"I am Salome!" she roared. "The Wh.o.r.e of Babylon!"
Here some wags whistled, as we hoped they might.
"I am the Woman Clothed in Blood!" she bellowed. "Oh! See what I have done!"
Continuing to howl, she waggled her fingers behind her back.
"What great sin have I done! See my sin and tremble!"
Bill stuck his hand through the backdrop and put the paper mask into her hand. Lizzie waved it fast enough to hide the truth of its papier mache and paint.
"See the dripping head of John the Baptist!"
She swung the grisly spectacle of the severed head, and those in the front row sc.r.a.ped their chairs back. A female voice cried out in horror.
"Ha," said my husband, close to my ear. "There is always one woman to get them going. There has to be or else I would have to send you out there, my dear, to start the proceedings."
Lizzie peered into the field of faces cl.u.s.tering before her.
"Oh, what have I done?" she wailed, and not one of them gave back a smart retort.
"Ha," breathed my husband again. "A good night. It is a good night, indeed."
I counted the long seconds of the crowd"s held breath.
"Aaah!" shrieked Lizzie, now transformed into a frightful red spectre.
My husband nodded at Bill, who waggled a tin sheet, and at once the room boomed with thunder.
"Oh! How the Lord moves the Heavens!" she keened. "Hear how I am cursed!"
Bill crackled the metal back and forth. Another gesture from my husband and I picked up the bucket of pebbles and shook it up and down.
"I hear the vengeance of G.o.d approach me!" bawled Lizzie over the ferocious din.
She dipped into her girdle and drew out a knife to swipe the air.
"I am cursed!" she yodelled, and brandished the blade in their faces. "I have killed once! Shall I not kill again? Who shall I slay! I must have blood!"
She showed her teeth.
"Shall it be you?" she hissed, stepping forward and leaning over a scrawny man. "Or shall it be me?"
His mouth slackened, Adam"s apple ratcheting up and down his throat. She pointed the tip against her right teat, where the nipple pushed out the satin.
"Or shall I dance one final dance before dying? Shall I dance the dance I danced for Herod?"
"Yes!" cried out a brave soul, and the call was picked up by the rest of the rabble.
"How I danced before Caesar! How I danced before Herod! See me now as I dance before you!"
The air was hot with breathed-out beer; the men polished up their faces and took hopeful steps forward. One leaned into his tart"s ear and spoke some lewdness; she laughed, slapping him gently enough not to earn a slap in return.
My husband raised his hand and Bill picked up the drum and set up a slow thumping. Lizzie stuck out her belly and shook its weight from side to side. Her dress stretched tight; through the slick fabric she showed the deep cup of her navel. Out front, the men screwed their caps tightly on to their heads.
My husband pointed his finger at Abel, who licked the nib of the pipe and blew a whining note that looped a ribbon around my throat and grew tighter. Lizzie wound her hips in a broad circle, first one way and then the other; flicking her stomach forward in a shimmering wobble at the end of each sweep. I saw tongues lick lips, mouths fall open, cheeks flash with excitement.
Bill picked up the pace and she picked up her feet, stamping, switching up the hem of her dress to show the stretched skin of her ankles, and then her rippled calves as far as the dimpled hams of her thighs. The men could not keep their eyes from her, entranced by the spectacle of the dance. One woman tugged her beau"s sleeve and he shrugged her away. She screwed up her face in a scowl for a moment; then squeezed herself into him again.
Lizzie"s dress was no longer cheap satin. It was her skin, and her skin was a flame of fire licking the generous sweets of her flesh. She was Salome, dancing her feet to ribbons in the court of a merciless king, blossoming huge with untold sin, dancing for men who could never hope to quench her l.u.s.tful appet.i.tes.
My husband motioned to Bill, who beat the drum faster, and to Abel, who was already piping an Arabian air, perfectly in time. I watched my husband"s upper lip p.r.i.c.kle with sweat; his tongue darted out and licked it away.
"This is better than the pantomime any day," he muttered.
Lizzie was now swirling her enormous hips in a figure of eight, the strap of bra.s.s coins clashing with each swing. Abel played faster and faster. The tune became an aching need for comfort, for touch. It was the stroke of a hot finger down the ridged walk of my spine, cupping the b.a.l.l.s of my feet and tossing me into the swirling indigo of heaven, spinning me amongst the stars till I was flailed into milky rain, wet from head to foot. My breath fluttered tiny feathers inside the sparrow cage of my ribs; every hair on my arm stood to attention. I could have listened for ever.
Then I noticed Lizzie. The dress darkened beneath her armpits, across her stomach and then down her thighs. Her chins trickled sweat on to the swaying sacks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s but the crowd bayed her on, clapping in and out of rhythm with the drum.
"Mr Arroner," I whispered, tugging at his shirtsleeve. The sound of the flute continued to twine brambles between my ears. "Is it not time to stop the dance?"
"What? Not on your life. Look at them. They will talk of this for days. I shall charge double."
"My dearest, look at her."
"What?"
"She is about to fall. Then there will be nothing to charge for."
He grumbled at the truth of it and hissed "stop" to Abel, who ignored him. He waved, but Abel continued. He stood in front of him, semaphoring a cut throat, but Abel kept playing, eyelids slumped, the slit of eye showing the white. Lizzie shot a look to the side, her breathing harsh. The crowd whooped.
At last my husband laid his hand on Abel"s shoulder and the tune stuttered, then stopped. At once he drew his hand back as though bitten, though Abel did not so much as frown. Lizzie swung to a halt, panting. I watched the rough sea of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s heave up and down.
"More!" cried a hopeful voice.
"Now," said my husband, and poked me in the ribs. "Give them what you"re good at."
I let out a shriek that was taken up by every other female there.
"No!" yelled Lizzie.
With a great swoop she stuck the knife into the side of the head still dangling from her left hand: the bladder within burst and red liquid streamed on to the floor. She swung it over the fools who had crammed forward to see the dance, spattering them with paint, crowing with angry joy at the sight of their hands slapping away at the dark spots staining their shoulders.
"Blood!" she screamed. "Blood!"
I smiled, for I knew it to be only tea, much stewed, and a little India-ink powder.
There was a final drum-roll from Bill; I twitched back the curtain and Lizzie was swallowed up in its folds. The crowd bellowed and stamped; Mr Arroner stepped forward and started on his dazzling chatter about how wonderful was the spectacle they had been able to witness, how this entertainment would be repeated the following evening at this same location at nine o"clock, ten o"clock and eleven, and how the finest beers and spirits were available at the fine public house along the street, at good prices, this very minute.
"Drink to our health!" he cried, and swept towards the door and the extra money.
"Get me some gin," said Lizzie to Bill, "I"m ruddy parched."
We sat behind the curtain while Mr Arroner steered the audience outside, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g out the last farthing he could on his way. I watched Lizzie smearing the coloured grease from her cheeks, becoming the woman I knew once again.
There was a cough from the edge of the curtain. The scraggy man stood there, circling his cap in his hands. His eyes followed the rag as Lizzie wiped her face clean and dropped it between her ankles.
"Salome has gone," said Lizzie, surprisingly gently. "She has flown to sin in the lap of Herod."
"Oh," he squeaked, the only word his unruly voice would allow him.
There was no magic any longer. All that was left was a crew of scarecrows pecking at a heap of coins. Lizzie was an ageing tart with hot eyes, George merely a fellow with too many tattoos, the India-Rubber Man a pimply boy; Abel was a smear at the corner of his eye whom he would not remember. And me? A cat stuffed into a dress.
"Oh," he croaked, voice snapping like a pipe-stem.
He floated away. We turned back to the take. My husband returned, thumped a bottle and more money on to the table.
"A wonderful crowd," he beamed. "Lizzie, a wonderful performance."
"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," Lizzie hissed at Abel, "lay off that sodding flute, will you? I thought you were never going to f.u.c.king stop."
"Watch your language, Lizzie. There are ladies present."
"Watch the takings, Arroner. When there"s a problem with them, I"ll lay off the f.u.c.king language. All he had to do was play the tune, then stop. It"s all he ever has to do; and he forgets it, every b.l.o.o.d.y time. Have Bill do it. Bill wouldn"t dare make a mistake, would you, Bill?"
Bill shook his head vigorously.
"Lizzie, calm yourself."
"Don"t give me calm. Up yours, Arroner."
"Lizzie, my dear. We shall make a great deal-"
"We all have a living to make," Lizzie grunted, "and I don"t make much of a living from you. I need more than your money to plump me up into the delicious pudding you see. I need fruit. I need sugar. I need-"
"I know what you need."
She raised herself, stamping a path to the door.
"Lizzie, will you not stay and count the money? There is much here which is yours by right."
"I trust you, Arroner," she called back to us.
George and Bill laughed. I laughed. My husband laughed. Even Abel laughed, one step behind the rest of us.
"I am hungry," she said, at the threshold.
"There are pies ordered," piped Bill.
My husband stood up from his seat at the head of the table and made his way to Lizzie; he laid his hand on her shoulder, and she did not shake him off.
"Not even pies, Lizzie? Rich gravy? And gin? Enough gin even for George?"
The men laughed again, and George belched; but through the merriment I heard Lizzie hiss, "Arroner, I am hungry. And not for your b.l.o.o.d.y pies."
"Lizzie. We have an agreement."
"Then keep your troupe in check. I"ve danced a pail of sweat off me tonight."
"Be careful, then."
She glared. "I am always b.l.o.o.d.y careful. You get your cut of everything."
I chased Lizzie to the door. "Don"t go," I whispered.
She tickled the back of my neck till I purred. "I"ll be back presently," she said. "You"ll not miss me."
"I shall. Lizzie, I need to talk to you. It"s about-" Abel"s name stuck in my throat.
"Sweet girl. Let old Lizzie go."
"You"re not old."
But as I looked into her face, I saw it was true. Small vertical lines I had not noticed before were creasing her lips and eyes, and a grey tide crept up the sh.o.r.e of her neck.
"You see? Wait for me," she said quietly, and squeezed my hand, and then shouted to the room, "Save me some gin, you thieves!"
Then she was gone. My hand hung empty. My husband raised a cheer.
"A drink, my friends and dear wife! A toast to us all!"
He uncorked the bottle and slopped liquid into our gla.s.ses.
"Here"s to us! None like us! Eh? Eh?"
He jabbed his fingers at Bill, grasped the flesh of the boy"s cheek and pulled, let the six inches of skin spring back with a snap. We raised our gla.s.ses and clinked them.
Who can match us?
None can match us.
Who like us?
None like us.
The pies could not make me happy. I made a face at my husband and said I must go and attend to a lady"s business, and left the room as slowly as I could manage. I took the stairs down to the kitchen, where the girl was flirting with a gentleman who had his heels propped on our table. They were too busy piling bread and beer into their mouths to take any note of me.
Their talk was all of Lizzie, but the woman they spoke of was not present, so I continued along the narrow pa.s.sageway leading to the cellar and the room where the men slept. The aniseed scent of her was unmistakable; she had clearly come this way. But there was no food in a cellar, and she had said she was hungry. She looked starved when she left the upstairs room. I would see her fed; then she would listen to me.