*
On the morning of the opening night a ship sank at Cape Albatros and Schnappsi drowned Mrs Vleega in the swimming pool. Mrs Vleega was saved by Alpheus, who fished her out with the swimming pool net. Drying on the washing line Mrs Vleega quickly regained shape. Some of the sailors were not so lucky; by lunch time 2 of them were still missing. Ludwig said that the South African coast was one of the most dangerous in the world and that the sea bottom was covered with wrecks of 4½ centuries.
After lunch Nohandbag brought the coffee tray. I poured for Julie and Ludwig.
“Aren’t you having any today?” Julie asked me.
“No thanks, coffee makes me nervous.”
“It hasn’t ever made you nervous before.”
“It’s not every day that I dance and sing in front of 250 paying spectators. In fact, tonight is the first time in my life.”
“Mathilda has got stage fright,” Greta said knowingly. “She’s running to the loo every 10 minutes.”
“No reason to be nervous, my girl,” Ludwig said. “You know your lines, you know your moves; during rehearsals you did a bloody good job. Drink that.” He poured me a mug of coffee. “It’ll do you the world of good.”
To get my mind off things I went for a ride on my bike. When I came back home, the reader of the radio news said that there had been riots in the township. Ludwig and Julie were busy studying a pile of telegrams that had arrived during the afternoon.
“Our love and best wishes for A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Uncle Hendrik and Wilma,” Ludwig read out aloud. “Tons of luck for a wonderful run. Wish we were there. Mum and Dad. Here is one for you, Mathilda: Enjoy the funny thing happening on the way to the forum, love from all the Saidas.”
“Let’s see,” I grabbed the piece of paper. It had proteas, lilies and aloes printed in a circle and there in the middle was the message for me.
Wow! This is really getting exciting.
An hour later we were on the road. Ludwig was driving, Julie sitting next to him; Greta, Joshua and Lolo, all freshly bathed and in their pyjamas, were in the back with me. The caravan hitched up behind us made a creaky noise when we went over the humps in Bokmakierie Road.
“Opening nights are one of the best things in life,” Greta sighed, contentedly hugging her favourite rock to her chest.
“Ja, it’s nearly as exciting as going sailing,” Joshua agreed.
“It’s Mrs Vleega’s first time,” Lolo said, “and she nearly drowned today. Mom, I think she needs another candy bar to keep up her strength.”
Ludwig parked the caravan under a tree in front of the theatre. The kids wished us good luck. Julie was going to read them a story and tuck them into their bunks.
In the theatre, the actors’ notice board was covered in telegrams. Everybody was checking if there was something for them. Ludwig collected his 8 and there were 2 for me. One from my first host parents Hannes and Marieke and another one from Fred Collins from the Rotary Club.
In the ladies’ dressing room Tintinabula sat wailing in her chair. That morning she had broken out in a rash covering her whole body. “I can’t possibly go on stage looking like the underside of an octopus.” She was totally upset.
“Calm down, dear,” Joelle puffed on her cigarette. Nobody will see a thing. Put your make-up on your face and the rest of you is covered by your costume anyway.”
Lucy stuck a golden star on one of her nipples and said to me: “I wonder what they would do if we broke out in a rash.”
A screech from Panacea nearly made me drop my veil. “Hells bells,” she howled, crouching under the make-up table.
Hysterium, who was forever hanging around the ladies’ dressing room whistled. “Nice bum.”
Gymnasia kicked the door closed.
“Good grief, I have to go home,” Panacea cried.
“You won’t have time for that, sweetie,” Philia mumbled putting on her lipstick. “What’s wrong anyway?”
“I can’t find the photo of my kitten Socks. I have to have it. I always stick it between Table Mountain and my parents’ wedding picture.” She crawled out from under the table and pointed to the only empty space on the wall around her mirror.
“But sweetie, you’ve already got about 50 photos there. Isn’t that enough?”
“Oh no. I need Socks.” Panacea was totally distressed. “It’s for good luck. Every picture has to be there on the wall in its correct place.” She moved a shot showing a guy under a baobab 3 mm to the left. “If I do this right nothing can go wrong tonight.”
“Where is Kim?” I asked while painting my toenails with deep madder nail polish. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”
“She won’t come,” Gymnasia said brushing mascara on her eyelashes.
“But she has a job to do. She’s the callboy.”
“I believe Jack has taken over that job.”
Domina arranged for the umpteenth time her wig around her ears. “I hear that Kim’s father hasn’t taken this whole Dougie thing as…uhm…calmly as her mother. I hear Kim is gated for a while.”
If there is anybody in the world who should be separated from the rest of mankind, it’s Mr slimy Douglas.
The dressing room loudspeaker hissed and the stage manager announced: “This is your 15 minute call. 15 minutes to curtain up.”
A monumental lurch grabbed my guts and my brains stopped working. I went to the toilet to have a last pee. In the passage I met Ludwig clad in his Roman outfit.
“How’s it going, my girl?”
“I’ve never felt so dreadful in my life.”
“Happens to all of us. That’s the adrenalin going. Some people can’t handle it and they never come back. I always try to turn it into something positive…a kind of rebirth.”
The loudspeaker hissed: “Beginners on stage, please.”
We trooped up to the stage and took our places, looking at each other through air charged with electricity. It was the most incredible sensation. The overture playing, the audience murmuring out there like one big hungry thing, waiting to destroy us or love us. Thank God I had a strong sphincter – I now knew why people said they peed themselves with fright.
The curtain went up and the real world ceased to exist. I was one of the Gemini. Connected to something infathomable – bigger than myself. There was no space for anything else.
After the break Douglas had a scene where he was sitting at the edge of the stage with his feet dangling in the orchestra pit. At the end of his song he got up – and fell flat on his face. The audience went into hysterics. We in the wings fell around laughing, except for Joelle, who swore under her breath: “How the bloody hell could this happen? He is not supposed to do that.” Douglas, white with rage under his make-up, shot a furious glance towards the members of the orchestra. They carried on as if nothing had happened. We never found out who had tied Douglas’ shoelaces together.
We got 3 curtain calls and then it was over. Everybody fell into everybody else’s arms and told each other how great they had been.
Ludwig gave me a big kiss. “For somebody who said she can’t relate to acting you did a bloody good job, my girl.”
Joelle walked around smiling happily, puffing on her cigarette, graciously accepting compliments.
“I must say Douglas handled his fall quite quick wittedly,” Senex grinned.
“What did he do?” Peter from the orchestra asked.
“Oh, he just took his shoes off as if it was part of the act.” Senex looked around. “Where is the guy anyway?”
Probably fucking somebody in the wings.
”Did you see that chick sitting in the front row?” I heard Hero say. “All over her boyfriend, her dress nearly up to her waist, lace panties sticking out like a signal lamp.”
The wardrobe department ripped our costumes off us and we all met in the foyer. The committee had put up tables laden with snacks and champagne corks were plopping. Jack told me that I had been fantastic. Some press photographer took
photos of Lucy and me. Julie said she never knew I had such a sensational voice; maybe I should start singing professionally. Somebody gave a short speech and we raised our glasses. More people congratulated me, half of them I didn’t even know. We had more champagne and, basking in that camaraderie and glory, I felt really great – even better than the day I had broken the Bavarian record in 100m breast stroke in my age group.
Harriet waved with bony arms from the stairs grinning like a Cheshire cat. I ploughed my way through the crowd and met her half way between the snacks and the bar.
“Well done, great show,” she planted a sticky crab-mayonnaise kiss on the corner of my mouth. “You must meet Denzil.” She looked around. “Where is he? Denziiil.”
She sure has a carrying voice.
Some people turned their heads in our direction. A tall, lanky guy emerged from behind a pillar. He had dark blond corkscrew locks and bony hands. When I looked into his eyes I felt a lurch in my guts that made all my theatre lurches feel like a mild itch.
“This is my son Denzil,” Harriet said. “Denzil, wasn’t Mathilda absolutely fabulous?” She downed her champagne and licked some crab-mayo off her thumb. “Oh over there is my friend Nanda. Nandaaa.” She grinned at us, turned round and disappeared into the crowd.
I looked into Denzil’s eyes again and he looked into mine; I knew without a trace of a doubt: this guy and I are meant for each other. The earth stopped turning and the universe carried on without us – or mebbe we were right in the centre of it. I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. A smile exploded in my belly and spread over my whole body and soul.
“Should we go outside?” Denzil asked seconds lasting aeons later. “There are too many people here.”
He had a slightly hooky nose, broad cheeks, an angular chin and generous lips. “I know an absolutely terrific place.”
We climbed up some narrow back stairs and a ladder, clambered through a dormer window and ended up on the roof of the theatre. A warm, moist wind was blowing in from the sea and the lights of V.B. blinked from the surrounding hills. The dark hinterland merged with the black of the night. The stars were singing, the planets were trembling and a nearly full moon threw her silvery trail onto the Indian Ocean.
We just sat there for a while with 1cm space between us and felt the heartbeat of the universe.
When my heart threatened to explode, I asked: “How did you know to get up here?”
“I’m studying architecture. Second year. I did a project on the theatre.”
I couldn’t see much of him but I knew he smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“It feels like a… very special place.”
“Ja,” he said. “Not many people know about it.”
We closed the gap between us at the same time. I felt goosebumps jumping up all over my skin. I had never felt so alive in my whole existence. Denzil took my hand and the universe danced.
We rejoined the party just before midnight. The foyer was still packed with people and celebrations were in full swing. Some members of the orchestra started to play a tango and Harriet and Norm, our technical director, tangoed cheek to cheek across the floor. Vibrata and some burly guy were lying semi conscious on a settee, half empty champagne bottles clutched in their arms. Douglas and a curvy blonde occupied another settee, clutching each other. Tintinabula walked around lifting up her blouse, showing everybody that her rash had miraculously vanished, and Erronius demonstrated to a rapt audience how to drink out of a champagne bottle without popping the cork.
“Jack, Jaaack, anybody seen Jack?” Joelle called on top of her voice. “He’s supposed to get the pulls from the newspapers.”
“Maybe he’s already gone,” a guy standing next to me said to Domina.
“I doubt it,” she replied. “He’s a hell of a nice guy but as queer as a 3 Rand note, and you know how they are…not always reliable.”
Julie tapped me on the shoulder. “How do you like opening night parties?”
“I think this one’s absolutely great.”
“Hi Denzil,” Ludwig said. “You look like you just hit the jackpot, pal.”
“Even better,” Denzil grinned.
Lurch. Could that have something to do with me?
One of the front house guys approached us and said to Ludwig and Julie: “I’ve just been checking on the caravan. Everything’s fine.”
“Is that your caravan outside?” Denzil asked. “I was wondering what it was doing there. Why do you schlepp a caravan around town?”
“Our kids are sleeping in it,” Julie explained.
Denzil’s grin changed to an expression of disbelief. “What? Aren’t you worried something could happen to them?”
“No, they are safe,”Ludwig said. “The front house people are checking up on them all the time.”
“I don’t know,” Denzil said thoughtfully. “There have been riots in the townships.”
“That’s in the townships,” Ludwig said. “It won’t happen here.”
Lucy spotted Jack picking flowers off a tree outside the theatre and reminded him to go and fetch the pulls.
“I wonder what that old fart from the ‘V.B. Dispatch’ has got to say this time,” Lycus said. “Since he has seen La Traviata at the MET he thinks the sun is shining out of his arse and he sets higher standards than the rest of the world.”
Tension mounted. More champagne corks plopped. The orchestra let rip some hectic tune from the 20s. Denzil and I joined the dancing crowd. Denzil moved like a cross between a panther and a secretary bird and looked absolutely gorgeous. By the time Jack returned I had taken my shoes off and rivers of sweat were running down my body. Jack stormed up the stairs waving the pulls. The orchestra stopped like one man.
Norm grabbed the pulls, jumped on a chair and cleared his throat. Everybody looked expectantly at him. Denzil took my hand. I nearly died.
“The ‘V.B. Mirror’,” Norm shouted holding up the pages. “Curtain up for Musical Farce. Joelle Gorman’s production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum was characterized throughout by strong performances, competent singing and witty stage craft…”
The crowd applauded and whistled. The critique went on in that vein. The main actors were lauded for their natural drollery and gift of mime, the concubines for their voluptuous bodies. Denzil frenetically squeezed my hand at that part. I personally had never thought of myself in that term before.
“Jack Muller’s set, as always, is a work of art,” Norm carried on reading. “The lighting is cleverly used to enhance the effects of a farce, and the orchestra, conducted by Trevor Wallis, does a professional job.”
The foyer trembled in jubilation. Norm raised his arms to calm the crowd and read the last paragraph. “A local production of this calibre compensates for our missing several touring shows this year because of the introduction of television. It is reassuring to see that the show is booked out to the last seat, and that V.B.’s inhabitants still go out to enjoy a night at the theatre instead of couch-potatoing in front of the box.”
We raised our glasses and cheered.
“Now ‘The Dispatch’.” Norm pushed his specs up on his nose. “What’s so Funny on the Way to the Forum? V.B.’s amateur theatre group put up its zaniest piece yet. It did actually raise a few laughs – in between lengthy stretches of glutinous ridicule.”
“Pompous old fart,” somebody shouted.
The old fart tore the whole production into pieces, except for the imaginative costumes and the adequate lighting.
What’s new? was the general opinion. The old fart has never got anything positive to say. He should stick to the bloody crime statistics. Walks around as if he has trodden in dog shit every day of his life. His own kids take the piss out of him and call him ‘Happy’.
Norm banged a tray and shouted: “Silence. Listen to ‘Die Suiderkuis Speel’.”
It was all in Afrikaans; reactions around me were mixed. I didn’t understand everything, but I did understand that the guy was going on
about naaktheid, which means nudity, and that he found it lasterlik, which means scandalous.
He’s probably referring to Lucy’s and my costumes. Ah well, what else can one expect from somebody who has grown up in a culture in which it is a sin even for 2 year old girls to walk on the beach without a top on.
Norm climbed off his chair, the orchestra resumed a lively tune. Denzil looked at me and smiled a smile that penetrated my whole body. Hand in hand we walked slowly through the crowd, moving in a galaxy of our own. Outside, under a casuarina tree his lips touched mine in a soft, unhurried kiss, totally different from my sloppy first smooch with a guy from Waldsee’s swimming team, centuries ago.