THE TENTS OF SHEM

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 70, Issue 103, 14 February 1950, Page 6

THE TENTS OF SHEM

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s (Copyright) S

S By Grace Jones Morgan S

CHAPTER XXXII. “A MEMORY AND A LITANY” Hervey Sundersen had seen those jungles, seen elephants in herds, in India, in Indo-China, Malay. The carved elephant stood for Adventure and Romance. It swept Hervey Sundersen nearer, the golden giant. And thoughts of him made the lights seem brighter, the incense-laden air less murky. After all, suppose this Nina were her own Nina, it must not matter to Fanchee. She had her own way to make, her life to live. Yes, she wanted an ivory elephant. “Mariette, some day I’ll see that you have an ivory eleiphont. Some day I’ll buy it for you. But I don’t believe the ivory elephant I want could be bought so easily. Not in a store, not with money, anyway.” “Well, everything ain’t sold in stores Dorsey, for coin of the realm,” was Mariette’s cryptic comment. “Bye, Nina . . . Dorsey, you don’t think Fanchee seemed to take courage in two hands, her body stiffened. “Yes, Mariette. I think slm is my mother. The name of her child was my name. It can’t be coincidence. But, Mariette, I’ve got my own way to make. I’ve got things to do with what I earn. I can’t give: up my ivory elephant like you do.” “Funny, ain’t it, wanting a thing like that all my life . . . Let’s go somewhere and eat.” Incense, smoke, and smell, mechanical piano blaring incessantly,- slitheryfooted Chinese fetching trays with bowls and tea. Crowds. The air seemed to shake with heat and noise. Fanchee smoked a cigarette and sipped the rice wine Mariette ordered. All evenings began for Mariette with wine drink of some sort. Then she was gay Then the worry pucker between her eyes was smoothed, her lips relaxed. She talked of days of old, when little girl Mary Higgins earned nickels on Saturday mornings in the Mission lighting Sabbath fires for the orthodox Jewish people, and old Manuel Rosebloom hired her as cash-girl in his funny old store. Days when she and Louie: ate sausage and biitterhorns, siting side by side on the counter, laughing in spite of weariness a young things laugh, over nothing at all. Mariette knew how heavy had been the burden of the big store of late years and how the other stock-holders had installed efficiency experts. It was not all honey being M. Louis Rosfleur, Mariette said. He looked tired to death, but he had a heart. Jolly him along and you could have his eye-teeth, she told Fanchee D’Arcy. And it seemed to Fanchee like those days when Mariette was drilling her in the trade of corsetfitting, giving her sound advice.

“Handle them gentle at the counter, but once you’re in a fitting-room never let a woman tell you anything . . . And keep the prices up. Tell them what they’ve got io pay. You’ve got to get over them Scotch nolions. Remember the office looks at your sales records . cater to them. Look tthem in the eye like a lion-tamer and let them know you’re not afraid . . “Do as I say, not as I do, Dorsey, and you’ll have your ivory elephant. Have another drink. We haven’t been out together like this before.. It’s a re lief to get out with a woman once in a while. I get so damn sick of men. Catering, kidding them along .... God!” And while the night was still young they went on street cars, both driven by the excitement of change impending, by the electric-charged blood in their veins, swept out to the beach where stars gleamed on the far-flung leagues of restless dark seas, crinkled on waters near shore, flashed in a net of silver, where the roar of bull seals and sounding breakers came from far off, unreal; back again on the clanging trolley, watching the invisible web with its trapped brilliant, night over the Siren. Empress city at the Gate, gown of velvet darkness beaded with electricity. Ships weaving back and forth, to aiid fro. And somewhere far out, Sundersen. Her sun of morning. Her ivory elephant! Something she would want all her life, and have the chance to take it, and always something come along to prevent ... Foolish thoughts. She still loved Straith Kirk. There, now she knew Her ivory elephant was Love! And when she returned that night, Maisie’s door opening, Maisie calling her: “Dorsey, Nina’s here waiting for you.” Nina! Fingers at Fanchee’s throat, but her own fingers. Still it was as if Nina reached to clutch, to throttle the breath of life. She must outgrow that silly habit of touching her own throat when things frightened. She must learn to keep her hands still, her heart from pounding. She must steel her flesh to rigidity lest some day she was betrayed into worse than had happened. Nina, dragging along the hall, dark face under the drabbled hat, long, mudstained coat touching the floor. Fanchee stood in front of her door. Nina must not eflter. Now if ever, she must steel herself to defence. Daddy had taken her from Nina for very good reason. She knew now it was to save her from Nina, from the life Nina led. from her drinking . . .and worse. “It’s late, Nina. You’re tired. Here take this and ride home. I have to get up early and he at work. I’m tired too.” Nina’s fingers reaching for her wrist a stealthy movement, then a dart, like a snake striking. But Fanchee eluded l that grasp. “You’rq my daughter. You’re Fanchee. You’re Francisca Jacqueline D’Arcy. Jack took you away to Canada and left me to starve. Where is he new?” “Dead, Nina, killed in the war. He wouldn’t have left you to starve if there was any other way. I remember, [Nina . . . And you mustn’t come here again. I’ve got to live my own life . . .

You had the chance as other women. 1 found a job. You could have . . .” “That’s the way you talk to the mother that bore you. That’s what 1 get for giving you bone and flesh and breath of life. Too good for your mother, hull? Like Jack D’Arcy with his fine airs. Well, we’ll see . . .” “Nina, take this, I haven’t any more to-night. Please go. I’m not to blame. It isn’t fair to say those things to me . . . Please go. Here, take it . . . .” Her purse, the silver mesh bag Dick bought her, was open, but Nina

snatched it. Nina cackled laughter and shuffled toward the lift. The doorclanged, tlie machinery whirred. Fanchee backed through her own door and slammed it, locked it, and leaned against it panting, breathless, heart pounding. Nina was a nightmare, a ghoul, flaunting her. What next? Daddy, Daddy! Biddy, come back to me. Biddy, say a prayer, say a charrp, keep me from things like this. I only want to live my own life. I only want a chance to be good, to be free. Free! Lying on the bed, open-eyed, listening to noises in the court on which her window opened, breathing the cooking smells confined there, hearing the noises from other open Avindows, and then half-sleep, semi-con-sciousness, and haunting dreams. The ivory elephant tramping through jungles, trunk uplifted, trumpeting warning to Fanchee as it crashed nearer and nearer. The shuffling tread of Nina, the dart of her brown fingers . • . Then the Canadian woods, and Fanchee running, caught at the big tree by Straith Kirk’s arms, Straith’s kisses lashing her blood to flame, and Straith disappearing, blowing away as fog lifts, and his mother, shawlwrapped, bitter-tongued. “You’d be a milestone around his neck . • .” Thank God for daylight, the grey gloom of the court AvindoAV, the alarm clock’s brazen clangor. She could not stay in that place where Nina might find her. She must move somewhere, find another room. But Avhat would she do away from Mariette? Big, kindhearted, loud-voiced Mariette? And Avhen she went to the suit department there was trouble. “A new girl for this department. There must be some mistake. Wait here and I’ll see about it . . .” Fanchee waited, watching the “queens” placing dresses on display, on hangers, watching the jet earrings gleam' beside their cheeks. How funny it Avas for Avorking Avomen to feel superior to their felloAvs, but they did. It Avas like those layers of rock Grandfather and Minister Ardrus and the Welshman and the Druggist spoke about, different stratas of life, crushed together, covered with earth and growing things, not of any consequence now, but in their day they had mattered. Far aAvay, childhood, all there remained of it, Avas memory and a litany: “Love God, honour the Queen. Shoot straight and keep clean!” \,To be continued).