Regarding Gates
What is in a gate?” It is a point of entry to a space that may be enclosed by a wall or fence. It may prevent or control the entry or exit of individuals. A gate, in short, can be both an entrance and exit. But this is to reduce its significance. Through a gate one may leave one world and enter another. One starts out a boy and one ends up a man. One becomes a wizard. Or one starts out a girl and one ends up a woman. One becomes a huntress. Equally one may start out a chef and one ends up a musician. There is music in these changing roles, a music that may not always be heard when, initially, one passes through the gate.
From Mr Whizz’s Notebook, Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum.
Mercedes, who was born in Salamanca and proud of it, had many things to thank the dance club for. Before she had joined, her life had been routine and rather dull, but now she had Thursday nights to look forward to. She had thrown herself heart and soul into learning everything: buying the clothes, listening to the music and watching Strictly Come Dancing re-runs on You Tube. It gave her such a thrill to dress up and put on her dancing shoes ready for the evening practice.
Then came René. There was such a stir when he came onto the dance floor. “He’s so handsome,” said Dominique. “And such a charmer!” But Mercedes was not only interested in his looks or his charm. It was also his excellent manners and his ability to lead with such delicacy during the tango… In fact, he had melted her heart, and now she had his ring on her finger…
Mercedes was glowing as they finished their routine with a quickstep. Very few of the other dancers were able to keep the necessary poise with the speed the step required.
“Maldita sea!” she said. “We have to go now.”
René looked disappointed.
“Otherwise we won’t make it in time for dinner with your parents.”
“Mercy,” he said, “I feel we can dance like this for ever.”
“We won’t be dancing at all if we are late for your mother’s duck.”
The studio was in an old western style bar they had not got around to redecorating.
Mercedes pushed open the saloon doors into the changing rooms.
She turned around and saw René had followed her down the corridor.
“Mercy, I’m ready to go.”
“I know,” she said. “Give me a few minutes to get changed.”
He leaned over and kissed her.
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
Mercedes went down the corridor into the changing rooms when she remembered the bottle of wine to go with the duck…
She went back through the saloon doors, calling René’s name.
Where was HE? – He must have already gone downstairs.
Oh, well, she thought, it could wait.
She turned and pushed back through the saloon doors.
To her surprise, she was in the middle of an overgrown garden.
Mercedes was dumb-struck. The garden was like a hot house, teeming with exotic flowers and plants, and yet there was no glass ceiling. But where was René?
“Hello, there.”
She looked up and blinked.
Fluttering beside her was a little fat-faced creature with rosy cheeks and delicate wings. Mercedes was reminded of the decorations in the old cathedral in Salamanca. Surely not? – A cherub!
The cherub beamed down at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Mercedes.”
“My name is Utterly.”
“Utterly?”
“Yes, isn’t an utterly fabulous name?! By the way, can I call you Mercy, but don’t ask me to be Piety!”
“What are you talking about?
The cherub chuckled.
“Now let me see,” she said, as if putting on her thinking cap.
“Ah, yes, I’ve got it!” she cried.
“Piety is as piety does.
Mercy does because Mercy can
Utterly shall always be her fan!”
The cherub looked at Utterly as if she was expecting applause. But Mercedes did not feel like clapping.
“Only René calls me Mercy,” she said.
“Who’s René?”
“My boyfriend.”
“How lovely! – I haven’t got a boyfriend. However, I have got two sisters, Completely and Totally. Would you like to meet them? On second thoughts, better not. They’re on duty. The Mistress won’t like it.”
“The Mistress?”
Mercedes was struggling to keep up with the fluttering cherub, but she did not seem to mind.
“Oh, silly me!” she said. “You haven’t met the Mistress. Why don’t you come and meet her? On second thoughts, better not. The Mistress can get in an awful bate. And when she gets in a bate, we all have to watch it.”
“Tell you what!” cried the cherub. “I’ll take you to see my friend, Chuck. Come on!”
The cherub began to flutter off.
“Wait, Utterly!” cried Mercedes. “Before we go and see Chuck, can we look for René?”
“Your boyfriend?!”
“Yes, have you seen him?”
Mercedes tried to explain what had happened back at the dance school when she had gone through the saloon doors looking for René.
The cherub suddenly seemed interested.
“What’s he like? Your boyfriend?”
“Well,” said Mercedes, “he’s quite tall and slim, and he’s a dancer.”
“A dancer! Why didn’t you tell me? My mistress loves a dancer. I’ll take you to her.”
“I thought you said your mistress was in a bate.”
The cherub laughed.
“You’re quite right. My mistress in a bate is not a pretty sight! Let’s go and find Chuck!”
Suddenly the cherub was off.
“Wait! What about René?”
“Oh, Maldita sea!” cried Mercedes as she ran after the fluttering cherub.
“Oh, I say! Steady on! Watch where you’re going, moosh!”
In pursuit of the cherub Mercedes stumbled through a maze of bushes that seemed to protest at her clumsy passage. Finally, and with a push from a disgruntled bush, the maze opened out and Mercedes found herself in front of a stage, decorated with fronds and the odd piece of Doric column.
Up on the stage was a rather strapping looking fellow. He was naked from the chest up. Stuck to his head was a pair of antlers, and he was surrounded by a gaggle of woodland creatures with goatee beards and rather goatee looking trousers.
This was all getting rather strange. But, since Mercedes thought she was in a dream, did it matter anyway?
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” exclaimed the cherub. “I could watch him flex all day.”
The cherub fluttered up to the antler headed figure.
“Utterly,” he cried, “you came to see my latest flex!”
“Oh, Chuck!” she cooed. “Flex away!”
“Just for you, Utterly.”
The gaggle of woodland admirers ooed and aahed and so did the cherub Utterly.
Chuck flunk himself into a pose after pose that any bodybuilder or creaking Greek would have been proud of.
But Mercedes was not impressed.
“Is that all he can do or is he just a poseur?” she said. “Doesn’t he have a better party trick?”
“Party tricks! Why didn’t you say? – My mistress loves a party trick!”
The cherub fluttered with excitement.
“Come on, Mercy!” she cried. “Let’s go!”
Suddenly, she was off again.
“Wait, Utterly!”
In vain Mercedes called after her. But it was no use. Resigning herself to the chase, Mercedes plunged back into the bushes to a chorus of:
“Oh, I say! Steady on! Watch where you’re going, moosh!”
“Utterly, wait for me!” Mercedes cried. “Where are we going?”
“To see the Mistress at the Wet.”
“The Wet.”
“It’s not far.”
“What about René?”
“Don’t worry! My mistress will help us find your boyfriend.”
Emerging from the bushes, Mercedes saw a waterfall trickling down into a pool of fresh water where half a dozen or so young bathers (all confusingly with butter in their names) were engaged in what appeared to be a game of splash and tag.
“Buttercup’s it!”
“No, she isn’t. It’s Butterfly’s turn.”
“Oh, shut up, Butterscotch! I’m not it. If anyone’s it, it’s Butterball.”
“She’s not it. You’re it, Butterfingers!”
“No, I’m not. It’s Butternut!”
“It’s Butternut’s turn!”
Perched on a stone bench, at the side of the pool, was a lithe figure in a short tunic and riding boots, holding a bow.
“Mistress!” cried Utterly. “Look who I’ve brought! A new friend!”
The bow woman leapt to her feet. In the same instant, she had threaded her bow and aimed it at Mercedes’ midriff.
“Mistress, don’t shoot! Mercy has a trick!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” said Mercedes, “Mercy doesn’t have any tricks.”
“However,” she said quickly, perceiving the gaze of the bow woman upon her, “I do have this.”
Without meaning to, Mercedes took off the ring on her finger and gave it to Utterly’s mistress.
“It’s my engagement ring,” she said. “René gave it me two days ago.”
Suddenly Mercedes was beside herself and burst into tears. “Help me!” she blubbered. “I don’t know where René has got to!”
Mercedes tried to explain, but her explanation was babbled and confused.
The cherub came to her rescue.
“He disappeared, Mistress. Vanished into thin air!”
The bow woman looked concerned.
“And this is your engagement ring?”
“That’s right. It’s René’s present.”
“So, you are engaged to be married?”
“Maldita sea! I said so, didn’t I!”
“Good,” said the Mistress, “that may well help us.”
Then turning to the cherub, she said:
“We shall have to find him. We cannot let another hunter loose in the Garden.”
“What are you saying? René is not a hunter, he’s a dancer.”
“Oh, My God!” cried Utterly. “Maybe he’s been turned!”
“What do you mean? René’s been turned?”
The Mistress frowned.
“I am sorry to say if we do not find him, your dancer will turn into a hunter. I assure it’s not a pretty sight.”
“But René has never done any hunting. He wouldn’t know one end of your bow from a branch on a yew tree.”
“Inside every man is a hunter. The question is who can tame the hunter?”
The Mistress raised her bow.
Utterly was ecstatic and fluttered her wings. “My mistress is going on a hunt!”
The Mistress let loose the arrow, which dipped and fell at Mercedes’ feet.
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” cried the bow woman, threading another arrow.
“Better watch it!” said the cherub, chuckling. “Look what she did last time.”
She spread her wings to reveal a gaping hole.
The bow woman, however, was off in pursuit of her second arrow which seemed to have no middle flight and soared over the idyllic scene.
From all sides emerged those goatee woodland creatures that had been following the performance of the antler-decked Chuck so keenly; they began to whoop and holler.
“Look! It’s the pannies and scouties!” cried Utterly.
“Are they part of the hunt, too?”
“Of course, silly! How do you think the Mistress is going to catch your hunter? Come on, Mercy! Let’s go! The Mistress won’t wait around for you if you don’t catch up.”
Mercedes took a deep breath. She was not sure a hunt was such a good idea. After all, if the bow woman could shoot her cherub, what chance would René have? And, worryingly, at what point would he become a hunter? “Wait!” she cried, as she set off down the path after the Mistress. “Please, don’t hurt him.”