Read No Laughing Matter Online
Authors: Angus Wilson
No Laughing Matter (15 page)
Hearing the front door bell, Quentin laid aside his book. ‘Second Act, beginners please,’ he said. Marcus painted a great eye to the peacock’s feather that Narcissus held in his hand as he gazed into the pool; then
he laid down the brush. ‘We’re on,’ he said, getting up from his chair.
Gladys too put aside her writing. But before leaving her room she took Alfred’s snapshot from behind the photograph of her parents which stood in a red Morocco frame on top of the trunks. She kissed it. ‘Wish the Matthews brood good luck, old man,’ she said, ‘we’re going over the top.’
Sukey put aside her mending. ‘I suppose I must go and make myself beautiful for Granny.’ She looked up and caught a sudden glimpse of Regan’s eye that recalled the young Stoker of their early years, but that placid eye was set now in such disgusting and grotesque contours of sagging grey flesh and deeply scored wrinkles beaded with blackheads that she felt a momentary terror of being alive beside such a memorial to the corruption of the flesh. Then, ashamed, she put her hand on Regan’s shoulder for a moment as she went out to the kitchen. She felt an impulse to bend down and kiss the mole-marked cheek. ‘Dear Regan,’ was all she would say, or rather, whisper; and then, perhaps, ‘Dear Regan, do you remember the slide we made at High Bank and Gladys splitting her knickers?’ As suddenly she felt that she had no right to organize Regan’s memories.
As she came up the basement stairs the bell sounded loudly again. She called up to the drawing-room ‘Can’t somebody let Granny in? I’m not tidy yet.’ But only chatter and the piano replied. She went to the front door herself. As she opened it the wind blew a strong smell of camphor from her grandmother’s sables into her face; but almost as though in revenge a strong smell of rich gravies drew the greedy old woman eagerly indoors, yet set her black Pomeranian bitch, less gross in her tastes, yapping frantically at her heels. She said ‘Gran,’ and kissed the old woman’s veil-netted cheek. She murmured, ‘Noise and kitchen smells and not properly ready,’ but the old lady turned to the uniformed man still at the door of the Packard with its swelling gas balloon top. ‘That will be all right now, Colyer. You’ll see to your own ale, won’t you?’
‘Colyer will be welcome below stairs,’ Sukey said. But as though in answer, a whiff of pheasant, too gamey almost for the old lady, made Sukey wince, Pom yelp, and Colyer touch his cap respectfully. ‘Thank you, Madam,’ he said, ‘about three.’ Then, as Regan’s voice came droning, ‘The little nipper turned to me. Aint mother goin to av none?’ Mrs Matthews senior said, ‘Stoker fidgets Colyer, my dear. He’s a bit of an old maid. He likes everything just so.’ Sukey
frowned at the justice of the implied criticism and turned away to shut out her grandmother’s distaste for their home. Mrs Matthews drew her hand out of her muff and put it gently on her
granddaughter’s
shoulder, impelling herself and Pom finally and irrevocably into No. 52. She bent down and kissed Sukey’s cheek. ‘Dear Sukey, do you remember, “Ise made scrambubbled eggs”? Oh dear, all those lovely farmhouse eggs wasted. But you
had
made toast, darling. How
is
the cookery, Sue?’
The
curtain
goes
up
on
the
same
drawing
room
scene.
It
is
ten
minutes
later.
The
whole
household,
except
for
R
EGAN
,
is
present
to
meet
their
two
intimate
visitors.
Down
left
M
ISS
R
ICKARD
(
M
ouse
)
,
sits
upright
with
Mr
Polly
on
her
shoulder
and
a
sherry
in
her
hand.
Near
her
stands
M
ARGARET
M
ATTHEWS
.
Then
towards
backstage
MRS MATTHEWS
J
UNIOR
at
the
piano
with
a
re-filled
Bronx;
backstage
R
UPERT
MAT
THEWS
,
leaning
on
the
piano.
Central
backstage
MR MATTHEWS
junior,
a
handsome,
boyish,
curly
headed
man
in
tweeds;
only
a
slight
pot
belly,
over-rosy
cheeks
and
constant
suppressed
belching
reveal
how
sedentary
is
the
life
of
this
outdoor-looking man;
he
is
seated
in
an
armchair,
whisky
and
soda
in
one
hand,
the
other
hand
held
dramatically
to
his
fore
head
.
Down
centre
stage
QUENTIN MATTHEWS
stands,
his
back
to
the
audience,
addressing
the
family.
His
loose
old
tweed
jacket
is
bound
with
leather
at
the
elbows.
His
thin
body
is
stooped
at
the
shoulders.
By
him
MARCUS MATTHEWS
sits
cross-legged,
looking
up
at
QUENTIN
,
his
back
to
the
audience
(all
we
may
see
is
his
black
curly
hair
above
his
grubby
Eton
collar).
Down
right
GRANNY MATTHEWS
,
a
tall,
handsome,
ample
old
woman,
all
sables
and
black
velour
hat,
sits
in
an
armchair
holding
a
handkerchief
to
her
eyes
with
one
hand
and a
glass
of
sherry
in
the
other.
On
her
lap
sits
Pom.
By
her
side
stands
SUKEY MATTHEWS
,
an
upright
flaxen
haired
girl.
The
whole
grouping
should
be
reminiscent
of
(i.e.
not
exactly
like)
a
conventional
family
photograph.
As
the
curtain
ris
es
QUENTTN
is
speaking,
but
his
voice
is
drowned
by
MRS MATTHEWS
JUNIOR’S
loud
playing
of
the
chords
up
and
down
the
length
of
the
key
board
.
MOUSE
[
half
rising,
angrily
]:
Be quiet, Clara. Control your temper. We want to hear what the boy has to say.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: We! I have no intention of listening to another word of his priggish conceit.
GRANNY MATTHEWS:
How can you talk of your own son like that? When he’s been wounded too.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: And haven’t his words wounded me? His own parents cheats and liars. Those are the sort of wounds that don’t heal.
Q
UENTIN
: Now, Granny, my wounds have nothing to do with it all. We must keep to the point.
GRANNY
MATTHEWS
: But we’re so proud of you, Quintus.
Q
UENTIN
: Thank you, dear, but what’s more important is that Rupert and Marcus and the girls shouldn’t have their lives crippled from the start.
M
RS
M
ATTHEWS
junior: Crippled! [
She
plays
a
loud
chord
in
the
bass.
] We’ve clothed and fed and educated you. What more do you want? [
She
addresses
the
audience.
]
Every year when they were children I made them give to the Barnardo’s homes out of their money box. But the lesson’s been wasted.
MR
MATTHEWS
junior [
rising
and
crossing
over
to
his
wife,
he
puts
his
hand
with
dramatized
affection
on
her
shoulder
]:
No, old dear. They believe that we’ve hurt them somehow. God knows how they’ve come to think it. But they must say their say. Wounds are bad enough, but festering wounds!
M
ARCUS
[
turning
to
the
audience
]:
If only one of my sisters were ambitious to be a field hospital nurse, she could learn from all this.
Q
UENTIN:
We’ve absolutely no wish to be unfair, Father. We know you and Mother find it difficult to live on your income. How you deal with that is, of course, entirely your own affair. But we have a right to defend ourselves, to consider our own lives. Careers,
professions
, what we’re going to make of life.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Careers! Professions! I don’t want to hear another word about it. Is that what my children think life means? Then we
have
failed.
MR MATTHEWS
junior: She’s right, you know, as usual. Getting and spending! It’s not enough.
MOUSE:
Spending alone seems to have been enough for their parents. And money that they had no right to [
she
puts
her
arm
round
M
ARGARET’
s
waist
]
.
This poor girl’s precious feet ruined!
G
RANNY
M
ATTHEWS
: My little Sukey no better than an unpaid kitchen maid! [
She
puts
her
hand
on
S
UKEY’
s
arm.
]
M
OUSE
: It’s being made a fool of that I shall never forgive, Clara.
G
RANNY
M
ATTHEWS
: It’s the lies, Will, that have hurt me so. The unspoken lies. [
The
twins
disengage
themselves
from the
two
old
women.
]
M
RS
MATTHEWS
junior: Unspoken lies! What nonsense all this is. You’ve condemned Billy unheard, Granny. On the basis of a lot of spiteful children’s tittletattle.
M
ARGARET
[
to
herself
]
:
If he had been heard, the lies would have been spoken.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: What did you say? What was it? Come on! Some more of your spinsterish spite. Get out of here! Go on! We’ve no place here for malicious old maids. No wonder your father can’t work with all this stifling sourness around him. What children for a creative man! Get out of here, all of you. Do you hear me?
MR MATTHEWS
junior: No, no, my dear girl. Don’t let their hysteria touch you. You’re too clearheaded for that.
M
OUSE
:
Their
hysteria!
M
R
M
ATTHEWS
junior: Yes, Mouse, I’m afraid so. But of course Clara and I are to blame. We’ve let them live in a fairy tale nest up there in the nursery for far too long. We should have pushed them out into real life long ago.
R
UPERT
[
to
audience
]
:
Mr Darling reproves Wendy.
G
RANNY
M
ATTHEWS
: Oh, Will, how can you say that about Quintus? All the best years of his youth spent out there in the horror of the trenches.
MR MATTHEWS
junior: My dear Mother, Quentin’s been a hero. God help me, how do you think I feel criticizing him? An old crock like myself that they wouldn’t take. But it has to be faced that in a sense, in an important sense too, he’s only just learning what reality is. War has its fineness, its heroism and its horror. Young chaps like Quentin must plan to see that it doesn’t happen again. But everyday reality’s much more grim. It has neither heroism nor horror. And Maggy wren, leave wit to your mother, my dear. You’re a hedgerow bird.
G
LADYS
[
roaring
with
laughter
]:
Maggie a wren! Do you know what a wren looks like, Pop? Go on, be a wren, Mag.
[
M
ARGARET
stands
on
one
kg
pretending
to
be
a
stork.
]
R
UPERT
[
joining
her,
does
the
same
]:
Where shall we make our nest, Mrs Wren?
[
They
make
a
giant
one-legged
tableau
centre
stage.
]
G
LADYS
: Let’s hope there aren’t any nature passages in your memoirs, Pop.
[
The
children
laugh
and
are
joined
by
the
smiles
of
M
OUSE
and
even
GRANNY MATTHEWS
.]
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: How can you encourage them in these
feeble, childish jokes? You say you want them to grow up. What sort of example are you setting them, Mouse? And you, Granny? [
Laughter
continues
and
she
bangs
the
keys.
] Will you stop it at once, you stupid children?
[
The
noise
sets
Pom
yapping.
]
Get that old bitch out of the room.
RUPERT
: Now, really, you go too far, Countess. Poor Granny!
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: You think every woman uses a harlot’s language. There’s the sort of career your precious grandson wants. On the stage with tarts. [
She
shouts
at
GRANNY MATTHEWS
and
Pom
yaps
again.
]
I said, put that old bitch out, did you hear me? Sukey? Put the dog out. [
Aroused
by
the
shouting
and
Pom’s
yapping
Polly
begins
to
shriek.
]
And that filthy bird! There’ll be fur and feather flying all over my Wilton carpet any moment. I will not have animals fighting in my drawing-room.
MOUSE
: They are not fighting, Clara. And no one says what Polly must or must not do but me.
GRANNY MATTHEWS
: I’m sure you wouldn’t fight with pretty Polly parrot, would you, Pom? And you’re not old, are you? Though your mistress may be.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Well if she’s not old she’s got mange and I won’t have that in my drawing-room. Will you take those
creatures
out Sukey? You’re so famous for your kindness to animals.
GRANNY MATTHEWS
: Sukey wouldn’t put a little dog out of the room, would she, Pom? Please, Sukey, Pom says, don’t put me out.
MOUSE
: My dear Mrs Matthews, don’t encourage Clara to act like a spoiled hysteric. There’s no question of anyone touching our pets unless we wish it.
MARGARET
: But
do
wish it, Aunt Mouse. This is so important to us and we shall never be able to discuss it while the Countess is issuing royal decrees.
QUENTIN
: I think Mag’s right, Granny. Pom’ll be all right on her own while we thrash all our problems out.
GRANNY MATTHEWS
: Well, I don’t know really. I don’t see why poor Pom should suffer. But if you think it will help, Quintus. Tuck her little handkerchief under her collar, Sukey, before you leave her. How our little mouth does water nowadays, doesn’t it, since we lost our teeth?
MOUSE
: I’m not at all happy, Quentin, at giving way to your Mother’s ridiculous moods. But since it was my spoiling her as a girl that’s at the root of the trouble, I mustn’t let you
children
suffer. Don’t put him on any family heirloom, Sukey. He’s a bit erratic where he does his biggies, now he’s a grown up parrot.
SUKEY
[
with
Polly
on
her
shoulder
and
Pom
in
her
arms
]: But where shall I put them, Countess?
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Oh, on the landing, anywhere. They’re such good friends it seems. I suppose they can manage the stairs, being so young and agile.
[
SUKEY
puts
the
parrot
and
the
Pomeranian
dog
outside
the
door
and
returns
to
her
place
by
GRANNY MATTHEWS.]
MOUSE
: Well, now that you’ve spent your ugly temper on dumb animals that can’t help themselves, Clara, perhaps you’ll let us hear what Quentin has to say.
[
QUENTIN
is
about
to
speak
when
MR MATTHEWS
junior
feels
that
he
should
assert
his
place
as
pater
famílias.
]
MR MATTHEWS
junior: Fire ahead, old man. Give us the glorious revolution. I’ll promise not to chuck the Great Seal into the Thames.
QUENTIN
: Look, Father, you fought a battle to be a writer. You’ve said yourself how grandfather opposed …
GRANNY MATTHEWS
: Oh, Will, how could you say that? Your father took the greatest interest when your first story came out in the
Strand.
MR MATTHEWS
junior: Oh, yes, when the meagre allowance he greeted my marriage with forced me to write for popular
magazines
, the old boy was delighted. But I would remind you, Mother, that my first published story appeared in the
Savoy
alongside something of Lionel Johnson’s. That was the sort of promise that the Guvnor’s meanness nipped in the bud. If he had ever heard of the
Savoy
you may be sure that he’d have thrown any copy he found on the drawing-room fire even at the risk of putting it out. To give him his due his prudery always defeated his parsimony if only by a short head.
[
GRANNY MATTHEWS
subsides
into
tears.
]
QUENTIN
: Well, whatever the rights or wrongs, Pater, can’t you listen to our hopes and ambitions with sympathy? Three of us are
grown up now, and the twins and Marcus soon will be. We’re trying to understand what that means, what life is.
M
RS
M
ATTHEWS
junior: That’s all very well for you, Quentin. Of course we know that you must make your own life. Nothing’s too good for our returned soldiers. But you must have a sense of
proportion
, my dear. Marcus and the twins are children. They can’t be considered in the same terms.
SUKEY
: But that’s just what Quentin is doing. If you and Father don’t care what happens to the family, Quentin does. He’s going to stand by us until we can all make a start together.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Make a start together by keeping Marcus on at a school which he hates and where he learns nothing. You’re making a good start together, aren’t you? No, you’re all just trading on your brother’s generosity, sheltering behind his
misplaced
kindness. If Quentin had had more to do with children he’d know exactly how selfish they are.
MARGARET
: But Gladys isn’t a child.
MRS MATTHEWS
junior: Girls! As if boys and girls have the same life in front of them. Whatever cranks like your Aunt may say, I’ll tell you girls what growing up should mean for you, what life is for women – marrying, and if they’re wise, marrying well.
MR MATTHEWS
junior: Yes, marry well, my dears, and if you can’t, well, marry. There are lots of different ways of marrying well, not all of them bringing material comforts, but that’s where growing up begins. And not only for girls. After that, life takes its true shape. Companionship, sharing the rough with the smooth … it isn’t just a cliché. Your mother and I have proved it. We know its reality. Comradeship of any sort. But the best, of course, is marriage. How could I have done my work or your mother have given to the world so much of herself unless we’d helped each other out of the cold? [
MOUSE
snorts.
]
Well, Mouse, what have you got to offer the children?
