So the screen game, which we were to play tirelessly on so many occasions, made its appearance. As I completed the last of the screens and watched a group of extras perform the first movements of the game under Charles Van Stratten’s directions, I began to realize the extent to which we were all supporting players in a gigantic charade of Charles’s devising.
Its real object soon became apparent.
The summer-house was deserted when I drove out to Lagoon West the next weekend, an immense canopy of silence hanging over the lake and the surrounding hills. The twelve screens stood on the terrace above the beach, their vivid, heraldic designs melting into blurred pools of turquoise and carmine which bled away in horizontal layers across the air. Someone had rearranged the screens to form a narrow spiral corridor. As I straightened them, the train of a white gown disappeared with a startled flourish among the shadows within.
Guessing the probable identity of this pale and nervous intruder, I stepped quietly into the corridor. I pushed back one of the screens, a large Scorpio in royal purple, and suddenly found myself in the centre of the maze, little more than an arm’s length from the strange figure I had seen on the balcony. For a moment she failed to notice me. Her exquisite white face, like a marble mask, veined by a faint shadow of violet that seemed like a delicate interior rosework, was raised to the canopy of sunlight which cut across the upper edges of the screens. She wore a long beach-robe, with a flared hood that enclosed her head like a protective bower.
One of the jewelled insects nestled on a fold above her neck. There was a curious glac immobility about her face, investing the white skin with an almost sepulchral quality, the soft down which covered it like grave’s dust.
‘Who—?’ Startled, she stepped back. The insects scattered at her feet, winking on the floor like a jewelled carpet. She stared at me in surprise, drawing the hood of her gown around her face like an exotic flower withdrawing into its foliage. Conscious of the protective circle of insects, she lifted her chin and composed herself.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize there was anyone here. I’m flattered that you like the screens.’
The autocratic chin lowered fractionally, and her head, with its swirl of blue hair, emerged from the hood. ‘You painted these?’ she confirmed. ‘I thought they were Dr Gruber’s…’ She broke off, tired or bored by the effort of translating her thoughts into speech.
‘They’re for Charles Van Stratten’s film,’ I explained. ‘Aphrodite 80. The film about Orpheus he’s making here.’ I added: ‘You must ask him to give you a part. You’d be a great adornment.’
‘A film?’ Her voice cut across mine. ‘Listen. Are you sure they are for this film? It’s important that I know—’
‘Quite sure.’ Already I was beginning to find her exhausting. Talking to her was like walking across a floor composed of blocks of varying heights, an analogy reinforced by the squares of the terrace, into which her presence had let another random dimension. ‘They’re going to film one of the scenes here. Of course,’ I volunteered when she greeted this news with a frown, ‘you’re free to play with the screens. In fact, if you like, I’ll paint some for you.’
‘Will you?’ From the speed of the response I could see that I had at last penetrated to the centre of her attention. ‘Can you start today? Paint as many as you can, just like these. Don’t change the designs.’ She gazed around at the zodiacal symbols looming from the shadows like the murals painted in dust and blood on the walls of a Toltec funeral corridor. ‘They’re wonderfully alive, sometimes I think they’re even more real than Dr Gruber. Though — ‘here she faltered ‘- I don’t know how I’ll pay you. You see, they don’t give me any money.’ She smiled at me like an anxious child, then brightened suddenly. She knelt down and picked one of the jewelled scorpions from the floor. ‘Would you like one of these?’ The flickering insect, with its brilliant ruby crown, tottered unsteadily on her white palm.
Footsteps approached, the firm rap of leather on marble. ‘They may be rehearsing today,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you watch? I’ll take you on a tour of the sets.’
As I started to pull back the screens I felt the long fingers of her hand on my arm. A mood of acute agitation had come over her.
‘Relax,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell them to go away. Don’t worry, they won’t spoil your game.’
‘No! Listen, please!’ The insects scattered and darted as the outer circle of screens was pulled back. In a few seconds the whole world of illusion was dismantled and exposed to the hot sunlight.
Behind the Scorpio appeared the watchful face of the dark-suited man. A smile played like a snake on his lips.
‘Ah, Miss Emerelda,’ he greeted her in a purring voice. ‘I think you should come indoors. The afternoon heat is intense and you tire very easily.’
