I've always been keen on dancing-quite good at it, too-and as I say, you've got to have some ambition and excitement in your life. I mean, look at Lorraine for e.g.: after this summer she's decided to go back to school and retake her O-levels. I ask you-no spirit.

We'd set up in Oxford on the Sunday afternoon. The site's right in the middle of town on a wide street with trees which is the best thing about it. We had quite a brisk Monday and one woman had screamed when she'd seen Arthur's tongue. A couple of lads from Didcot who I'd met last year tried to chat me up in the evening. They claimed Trevor had said it was okay for me to come out with them. Trevor's my boyfriend; he works on the Whip taking money. I told them to push off. Trev would never let them do that. He's a very jealous sort of guy, is Trev. Actually I'm not speaking to him at the moment. The last night we were in Swindon he showed up when we were taking down the stall with a big wad of cotton-wool Sellotaped to his forearm. I had told him not to get any more tattoos and he'd just gone and done it. He's got enough of them as it is, all over his arms and shoulders, and in any case I've gone right off tattoos. He'd promised not to, so I told him to shove it.

I know we'll get back together, as Trev is really quite strong on me, but I am enjoying not having him hanging around. I'm getting on with my reading too. I finished a complete book on Monday and I've started a new one called h.e.l.l Comes Tomorrow h.e.l.l Comes Tomorrow. It's really exciting.

On Tuesday after lunch, business really tailed off and I was racing through the book when I realised someone had crept into the booth on their own and was staring at me. I looked round and saw a thin bloke with round gold specs who was carrying a briefcase. Only a student, I thought, and went back to my book. Arthur was asleep so I prodded him awake and he hooked his wing-claw over my thumb and gave it a good licking. I thought I'd better do that so's the guy could claim he'd got his money's worth. However, a few minutes later he was still there, so I turned round again and gave him a look-as much to say, that's your lot, mate-and he scurried out pretty sharpish.

But blow me if five minutes later he wasn't back. Just standing and staring. It was beginning to get on my nerves; I couldn't concentrate on my book at all. So I sat up and said: "That's all there is, you know. He doesn't do tricks or anything."

He looked a bit startled. He had quite a nice face and s.h.i.+ny-clean black hair with a middle parting.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I...I find it fascinating, that's all."

Well, I could tell by the way he kept touching the knot of his tie and the look he was giving me that "it" didn't refer to Arthur. He kept on standing there all the same, as if he'd never seen a girl before.

To this day I don't know what made me do it. The heat perhaps-it was muggy and sunny outside. Maybe it was just plain boredom, and he looked so "nice" and decent-the sort that wouldn't say boo to a goose.

When I got the idea, I felt this excited feeling at the bottom of my spine-a sort of electric tingling. So, very slowly-not taking my eyes off him-I leant back on the cus.h.i.+ons and pulled out the cord of the bow on my swimsuit. Well, the two front bits kind of fell away-not completely, but he wouldn't miss much. But then I went and laughed. I couldn't help it. The expression on his face-I swear his specs steamed up.

"This what you're after then?" I said between giggles.

You've never never seen anyone move so fast. Out of the booth like a shot and I didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. Arthur didn't know what'd come over me. seen anyone move so fast. Out of the booth like a shot and I didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. Arthur didn't know what'd come over me.

Come five o'clock Reen shuts up the stall for half an hour to let me have a rest, a smoke and get to the lav. I pulled on my jersey and jeans (I keep them folded on a chair beside the cage) and went outside. I lit up a f.a.g and had a good stretch. I normally meet Trev at this time but there was no sign of him on account of our row. But the student who'd been in the booth was there. I felt a bit embarra.s.sed when he saw me and came over.

"Um, I was wondering if you'd like to come and have some tea with me," he said.

Oh, yes? I thought. But then he'd asked so politely, so I said I would.

He took me to his college, which wasn't very far away. They're nice, these colleges that they live in-amazing lawns, not a weed in sight-and very quiet. We went up a little narrow stone staircase to his room. It was quite pleasant-a bit old-looking, though, and very untidy with lots of books and papers. I had a look through his bookshelves when he went out to make the tea but we obviously had different tastes in reading.

We had a few cups of tea and a piece of sponge cake ("Oh, there goes me diet," I said, and would you believe it he blushed). He said his name was Gordon and he told me a bit about his work and asked me some questions about the fair. He was slim and about medium height, was Gordon, and I quite liked him. I kept wondering when he would make his move.

It took him quite a while, but eventually he worked it so we were sitting side by side on the sofa. But then someone knocked on the door and stuck his head into the room. It was another guy with specs and he said, "Oh! Jesus...sorry, Gord. Didn't know you had company," and popped out again. Gordon had leapt to his feet and looked more embarra.s.sed than ever. I've never known anyone quite like Gordon for going red, honestly. Anyway, I put him out of his misery and told him I had to get back. Jesus...sorry, Gord. Didn't know you had company," and popped out again. Gordon had leapt to his feet and looked more embarra.s.sed than ever. I've never known anyone quite like Gordon for going red, honestly. Anyway, I put him out of his misery and told him I had to get back.

On the way to the booth he asked if he could meet me when the fair shut down. I told him we had to pack up tonight, as we were setting up in Northampton tomorrow. He looked disappointed at this but said he'd still like to come and say goodbye. That was fine by me, I said. He had nice manners, had Gordon. He hadn't once mentioned our little episode with the swimsuit.

Gordon was waiting for me at eleven o'clock when the fair began to shut down. I was carrying Arthur in a small parrot's cage. I was a bit worried in case Trev might have shown up but there was no sign of him. I told Gordon he could carry Arthur to Reen's car, which was parked some way off. Gordon said he knew a short cut.

We walked through the fair. As usual Gordon wasn't saying much. Stalls were coming down and the big lorries were backing slowly along the street. A few groups of young kids hung round watching it all. The ground was covered in litter: tickets, squashed toffee apples and bits of coloured paper and burst balloons. It always makes me a bit sad when the fair comes down so I just walked along quietly beside Gordon.

We turned up this narrow alley that led between two of the old colleges. It was dark, as there was only one street light and huge black chestnut trees hung over us. It felt a bit spooky so I linked my arm through Gordon's and you'd have thought I'd stabbed him in the back. His knee banged into Arthur's cage and I could hear Arthur scrabbling around trying to keep his grip.

"Hold on a sec, Gordon," I said. "Put Arthur down for a moment. Let him get settled."

Gordon put the cage on the ground and I knelt down to peer in at Arthur. Gordon knelt down, too, and muttered something about Arthur being a fascinating creature.

We got up together and I thought, poor sod, and leant up against him ever so slightly. He put his arms round me and we sort of stood there for a while. I could feel him all s.h.i.+very and excited and I ran my hands through his hair. It felt lovely.

The next thing I knew he wasn't there. He'd been torn out of my arms and I gave a little scream when I saw it was Trev. Trev, who had him by the back of his jacket and was spinning him round and round. Then he let him go and Gordon careered into the wall with an awful thump that sent his specs flying to the ground.

Trev stood in front of him swearing and spitting. "Okay Trace," he shouted over his shoulder at me. "Where do I give it him first. You tell me, Trace."

Christ, really, Trev looked amazing. He's a big lad and he had tight black jeans on and a white T-s.h.i.+rt with KUNG-FU KUNG-FU written on it. His chest was heaving up and down and his hair was sort of wild. written on it. His chest was heaving up and down and his hair was sort of wild.

Gordon leant up against the wall half-crumpled, as if he'd been pinned onto it. He didn't stand a chance.

I didn't say anything though. Gordon must have seen me standing there all excited because he tried to get to his feet. Trev gave him a push and he fell onto the ground.

"Don't boot him, Trev," I yelled, because I could see that was what he was about to do. "Get his specs, go on, get his specs."

Then Trev saw Gordon's specs on the ground and he just stamped on them. Bang. Once. Like he was squas.h.i.+ng a beetle crawling across the floor. Then he kicked them up the alley.

He turned and looked at me. "See you at the car, girl," he says, all harsh and angry. "b.l.o.o.d.y p.r.o.nto." And he walks off just like that.

I felt my heart was going to punch itself out of my rib cage. My head felt all light. He can do that to me, can Trev. Amazing sort of bloke.

I went and got Gordon's spectacles. There was no gla.s.s in them and they were badly bent. When I handed them back to him I could see the red marks they had made on his nose. His eyes were all watery and blank-looking.

"Sorry, Gordon," I said. "But it was better that he done your specs. He's mean, is Trevor, and he's my boyfriend."

Gordon nodded without saying anything and pushed his gla.s.ses into his pocket. I helped him up and straightened out his jacket. There didn't seem to be much to say. Trevor must have seen us at the stall and followed.

"I'd better go," I said. Trev would be waiting, I knew. I picked up Arthur and began to walk off.

"Tracy," I heard Gordon wheeze. "Just a moment."

I went back to him. He did look quite different without his gla.s.ses-sort of ordinary, not so intelligent.

"Next year," he said. "Will you be back next year?"

I was astonished. "I don't know," I said. "Why?"

"I thought..." he began to say. Then: "It's just that I shall be here." Then he gave a grim little laugh. "In fact I shall probably die here."

That made me feel all sorry for him-he had no excitement in his life apart from me-and so I decided not to tell him about Felaine la Strade and the Ecole de Dance. Better to let him dream a bit. He He might be here still, but there was no way you'd catch me as bat-girl again next year, no chance. I'd be in London, the big smoke, a dancer or something. might be here still, but there was no way you'd catch me as bat-girl again next year, no chance. I'd be in London, the big smoke, a dancer or something.

But I reached out and patted Gordon's arm. "Don't worry," I said. "Me and Arthur'll be back. We'll have tea again. See you next year." Then I turned away and walked back up the alley to where I knew Trev would be waiting. Just before I turned the corner I looked back, and there was Gordon, standing there-he hadn't moved an inch-staring at me, just staring at me like the first time he had come into the booth. It still gave me the s.h.i.+vers. He was quite a nice guy, was Gordon. It was a pity really-yes, the whole thing was a pity.

Love Hurts

10 August 1973.

It was sometime in the hot freedom of July that I introduced Cherylle to Lamar. I think it was at my delayed welcoming party that AOD were throwing. Cherylle was an out of work actress who rented the apartment below mine with two other girls. Quite spontaneously I had decided to invite one of them along-I had as yet made no friends since arriving here from England and felt I needed an ally of sorts at this gathering of off-duty American executives and their brittle, frosted wives. Cherylle was the only girl at home when I knocked on the apartment door. Such are the tricks time plays. She is marrying Lamar tomorrow.