The Palace Of Curiosities Part 30

'George, I have asked you to moderate your regrettable lapses into vulgarity. There is a lady present.'

He takes no notice. 'You've drunk the profits. Gambled away what's left.'

'Investments, George,' Mr Arroner replies, tapping the side of his nose. 'I am an investor, not a gambler.'

'You're a fool.'

'I believe I have had enough of this unpleasant and quite unnecessary display of histrionics. I must formulate plans to beat this new show at its own game. They'll not get the better of Josiah Arroner. I shall retire and enjoy the more stimulating company of my a.s.sociates in investment matters. They conduct a far more pleasurable conversation.'

He screws his silk hat on to his head and leaves the room, shoes stamping an angry rhythm on the hall tiles. We sit around the table, staring anywhere but at each other. I rise, slowly.

'I shall go and prepare for tonight's show,' I say.

'Yes. Why don't you run off and play, you pointless excuse for a man.'

I laugh. 'You cannot hurt me, George.'

He grabs my wrist. 'Not so fast,' he growls. 'You done cleaning the house, meat-head?'

I shrug. 'I swept the rooms, both upstairs and downstairs.'

'George,' says Eve, a warning vibration in her voice.

'What? You starting on me, too?'

'No. But you speak as though he were your servant.'

'Well? What else is he good for? You won't catch me pushing a broom around when we've got a half-wit like him to do it.'

'He is one of us.'

George snorts. 'We'll see.'

Eve glares at the flames of the kitchen fire. The room is quiet again.

'I'm having a b.l.o.o.d.y drink,' grunts George. 'While the cat's away. Come on, Abel. You're having one with me.'

'I will not,' I say.

'What do you mean? Get a drink inside you.'

'George, let him be. He has said no.'

'Since when did you become his knight in shining armour? Let the man speak for himself. Unless you've become his b.l.o.o.d.y keeper.'

'We spend too much time moping over our gla.s.ses as it is,' I say. 'We must work harder and drink less, especially now there are rivals.'

'Oh, lah-di-dah. Listen to Mr Temperance.'

I sigh. 'But I shall have one drink, for comradely feeling, if it makes you happy.'

'Oh, don't do it to please a lowly creature such as myself, reaching down from on high to bestow your beneficence,' he sneers.

I shrug again. He looks at me oddly, but only for a moment. Then he glares at Eve.

'Haven't you got something better to do than sit here eavesdropping on men's talk?'

She throws him a look, gets to her feet and stalks out. He shoves a gla.s.s in front of me.

'That's better. Just the two of us. No women to get in the way, eh? Get this down you.'

I take the proffered gla.s.s, and it seems to put him in a more jovial frame of mind.

'Mr Arroner was wrong. We have a very good show. We will prevail,' I say, taking a mouthful. 'You are a good performer.'

George places his gla.s.s upon the table very slowly.

'Am I, Abel? Am I indeed?' His voice betrays none of the merriment that was present a moment ago. 'I thank you, dear Abel, that you take it upon yourself to notice my stumbling efforts.'

'George, you are very skilled.' I smile encouragingly. 'You have a great talent.'

'But?'

I stare at him. First his throat and then his cheeks flush, pink as fresh-cut pork.

'"But?" I do not understand.'

'I have great skill, but. That is what you want to say.'

'Not at all.'

'Great skill, but I am a drunkard. Great skill, but I am lazy. Great talent, but not as great as your fine self.'

'No, George.'

'Great skill, but I am lecherous.'

'I do not mean any of that.'

'Do you imagine for one bleeding minute that I can't see right through you?'

'See through what?'

'Don't talk to me like I'm a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, Abel. I know what your game is.'

'George, I do not have a game.'

'Playing the innocent. Might fool those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds upstairs, but it doesn't fool me.'

'Innocent about what?'

'All this rubbish about being a half-wit. I'm not taken in by the act, even if everyone else is.'

'But-'

'Don't interrupt,' he growls. 'Everyone f.u.c.king interrupts. Spying on me, that's your plan, isn't it?'

'No.'

'Going to run and tell your precious little Eve what I've been up to?'

'Have you been up to something?'

'Not me. It's you that's making cow's eyes at the lady of the house.'

I feel blood rise into my cheeks, although I am not sure why. George laughs.

'At least you can blush. Didn't think you could raise that much blood.'

'I do not understand.'

'Be quiet!' he bellows.

'You are angry. It is best if I go.'

I half turn, but his hand grabs my shoulder and swings me round. Bile rises in my throat. He presses his face close to mine.

'You useless piece of workhouse s.h.i.t. You mince in here from your stinking cellar, with your stinking spike manners, and dare to look down on me: me, a man born a p.i.s.s-shot from this window. I am a man of this city; my father and b.a.s.t.a.r.d grandfather also. You should be grateful we don't chain you up in the privy yard like the dog you are.'

'George, I swear I do not understand.'

'I found you, you piece of mudlark sc.u.m. I found you. On the banks of the f.u.c.king Thames. Washed up with all the other t.u.r.ds. And you speak to me like I'm dirt on your boot. Too bleeding good for the likes of me. You've no idea what it's been like. Day after day, forcing myself to smile when all I want to do is spit in your face and watch it run down your cheek.'

'You hate me because you found me in the river?'

I stare at him although I do not want to. I want him to stop so that I can follow Eve and get some peace away from this belabouring.

'You took Arroner's eye off me,' he hissed. 'Me. Since you joined us, it's the Modern Marsyas this and the Man With No Name that. He gives you top billing, and I'm left with sc.r.a.ps from the table. The years I've laboured for one glance from that man, one nod of praise. Yet over you he spews all his approval.'

'I did not mean to offend you.'

'You've no idea. All my plans to get his trust. Get rid of him and set up my own show. Have her, as well. Now some b.a.s.t.a.r.d's beaten me to it. I'm fed up with his miserly pennies. I want the pounds.'

'Do you want money? You can have some of mine.'

He lifts his fist and it hovers in the air over my head. He quails with the effort of holding it still.

'Make me hit you, eh? Is that your new plan? So you can go whining to Arroner and get me thrown on to the street? He's as much as said he's going to turf me out. I'll see you dead before that happens. I'll do what it takes.'

'Why are you like this, George? What did I ever do to harm you?'

He ignores me.

'I knew one day I'd find the key to your fall from Arroner's b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven. Now I've got it. Don't think I haven't seen the way Eve moons over you. Arroner will kill you when he hears what I've got to say. He's a fool, but all I've got to do is point it out.'

'But there is nothing between Eve and myself.'

He grins unpleasantly. 'I don't care if it's truth or lies. As long as it gets rid of you. Then I'll have her.' He grabs my collar, leans close. 'I'll have her Abel. Hairy or not, she's got a c.u.n.t like every last one of them. She wants a real man. A man like me.'

He wraps his arms around himself and rolls his eyes upwards, licking his lips. 'Oh, George,' he coos in a girlish voice, running his hands over his body. 'Oh, George! Take me, bend me over, f.u.c.k me, now! That's what she wants,' he hisses. 'That's what she needs. Not a piece of your jellied eel.'

His hand sweeps between my legs and grasps the softness there, twisting harshly. After a moment, he shoves away, eyes filled with a revulsion I do not understand. There is still so much I do not understand.

'Limp as a dish-rag,' he spits. 'You s.h.i.t-eater. Dead fish. You keep your hands off her. She's mine.'

'George, I want nothing of this.'

'No? Stow it where the sun don't shine, Abel. I'm no fool. I'm a man who makes plans, even if you're not. I'll take what's owed me and then well, we'll see. Shan't we?'

He strokes my cheek, so near I can see the grime of tobacco between his perfectly even teeth. He hesitates so long I am filled with the strange notion he is about to bite my nose off, but he pats me gently, spins on his heel, and is gone. I shake away the unpleasantness, yet it sticks to me. I am exhausted by the argument. There is nowhere to go except to my bed, and I am grateful the room is empty. The room swings like a headache. As soon as I lie down, I fall into a blank slumber.

My Italian master appears at my side. It is the balm I need. He is proof that I can seek and find answers.

'You have been gone so long,' I say to him. 'I thought I had lost you.'

He smiles, eyes warm. 'A good teacher should not lose his student.'

Here is the man who understands my confusion, this stumbling towards the truth of myself. He is a learned man: there is nothing he cannot uncover. I open my mouth.

'I have a secret,' I say bravely. 'I wish to share it with you, so that you can help me understand.'

'Understanding! A n.o.ble goal.'

My heart soars with hope. I lead him to the dissecting-room. It is so deep into the night as to be early in the morning, and we proceed slowly up the steps, finding the way to the anatomy studios with the help of the smooth banister. I pause on the landing and hold my breath; I savour the sensation of the air eddying around me, the hissing of blood in my ears. Yes, this is where I shall have my answer at last.

He wraps his coat about him, for although the night is warm enough outside, here the marble of the floors and table-tops chills the air. The waning moon, approaching the last quarter, is rising high enough to clear the trees in the gardens beyond the room and casting a pale gleam though the gla.s.s lights set high up the walls.

'Here?' he says.

'Here,' I reply, directing him to one of the tables.

On the bench before me is a wax model of an arm, newly finished, the fresh varnish perfuming the room with tart sweetness. Beside it I lay my own arm as though it were a second model.

'Look,' I say.

'Yes,' he replies. 'Our models are close to the life, so close it is sometimes hard to tell the difference. This is no secret; I know this already. You do not need to show me.'

I frown. He does not see what I am trying to show him. I must try harder, make it clearer.