I GOT A SHOES

New Zealand Listener, Volume 35, Issue 900, 2 November 1956, Page 26

I GOT A SHOES

A Short Story by

J.

F.

HE new tennis court lay dazzled in the sunlight; the fat white lines _ trafficked neatly across the asphalt; the net, carefully measured for height, stretched across the centre, in readiness; and a new tennis racquet lay at each end of the court, with two furred tennis balls resting upon the nylon strings of the racquet nearest the superintendent. The patients looked at the racquet and at the superintendent, and cried out in anticipation, Hurrah, Hurrah. The superintendent, who was sitting in a blue velvet chair in the new pavilion, stood up to give a speech. He shaded his face from the sun, -Ladies and gentlemenEverybody clapped. The patients, at a discreet distance, clapped hardest of all, and cheered, waiting for afternoon tea time, and the left-overs. Seven trays of cream cakes had been carried down from the bakehouse-roughly twelve dozen on each tray-and more-enough surely, for everybody, even for the not so polite people who would start grabbing. = -Hurrah. Hurrah. The patients cheered like children at a cowboy film. -Ladies and gentlemenThe superintendent inclined his head towards the macrocarpa hedge and the

lawn and the pavilion, and the other places where seats had been put for the visitors. -QOn this auspicious occasion, I should like to offer qa vote of thanksAnd there they were, being thanked, the members of the committee: those who had worked so hard to raise funds, with concerts and dances and guessing competitions and raffles. They ll gazed at the new tennis court, and they all looked so happy and proud, Everybody clapped once more, and the superintendent raised his hand for silence. -selflessly, for the good of all-a common benefit-shoulders to the wheel -monetary reward-you know I have a little story that may interest you-it concernsThe story was long and uninteresting. -And now I propose to desecrate the court by treading in the wrong shoesHe stared down, accusingly and playfully, at his brown suede shoes. -and play the first ball of the seasonEveryone watched eagerly while the superintendent stepped carefully on to the court, took the racquet nearest him and, smiling self-consciously, tossed the ball into the air. He meant it to travel across the net, and then he would have made some remark about his wife taking the other racquet; but the ball bounced, with a muffled sound, high into the air, and fell like a tight wad of white flannelette at the superintendent’s feet. He picked it up and placed it once more upon the nylon. strings of the racquet. -I officially declare the tennis court open to all. He smiled, and with pretended guilt, glancing down at his shoes, he sneaked from the court. There was a further burst of clapping and cheering, and those in charge of refreshments took advantage of the applause to hurry away into the club rooms at the end -of the pavilion and turn on the bdiler for tea, place the cups, and arrange the cakes for the official party. Talking and laughing like a general or a king or an actor at a premiére, the superintendent moved with his wife and the official party towards the club rooms, As soon as they had disappeared, the remainder of the crowd began to wander restlessly about, some gaping at the new tennis court as if they were reading it, like a face or a newspaper or a teacup or a crystal; others, feeling hungry and thirsty and rebellious, aware that there wasn’t enough room for them in the club rooms, and that cakes and sandwiches were being eaten, and cups of tea drunk, and more provision should have been made for the common audience. In their seats by the macrocarpa hedge the patients talked among themselves and thought, dismayed, that nothing would be left over, not even scones or sandwiches, or if there were sandwiches they would be fish paste and pickle ones, with the tomato and ham eaten. Some of the children from the village began to race round and round the outside of the court, while the bolder ones walked near the edge, and the boldest ones of all played tig on the court itself. But they were stopped smartly. Presently it was discovered that a few scones and sandwiches were being handed round, and there was shuffling and pushing; and finally the patients saw a few pastries coming towards them, and set up a cheer, and were told to

be quiet or they would be taken back to the ward, and not allowed such a privilege another time, privileges could be abused too easily. And still the crowd stayed, staring stupidly and expectantly at the hard drab asphalt court, as if they expected it to behave in an entertaining or even miraculous way, and not just lie there aloofly and obscenely sweating tar and grains of sunlight. There was a notice up to say that only sandshoes could be worn on the court. Only a few people wore sandshoes; they had come to play the first game; they displayed their white shoes, walking freely up and down on the court, with the crowd watching them with envy and admiration and feeling out in the cold, and having no share; so that soon everybody but the four people in tennis shoes and clothes gradually walked away, as if in disdain, but really in disillusion; and soon all were gone but a few stragglers. Soon the official party came from the clubrooms. The superintendent looked about him at the almost deserted lawn and the empty seats, and the patients walking up the path back to the hospital, and an expression of uneasiness crossed his face. It was all over, and he had spent some time preparing his speech, and what a litter the crowd had made, you would have thought there would be more consciousness of social obligations. Toffee papers, chewing-gum wraps, sandwich crusts. Why did people have to be eating all the time? He brushed the crumbs from his best suit and shrugged his shoulders. If only he had rallied for a while, with his wife using the other racquet they would have seen his forehand drive then. What nonsense, what a waste of time over a tennis court. All the human race wanted was spectacle, spectacle all the time, There was a sparrow on the edge of the court, struggling with a piece of sandwich. Another bird joined in, and they began a tug of war. The superintendent felt angry to see them there, and he waved and clapped his hands. Then he raised his voice, speaking to the first assistant about the state of the country roads and the alarming number of potholes; and the official party left the tennis court, the wives totting up calories and regretting their cream cakes, the husbands reflecting that the whole thing was nothing but a lot of tomfoolery; and all of them feeling dissatisfied. With all the speeches and food, and everybody staring at the tennis court, you would have expected something to happen, they thought, but nothing had happened, it was the same old story. The tennis players, and one man sitting on a seat by the hedge, and a few anonymous small boys were the only people left when it started to rain, It rained big drops, pelting down hard, like a punishment. For one minute, two minutes, it teeméd as if from nowhere. It had not been forecast, there had been nothing in the paper or over the radio about sudden rain; but scarcely had it started than it stopped, and the sun shone again, and the steam rose in soft grey smoke as if the court were breathing; and the two young men (the other two had gone when it 1ained) set upon the three big dappled puddles to remove them with brooms, -It can’t be level, one said, if it makes puddles like this.

He felt proud and learned to be criticising the new court. -Poor wotkmanship, the other answered, everything these days is poor workmanship. They talked like old old men, but they were young, tanned brown as gravy, and dressed in white-washed tennis clothes, and wearing the right kind of shoes, white gym shoes, gliding them like white laced fish across the court. They rasped their stiff-haired brooms back and forth, distributing a flurry of waterdrops and light and fragments of reflected. cloud that were seized by the sun, as truants or prodigals, and sucked back into the sky. Once more the court lay ready for play. There were three people left now --the two players ‘and the man who sat by the hedge. He was a patient who worked as rouseabout for the farm manager and his wife. His name was Roly, and his pants were tied with string, and his heavy farm boots were caked at the heel with cow manure. They were hobnailed boots. He watched the men playing tennis. He had been watching all the time from the very first when the superintendent gave his speech and walked on the court and bounced the tennis ball, and everybody had clapped and waited for something to happen; and the whole procedure had seemed something wonderful and dazzling, and people had stared at the tennis court as if it were alive and belonged to them, and would make them rich, and tell them what they wanted to. know, and talk to them and be kind to them. And yet it was just this grey slab. And everybody had clapped for it and waited and waited for something to happen; but they had got angry and changed their minds and gone home, and only the two men in white stayed, leaping and dancing. -Love, they called out. Love fifteen. Roly listened and smiled. He shuffled his boots on the ground, rubbing his ankles together. -Forty love. Game.

Roly’s head turned from side to side as he followed the shots. Sometimes he thought he would go back up to the farm and sluice out the cowyard and feed the new chickens, or watch them, as he had been told to. Yes, Mrs. Skeat, the farm manager’s wife, had told him: to be sure to stay and keep watch over the chickens, or else. She was going out, she said, after the tennis affair was over, out down to the village shopping, and Roly was not to go wandering about, but to keep watch. But Roly’s head moved from side to side, and he clapped his hands at the beautiful players in the beautiful white shoes, and he forgot about the farm and keeping watch over the chickens. But now the players were crossing to the pavilion for a rest, and suddenly there was Mrs, Skeat carrying her shopping basket, and coming through the gate to the court, making a shortcut to the farm, And Roly remembered the chickens and keeping watch, and she saw him at the same time that he remembered. She hurried up to him, calling in a harsh voice, -Roly. What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you? Oh, it was terrible, the new chickens worth pounds and pounds, and no one watching them. Roly, didn’t I tell you? What about the chickens? She raised her voice-What about the chickens? Roly didn’t answer her. There were no people in sight, and they had all waited for something to happen, and now it was happening. He felt proud but afraid. Mrs, Skeat advanced-You great big lout. You great big lout, she repeated, come on home this instant. You wait till Mr. Skeat hears of this, and then you know what will happen. Roly knew. It was called a privilege to work for the farm manager, and it was, and if you didn’t work for the farm manager you just sat about all (Continued on page 31)

SHORT STORY |

(Continued from page 27) day, or carted coal and rubbish, or tipped disinfectant down drains while someone guarded you. -Come -home this instant-NMrs. Skeat was amazed that Roly had dared to leave the new chickens, He had seemed like a mechanical toy that you wound up the way you wanted it to go, and it went, it went all the time. Roly thoved his tongue round and round in his mouth. He was sorry he hadn’t done what he had been told to do. They were good peopie to him, and gave him cream at dinner time, outside in the shed. He smiled at Mrs. Skeat, but his eyes showed fear. He got up from his seat and walked towards her. Ah, the mechanical toy had moved! Relieved, Mrs. Skeat stepped on to the tennis court, her high-heeled shoes going tick-tack-tuck, tick-tack-tuck. Roly followed her, his heavy boots clattering harshly on the surface. Mrs. Skeat turned round, letting out a small scream. "How dare you, how dare you cross the court in those boots. Don’t you see the notice? No one, no one is allowed on here in anything but soft shoes. You'll ruin it, you oaf. She looked lovingly at the drab, prison-grey surface. She had bought five tickets in the raffle, even bought one for Roly, but neither of them had won anything, not a thing, and all for this tennis court, and she didn’t even play tennis, but still, she had a share in it and had to protect it, there had to be someone to protect it. -Get off at once, she flung. Get off at once. She clittered on over the court. Tack, her: shoes said. Tack, attack. Soon she disappeared behind the hedge, knowing that Roly would follow her. Her anger with him had died down. He was a poor soul, but the rain should have not been so sudden and rained all over her best dress. Roly stood a moment looking at the court. He saw the players getting ready to come for a new game, and he knew he would have to walk across the court, even if he took his boots off, he would have to walk across it. So he stooped down and removed his boots, the left one, the right one, and tied the laces together, and hung the boots around his neck in the way he had seen it done. Then he approached the court and stepped on it. His bare feet were narTow and sunless and his big toes curled back like the prow of a canoe. The surface was hot and pricked his feet, but he walked across, smiling, smiling to himself, and thinking, Why did they all go away, why did they suppose that nothing would happen? But there seemed to be no one to look at him. He se court and disappeared behind hedge. Then the two players emerged from the pavilion and resumed their game. They volleyed and shouted. Their whiteness made them seem like tall sticks of chalk; but they made no mark on the court, and their feet moved softly, as on grey blotting paper. And the sun, lower in the sky now, shone out of a clear darkening blue, and there was no more rain that day.