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God s gift to art. Well let me set you straight about that
He looked at Galloway, his eyes, swimming in alcohol, having
difficulty focussing. But he got there eventually.
Galloway, the dirty bugger, was naked from the waist down.
He was wearing his shoes and his socks, but no trousers or briefs.
His self-exposure would have been comical, but for the expression
on his face. The man had gone mad: his eyes were rolling around
uncontrollably,
saliva and snot ran from mouth and nose, his tongue hung out like
the tongue of a panting dog.
Hammersmith put his glass down on his blotting pad, and
looked at the worst part. There was blood on Galloway s shirt, a
trail of it which led up his neck to his left ear, from which protruded
the end of Diane Duvall s nail-file. It had been driven deep into
Galloway s brain. The man was surely dead.
But he stood, spoke, walked.
From the theatre, there rose another round of applause, muted
by distance. It wasn t a real sound somehow; it came from another
world, a place where emotions ruled. It was a world Hammersmith
had always felt excluded from. He d never been much of an actor,
though God knows he d tried, and the two plays he d penned were,
he knew, execrable. Book-keeping was his forte, and he d used it
to stay as close to the stage as he could, hating his own lack of art
as much as he resented that skill in others.
The applause died, and as if taking a cue from an unseen
prompter, Calloway came at him. The mask he wore was neither
comic nor tragic, it was blood and laughter together. Cowering,
Hammersmith was cornered behind his desk. Galloway leapt on to
it (he looked so ridiculous, shirt-tails and balls flip-flapping) and
seized Hammersmith by the tie.
Philistine, said Galloway, never now to know Hammersmith s
heart, and broke the man s neck snap! while below the
applause began again.
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
That I am Viola.
From Constantia s mouth the lines were a revelation. It was
almost as though this Twelfth Night were a new play, and the part
of Viola had been written for Constantia
Lichfield alone. The actors who shared the stage with her felt their
egos shrivelling in the face of such a gift.
The last act continued to its bitter-sweet conclusion, the
audience as enthralled as ever to judge by their breathless
attention.
The Duke spoke: Give me thy hand;
And let me see thee in thy woman s weeds.
In the rehearsal the invitation in the line had been ignored: no-
one was to touch this Viola, much less take her hand. But in the
heat of the performance such taboos were forgotten. Possessed
by the passion of the moment the actor reached for Constantia.
She, forgetting the taboo in her turn, reached to answer his touch.
In the wings Lichfield breathed no under his breath, but his
order wasn t heard. The Duke grasped Viola s hand in his, life and
death holding court together under this painted sky.
It was a chilly hand, a hand without blood in its veins, or a
blush in its skin.
But here it was as good as alive.
They were equals, the living and the dead, and nobody could
find just cause to part them.
In the wings, Lichfield sighed, and allowed himself a smile.
He d feared that touch, feared it would break the spell. But
Dionysus was with them tonight. All would be well; he felt it in his
bones.
The act drew to a close, and Malvolio, still trumpeting his
threats, even in defeat, was carted off. One by one the company
exited, leaving the clown to wrap up the play.
A great while ago the world began,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that s all one, our play is done
And we ll strive to please you every day.
The scene darkened to blackout, and the curtain descended.
From the gods rapturous applause erupted,
that same rattling, hollow applause. The company, their faces
shining with the success of the Dress Rehearsal, formed behind
the curtain for the bow. The curtain rose:
the applause mounted.
In the wings, Galloway joined Lichfield. He was dressed now:
and he d washed the blood off his neck.
Well, we have a brilliant success, said the skull. It does seem
a pity that this company should be dissolved so soon.
It does, said the corpse.
The actors were shouting into the wings now, calling for
Galloway to join them. They were applauding him, encouraging
him to show his face.
He put a hand on Lichfield s shoulder.
We ll go together, sir, he said.
No, no, I couldn t.
You must. It s your triumph as much as mine. Lichfield
nodded, and they went out together to take their bows beside the
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