Radiance (27 page)

I didn't expect an answer. I felt certain she would walk away, head high, and never speak to me again. But instead she shrugged and whispered, “He doesn't let me work.”

People think Percy's a vicious bear, too, but he's not so bad. Husbands come a lot worse than mine. I often thought Percy had his head on the right way round, anyhow. It's only what you print to film that sticks, in the end. That's what people will see forever, not your silly, flawed memories and inelegant bumbling after happiness. The power of the final cut is what you want—and if you can make it all a little better, a little brighter, a little more symmetrical, and a touch more mysterious, well, why not do it, after all? So what if I had to do a couple of Christmas mornings over again so the light on my face looked nicer, or Sevvy could summon up a little more joy over those woolly socks? I've seen the film: those Christmases were glorious. Nowadays, I can only really remember them the way they looked when Percy played them back to us. It's not the worst thing in the world, to only remember the best version of yourself.

But it
is
unsettling to see a child do three or four takes of Yuletide ecstasy without batting an eye, I must say.

Still, I did love him. He never minded if I wore my pyjamas for a week and didn't brush my hair. That's a good quality in a man. Maybe the best a girl can hope for, considering. And, by Jove, he loves that child. Did you know you can fall in love with the way a man loves someone else? It sounds all zigzagged, but it's true. Love takes so much
effort
. You have to get up ever so early in the morning to really love someone properly.

I don't suppose I shall have a daughter of my own now. I'm not fussed over it. It was on the to-do list, but you know to-do lists. They get longer and longer until you might as well just carve the last items on your tombstone.

Do the dishes.

Pick up gown from the cleaners.

Sign contract.

Perish.

Oh bollocks, I forgot: Have children.

Cue that sad trombone. Besides, I'm rather off marriage at the moment. First Percy, then poor Nigel Lapine—what a disaster! Remind me, my darling, loyal diary, to never again marry a man who makes love with his socks on. I don't care how his slapstick flickies make me laugh! Diary, you must stand firm! Nigel told me I ought to quit the pictures and make babies, so I told him he ought to quit my house and make a movie with more depth than getting kicked in the balls, and I'm not the teensiest bit sorry. Comedians have no sense of humour.

Thaddeus asked me to marry him, of course. The same day that he told me
Miranda
had been greenlit. He does it every time he offers me a new Madame Mortimer picture, comes sailing into my parlour with a part in one hand and a ring in the other. I always take the part, but leave the ring. Saints and ministers of grace! It would seem only directors can love a girl like me. I told the scoundrel not to be absurd. He doesn't mean it. He's never so much as kissed me, and he never will. Thad is the Moon's uncle, every starlet's confessor—but never their lover. Perhaps I shall just say yes one day. That would shock the red out of his hair! But then I might have to go through with it, and I'd rather have a halfbarrel of spinach than a husband at the moment.

For that matter, I'm rather off men these days, full stop. I suppose that would make me perfect for Thaddeus. Perhaps that's why he's forever asking me. He knows I won't spill his plate of beans and he won't spill mine. We are each quite safe in the company of the other. After all, everyone needs a secret to stick in their lapel.

Perhaps I shall invite Sevvy on our little cruise. It would do her good, poor lamb. Being a teenager is always trying, for them and for everyone else, but she cannot seem to get into the rhythm of the thing. I've tried to tell her she doesn't have to go into the industry. There's every other thing out there, and a lot of it doesn't require our sort of genteel schizophrenia. She's just burning up with ambition, but the poor bunny's got nowhere to put it. I don't think the Patented Pellam System for Prevailing Over the Perils of Pubescence would be of much help.

1. Stop speaking to your parents

2. Run away from your planet

3. Take off your clothes as often as possible, but only while reciting Shakespeare (and being paid scale)

4. Buy a cat

5. Drink your milk

6. Mug your destiny in an alley and punch it until it gives you what you want

See? What use is that rot to my girl? I don't think I will invite her. It's hard enough to grow up without having to watch adults act like fools and monsters all the time. And it's hard enough being a fool and a monster without a knock-kneed kid spitting responsibility into your drink.

Aha! Speak of the devil and she arrives, desperate for a proper hug.

16 January, 1930, Two in the Morning … Or Is It Three?

The Butterfly Room, Aboard the
Achelois,
Sea of Tranquillity

Come on, Mary, sober up! If you don't write it down, you won't remember it, and if you don't remember it, somebody's going to get away with murder and you'll never even know who. It's only a spot of gin, girl. Give yourself a couple of good slaps and steady your damned course.

Thaddeus Irigaray is dead!

God forgive me, I think Percy killed him.

 

How Many Miles to Babylon?
: Episode 1

Airdate: 24 March, 1914

Announcer:
Henry R. Choudhary

Vespertine Hyperia:
Violet El-Hashem

Tybault Gayan:
Alain Mbengue

The Invisible Hussar:
Zachariah von Leipold

Doctor Gruel:
Benedict Sol

Guest Star:
Wadsworth Shevchenko as the Maroon Marauder

ANNOUNCER:
Good Evening, Listeners, if it is indeed Evening where you are. BBC Radio is proud to present to you a Sunday night drama you won't soon forget. We'll see you here every week at seven in the evening for rollicking stories of derring-do and breathless excitement. Journey back to the early days of planetary settlement. Join the brave men and women of the Pioneer Age as they explore a Venus untouched by man! Gather in, pour yourself a cup of something nice, and sit back for the first thrilling instalment of the solar system's newest tale of adventure, romance, and intrigue on
How Many Miles to Babylon?
     
Babylon
is a joint production of the United/Universal All-Worlds Wireless Broadcom Network (New York, Shanghai, Tithonus) and BBC Radio, recorded at Atlas Studios, London.
     This evening's programme is brought to you by Idun's Apples Cosmetics, makers of fine soaps, hair oils, cold creams, lip rouges, and foundations, prepared lovingly from a secret blend of soothing botanicals, exotic scents, and ambergris from the finest Venusian sources. Additional promotional consideration provided by Prithvi Deep Sea Holdings Cooperative, a Family Company; Branston Pickle; Kerykeion Premium Coffees, Roasted on Mercury, Served at Your Table; the East Indian Trading Company; and Edison Teleradio Corp.
     [Cue wind effects, hollow, haunting, wild breezes echoing through space. Fade into electronic background noise, beeps #445, 23, 71, and 101.]

TYBAULT:
Oh, Vespertine, heart of my heart! When you open the door of this stalwart rocket which has been home and hearth to us for so long, we will behold the surface of a virgin world! Who knows what we may find on the shores of watery Venus? What marvels, what perils?

VESPERTINE:
They will be
our
marvels, my beloved,
our
perils! We will make a new home, hewn from the tree of our love!
     [Door creak #6, footsteps #11 and 12.]

VESPERTINE:
[aside] When I looked upon that new world, splendid in every way and in every way terrible, I looked upon a tiger with stars falling from his striped tongue. I looked and saw my true bridegroom—but would it also be my grave?

TYBAULT:
A sea as red as a rose garden stretches out before us—but what are those strange shapes on the horizon? We shall investigate on the morrow! Ah, how marvellously the cacao-trees soar into the rosy sky! I shall build you a house of these fine planks. How rich the violet fruit on every bough! We will never starve, my darling!

DOCTOR GRUEL:
But perhaps you will BURN!

VESPERTINE:
Oh no! Who are you, masked sir?

DOCTOR GRUEL:
I am Doctor Gruel, and Venus is mine! I am the Wizard of the Whales! I command their awesome power and ride upon their backs as on a pirate galleon! I will allow no man to dwell upon this Eden planet but me and mine!

TYBAULT:
I warn you, Doctor Gruel, I am a strong man—I am not without powers of my own! And I am but the first. More ships follow behind in a great silver wave!

DOCTOR GRUEL:
And my banditos and I will DESTROY THEM ALL! AH HA HA HA HA!

 

His Master's Voice

Transcript from 1946 debriefing interview with Erasmo St. John, property of Oxblood Films, all rights reserved. Security clearance required.

CYTHERA BRASS:
Are you ready to start again?

ERASMO:
I don't know why you ask that when you've already begun recording. Obviously, we have started, whether I like it or not. Is it in a handbook somewhere?

CYTHERA:
Actually, yes.

ERASMO:
I would love to see that handbook.

CYTHERA:
Perhaps after we finish here. Begin session two, day one. Let's roll it back a little. How would you describe the general mood that first night at the Adonis base camp? Before you ventured into the village itself. December first, 1944.

ERASMO:
Let me ask you something. Have you ever worked on a movie?

CYTHERA:
[short laugh] I
am
the Chief Security Officer of the biggest film studio on the Moon.

ERASMO:
I know that. But have you ever worked on a movie? As a script girl or a gopher or a rigger or a costumer, or, hell, even as an actress? Actually been part of a crew, not just signed checks and kept out riffraff and called in tactical strikes on Plantagenet lots.

CYTHERA:
As a matter of fact, I have.

ERASMO:
Oh?

CYTHERA:
Cross of Stone
. 1919.

ERASMO:
I love that flick.

CYTHERA:
I was one of Queen Matilda's handmaidens. You can only see me in the background of one shot.

ERASMO:
I knew you looked familiar.

CYTHERA:
Don't be absurd. You couldn't possibly remember.

ERASMO:
Cyth, my love, it is my job to see the smallest details of a film. You wore that ridiculous headdress with two points on it like antelope horns. You tore your veil halfway through the scene but kept your game face on quite admirably.
     My point is, if you've worked on a movie, you know what it's like, the night before you start filming on location. There's an energy bouncing all around like balloons fizzing out. Everyone needs their sleep but no one wants to be the first to go. We just wanted to wallow in that wonderful moment before everything started, because in that moment, we all believed the movie was perfect. All we had to do was go and get it. No one had fucked up a shot or wasted film or started giggling in the middle of a line yet.
     So what was the mood? What did we do? We actually sat around an actual campfire and told stories. Arlo tried to tell a joke again. [pause] Did you know him?

CYTHERA:
I did.

ERASMO:
Did you ever manage to hear him tell a whole joke all the way through?