SP fiction: THE CAGE
Odile Santiago
THE CAGE by Daniel Vian [An Extract]
Copyright (c) 1991 Daniel Vian
This extract from a full length novel available by
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ONE
Birdy's voice (his words clipped, the tone flat): This is
the blue coast the riviera hot sun roulette romance a garden of
eden strange flowers rocky crevices tall grass a dream the cote
d'azur the placid sea the countryside provence the grande
corniche the towns resorts the villas eze aioli boules
bouillabaise and blue skies...
Then nothing. Silence. Then a vague sound that might or
might not be made by the keys of a piano.
This is the first mirror, a tall rectangle of glass flanked
on each side by bright lamps attached to the wooden panels, a
width of maybe five feet, and below the base of the mirror the
marble mantle of the ornate fireplace (dead now, in this season
always dead), the expanse of the fireplace under the mirror, the
dark-suited man seated in a red leather chair in front of the
fireplace on the right side. The chair and the man block the
view of the right side of the fireplace, but the full width is
evident at the top part of the mantle, the width of the mantle
identical to the width of the framed mirror, the mantle itself a
huge piece of carefully carved white and sand-colored marble, the
inner part curved, the outer part rectilinear, the upper right
corner of the mantle chipped and cracked to reveal the underlying
unpolished stone. The interior of the fireplace is pitch black
and nothing of its contents can be seen, no andirons or
firebrick, nothing of the inner hearth. On the right side of the
shelf of the mantle, directly above the red leather chair, is a
porcelain vase filled with long-stemmed pink roses, seven pink
roses in the vase, and outside the vase on the mantle eleven more
roses, the long-stemmed flowers lying in a certain disorder so
that three of the pink roses are actually dangling over the edge
of the mantle shelf. The porcelain of the vase is painted pink
and white and green, and as one continues to look at the pattern
it becomes apparent the forms on the vase are the forms of pink
roses and green leaves and the stems of these flowers arranged in
a random pattern over a dull white or whitish-yellow background.
This initial view of the vase is made difficult by the glare of
the brilliant lamps on each side of the mirror, the glare of the
bright chandelier visible in the mirror itself, the chandelier
apparently in the center of the room behind the point of
observation...
The sand, the white sand of Cannes, the beach, the chairs on
the beach. The girl in the chair on the left wears a black
blouse and white shorts. Only part of the shorts can be seen,
the edge around her right hip and a patch of white cloth between
her thighs. She sits in the canvas chair with her left shoulder
and the left side of her head against the canvas, her closed
eyes, her dark eyelashes, her full lips, her dark hair falling
forward to hide the right side of her face. Her arms are folded
in her lap. Her legs are extended toward the center, the right
leg at the ankle resting on the right knee of the young man with
dark hair who sits in the chair beside her, the young man dressed
in a white shirt and white trousers, the girl's left foot resting
on the instep of her right foot, her eyes closed, the young man's
eyes closed, the two figures motionless...
Aside from the vase filled with pink roses and the pink
roses lying on the mantle outside the vase, the shelf of the
mantle is empty. Once again the eyes are drawn to the three pink
roses that dangle over the edge of the mantle on the right side,
and then below that to the red leather chair and the man who now
occupies the chair. He wears a dark suit, a white shirt, a
polka-dot blue and white or black and white tie. Part of a white
handkerchief extends out of the breast pocket of his jacket on
his left side. He sits with his left knee crossed over his right
knee, his right elbow resting on the right armrest of the chair,
his right hand partially hidden by his elevated left thigh. His
left elbow is on the left armrest of the chair, but his left arm
is folded and the fingers of his left hand are splayed out
against his forehead, four fingers on his forehead on his left
side while his left thumb evidently rests on his left cheekbone,
the entire hand in an attitude appropriate to contemplation, the
eyes directed forward, the hand resting on the forehead as the
man thinks about what he sees in front of him...
Sees where? What does he see? His gaze is directed behind
the point of observation. If one looks at the mirror again,
one's eyes are now drawn to the bottom part of the mirror above
the fireplace mantle where the reflected image of a red sofa and
two young women can be seen, the sofa and the young women
evidently at the far end of the room behind the spectator. The
slender young women who occupy the red sofa are naked except for
shoes (each woman wears shoes with high heels, one woman with red
shoes and the other woman with black shoes) and the man in the
red leather chair is apparently gazing at the women at the far
end of the room as he sits with his left hand placed on his
forehead. The man does not move. The hand on his forehead does
not move. In the mirror, the two young women are also completely
motionless. One woman (the woman with red shoes) sits on the
sofa on the right side with her legs extended along the seat of
the sofa to the left side. The upholstery of the sofa appears to
be red velvet, but it might be red leather. The woman in the red
shoes who half-reclines on the sofa has her right arm along the
back of the sofa at its upper edge and her left arm folded so
that her left elbow rests on the large curved armrest of the sofa
on the right side. Her legs extend almost to the opposite end of
the sofa, the upper part of her body more or less erect against
the right corner of the sofa. Her head is thrown backward and to
the side as the back of her head rests against the back of the
sofa. The other woman (the woman with black shoes) kneels on the
edge of the sofa cushion in the middle of the sofa, her knees in
the narrow space that remains unoccupied by the other woman, her
body seen in profile, folded at the knees, the upper part of her
body leaning forward, her left arm extended almost parallel to
the right arm of the other woman, her right hand resting on the
cushion near the left hip of the other woman, her head partially
obscuring the face of the other woman in an attitude that
suggests a meeting of their mouths, a kiss, or maybe nothing more
than a close approach of the two faces in a moment of tenderness
or in the midst of a whispered comment. The nature of the
contact is uncertain. The two young women remain motionless,
nothing clarified, nothing audible...
Now on the beach the young man opens his eyes. He turns his
head toward his right shoulder and he looks at the girl. The
girl opens her eyes. Lulu? the young man says. What? the girl
says. Let's go to the Miramar, the young man says.
Above the heads of the young women, on the wall above the
sofa, is a large painting in a carved frame, the figure of a
woman dressed in the fashion of the previous century, an
elaborate decolletX gown of lace and tulle and enormous puffed
sleeves. Her bare shoulders, the bare upper part of her bosom,
her neck and face have the same hue as the skin of the two naked
women on the sofa below. The upper part of the painting is
obscured by the brilliant chandelier, but to the left of the
painting, above a closed door, is another painting, this one a
small landscape panel with a curved border. The details are
vague, but the line that separates the landscape and the sky is
an aggressive concave curve in apposition to the convex curve of
the wooden molding that forms the upper border and frame of the
painting below it.
Now the young woman who kneels on the edge of the sofa
appears to lean forward again, the back of her head obscuring
even more of the face of the other young woman, the woman who
wears red shoes. As the kneeling woman's right arm shifts
forward, more of her right breast becomes visible, the globe of
the breast but not the point, the edge of the right arm now just
covering the small round breast of the reclining woman. Is it
another kiss? The two mouths are not visible. The buttocks of
the kneeling woman are no longer touching the pointed heels of
her black shoes. Now she leans backward again, a slow movement,
and the flesh of her buttocks once more approaches the pointed
heels of her shoes, the flesh touching, the flesh dimpling, then
the buttocks pulling forward again. The space between the upper
part of her right arm and the right side of her rib cage is now
wide enough to show the entire globe of her right breast, the
swell of the breast and the pointed nipple. The other woman's
left breast is seen in a frontal view, the side of the breast
near the armpit pulled upward by the awkward position of her
folded left arm on the armrest of the sofa. The woman with black
shoes is now motionless again, kneeling on the edge of the sofa,
her buttocks once again pressing into the heels of her black
shoes. The upper part of her body is pulled back far enough to
the left so that the belly, the joining of the thighs and the
dark pubic triangle of the other young woman are visible. The
woman wearing red shoes tilts her head slowly toward her left
shoulder. Her mouth is more evident, the lips painted red, a
deep red color identical to the color of the red shoes. She
holds her head tilted toward her left shoulder, and then she
slowly returns her head to its former position, the right side of
her face now once again leaning against the back of the sofa.
The other woman shifts her body only enough to pull her buttocks
forward from the heels of her shoes, the skin of her right
shoulder and back suddenly appearing more luminous under the
glare of the bright chandelier.
Lulu is at a table on the terrace of a cafe with a young
man, maybe the same young man she was with on the beach. The
table is shaded by a red and white umbrella. Behind them is
another table with another red and white umbrella, another
couple, a girl and a young man. Behind this couple is the front
of the cafe, the door, the two windows (CAFE in large letters on
the left window), a blue and white striped awning over the
entrance to the cafe, two windows over the awning, the shutters
open, the flower boxes in front of the windows filled with green
leaves, white flowers, red flowers...
The man in the red leather chair has not moved. The fingers
of his left hand remain on his forehead, his left thumb on his
left cheekbone, his eyes directed as always to the young women on
the far side of the room. The edge of his left hand partly
obscures his eyes and there is no certainty of expression, no
appearance of a mood, no look of interest or disinterest evident
in the face below the eyes. His lips are thin. The skin of his
face has a glow of health, the slight tanning that one might
expect from a recent exposure to an outdoor sun or an indoor
sunlamp. His age is unclear. He might be forty. He might be
more than forty.
I'm going back to Paris, the young man says. Lulu says:
Well goodby then. And you? the young man says. No I'm staying
here, Lulu says. But you don't have any money, the young man
says. I'll find some, Lulu says. I'll find a job. The young
man laughs. Lulu looks at him and she says nothing.
On the red velvet sofa, the two young women are still
motionless. One notices now for the first time that the left
elbow of the woman wearing red shoes is partially obscured by the
pink roses that extend upward from the porcelain vase on the
mantle. Has the woman moved her arm? The position of the elbow
seems no different than it was a moment ago. The fireplace
remains dark, the inner hearth and the fireback in a deep shadow.
Now in the mirror again, the kneeling woman has moved and for the
first time her left hand touches the right hand of the other
woman, the two hands resting on the back of the sofa, the fingers
touching, the fingers twisting together on the red velvet. The
man in the red leather chair continues to gaze at the far side of
the room. His name is Crowther. It is now three o'clock in the
afternoon.
A sudden change, a noise, a traffic tangle at an
intersection near the railroad station. Down the rue des Serbes
the boulevard that runs along the beach is visible, and then
beyond that the open sea, the blue sky above the sea, a small
white cloud remaining from yesterday's rain. Yesterday it
rained. Today the sky is clear and the sun is shining again.
Today the sky has only the one small cloud.
This is the second mirror, a vertical rectangle in a larger
recess in a wall, the mirror standing in front of a cluttered
shelf, the overhead light that illuminates the mirror hidden from
view. Birdy's face appears inside the mirror on the right, his
face, his white shirt, his right arm, his reflection clear in the
mirror beyond a small black shape that obscures the lower right
corner of the mirror and part of his shirt on his left side. His
face is blank, his eyes without expression as he stares at the
mirror and his own image. Beyond Birdy is a window covered with
venetian blinds, a dark red curtain on the side of the window
behind his right shoulder. Not all of his white shirt can be
seen, but the right sleeve is rolled above his right elbow and he
wears no tie. His right arm is folded, the forearm raised in
front of his chest, his right hand covering his throat and the
lower part of his chin. Enough of the collar of the shirt can be
seen to confirm that the first button of the collar is undone.
His left shoulder and his left arm are beyond the right side of
the mirror and not visible. He does not move his head. His eyes
remain directed at the mirror. Now his right arm moves. His
right hand shifts upward and his fingers extend to touch his chin
on the left side of his face. Has his head moved? The red
curtain behind his back appears to vibrate in response to a
current of air from somewhere, maybe an airconditioning unit or a
ventilator or maybe the window itself is partly open and the
current of air is from outside the building. Birdy's eyes are
still directed at the mirror as he touches his chin with his
right hand. The skin of his face appears damp, flushed on his
left side, a sheen of sweat visible on his left temple. Between
the red curtain in the mirror and the wall to the left of the
curtain is a door, a doorknob, a chain-lock across the edge of
the door about three feet from the transom. Birdy continues to
look at himself in the mirror. Now he turns his head toward his
right side and he stares at the television set that sits between
the door and the wall at the left. The television screen shows a
face, a man, the lower part of the face hidden by part of the
clutter on the shelf in front of the mirror, a plastic bag, two
plastic bottles, an empty ice bucket, the word GLACE visible on
the carton, black letters on a white background. No sound can be
heard from the television set. If the man who appears on the
screen is talking, his voice is not audible. His lips are not
visible. The lower part of his face remains hidden by the
clutter on the shelf in front of the mirror. Now Birdy moves his
right hand. He extends his fingers toward his left cheek. He
stares at his image in the mirror, at the plastic bottles, at the
ice bucket. The space under the shelf is in darkness. There
might be a stool there, or even a small bench. The space above
the shelf is lit by the lamp above the mirror. Now the view
changes, a retreat backward, and for the first time the open door
on the right of the mirror is visible, a small bathroom, a window
that shows a bright sun, a roll of white toilet paper in a holder
attached to the wall under the window, part of a toilet commode,
a black object on the closed lid of the toilet, the foremost part
of the toilet obscured by a woman who stands in front of the
bathroom sink. The woman is seen from her right side. She wears
only briefs, cotton or nylon, a pattern of small pink flowers on
the cream-colored cloth. She stands with the upper part of her
thighs almost touching the edge of the sink, both arms raised,
her forearms obscured by the right doorjamb, her head turned
toward her right shoulder as she looks past the bathroom door to
stare at the room where Birdy is sitting. The impression is that
she stares at Birdy, at his face, at his eyes, as Birdy in turn
stares at his image in the mirror over the cluttered shelf. Is
she watching Birdy? Or maybe she's looking at Birdy in response
to something Birdy has said. She remains facing the bathroom
sink (only part of the sink is visible), her body seen in
profile, her thighs, the slight bulge of her belly over the upper
part of her cotton or nylon briefs, the swell of her right breast
just visible between her rib cage and the upper part of her right
arm, her face turned toward her right shoulder, her gaze directed
at Birdy who sits somewhere behind the point of observation.
Nothing happens. Birdy does not move. The woman in the bathroom
does not move. The woman's face is without expression. The man
on the television screen continues to talk but his voice is
inaudible. Then a murmur begins, an indistinct sound. Is it the
television set or is it a sound from somewhere else, from the
street, from beyond the locked door? The woman in the bathroom
appears to have moved. Her left leg is now closer to the toilet.
The black object on the lid of the toilet is now recognized to be
a purse. The upper part of the woman's thighs press more firmly
against the edge of the bathroom sink. The murmur is still
indistinct, hardly a voice, more a humming sound than a voice.
The roll of white toilet paper catches the light from the window
above it. Maybe the window is open. The sounds of the town
outside gradually become audible. The eyes are drawn to the
window, to the sunlight, to the source of the noise of traffic, a
squealing sound, a grinding of gears, three bleats of a horn.
Then once again in the bathroom, the woman in the bathroom, her
bare feet on the towel that lies on the floor in front of the
bathroom sink. Her position hasn't changed. She still stares at
Birdy in the other room. Then she moves her right arm. Her
elbow is now obscured by the doorjamb as she moves her right arm
forward. She speaks in French: What time is it?
Birdy glances to his left a moment, and then he stares at
his image in the mirror again: After three, Birdy says. It's
after three.
The picture on the TV screen changes. A single word
appears, black letters on a gray background: BEIRUT.
Near the railroad station the horns are blowing again. The
heat is oppressive. The coast is in the beginning of another
heat wave.
In the first mirror, the two young women are now lying side
by side on the red velvet sofa. Crowther's expression has not
changed. He still sits with the fingers of his left hand on his
temple, his eyes directed at the two women, his legs crossed, his
chin pressing down against the white collar of his shirt, the
points of the white handkerchief extended from the breast pocket
of his jacket. The young woman who wears black shoes can be seen
only from the back. Her body covers most of the body of the
other young woman. Her pale skin has a yellow cast under the
light of the chandelier. Her buttocks are round, the two
hemispheres pressed tightly together, the dark split between the
hemispheres curving into the joining of her thighs. The red
velvet cushion under her body is barely depressed by her weight.
The second woman's hands can be seen on the first woman's back,
on her shoulder blades, the hands pink against the pale skin.
Crowther moves his left arm. His left hand moves away from his
forehead and slowly drops down to come to rest on his waist. The
front part of his right hand is still hidden by his left thigh as
he sits with his left leg crossed over his right leg. The woman
who wears black shoes now appears to press her body more firmly
against the body of the other woman. Only the back of the first
woman's head can be seen, the head covering the face of the other
woman, the two mouths not visible, one mouth maybe pressing
against the other mouth in a kiss or a light touching of the lips
or a whispered comment or a kiss again. The light from the
chandelier emphasizes the curves of the buttocks and thighs of
the young woman who lies with her back exposed. The other woman
has now moved her arms more closely around the pale back, over
the shoulder blades and then down around the small of the back
near the waist of the woman who wears black shoes. Their legs
are entwined, one leg over another leg, a quartet of legs, the
pairing uncertain, the red shoes and black shoes shifting one
against the other, against the red velvet cushion, against the
arm of the sofa, and then once more against the cushion along
which the four legs are extended. The young woman who wears
black shoes moves her hips. The other young woman extends her
arms further to take hold of the first woman's buttocks.
Crowther does not move. Now he presses backward into the right
corner of the red leather armchair. Once again he lifts his left
hand and he places the tips of his fingers against his left
temple.
Near the casino is the Jetee Albert Eduoart, a line of white
boats and small yachts, the size of the yachts increasing toward
the end of the long jetty. Around on the other side of the port
is the Quai St. Pierre and the beginning of the breaker that
holds off the Bay of La Napoule. Over the boulevard the air is
shimmering now, the petrol fumes rising to gather above the palm
trees.
And now the third mirror, no more than twenty inches high, a
tilted mirror attached to the back of a small dressing table.
The dressing table is grey. The frame of the mirror is grey. A
young woman stands in front of the dressing table wearing a white
sundress with a wide black border at the hem, a black diagonal
slash across the midline, thin white straps at the shoulders.
Her blonde hair is tied into a high chignon. Her face and body
are seen from the left side, in left profile, the face, the arms,
the legs below the hem of the white skirt tanned by the sun. Her
left arm is folded, her hand raised, her fingers holding a small
perfume bottle near her face as she gazes at her image in the
tilted mirror. Behind her is a grey upholstered chair. On the
surface of the dressing table is an assortment of small bottles
and jars, a small lacquered box with its lid pushed back, another
box with a red enamel cover. In the background is a white wall,
stark white, an expanse of white plaster that seems to enfold the
small dressing table and the young woman who stands in front of
it. Everything else in the room is uncertain. Maybe it's the
dressing room of a modiste. Despite the flawless white of the
walls, the room appears to be dead. Empty white walls in a dead
room. The wide black border at the hem of the woman's dress is
unsettling. Her arms remain fixed in position, her left hand
raised, the hand holding the perfume bottle, her right hand at
her right side as she stares at the small mirror. Now she moves
her head slightly. She turns her face toward her left shoulder
and she appears to be gazing at something not yet revealed. Her
blonde hair takes on a darker hue against the flat white
background. Then she turns her head again and she appears to be
looking at the top of the dressing table, at the collection of
small jars and bottles. She lowers her left hand and she places
the perfume bottle beside the open box. She moves her right hand
forward to find the stopper of the perfume bottle, to lift the
stopper, to carry it to the perfume bottle and then to fix the
stopper in place inside the short glass neck. Then she looks at
her image in the mirror again. A vague emotion passes across her
face: annoyance or puzzlement or a simple ennui. She raises her
left hand again and she touches her chin. Her lips move and she
appears about to say something, when suddenly a woman's voice is
heard behind her and from the far right: Madame Crowther? The
blonde woman turns: Yes? The other woman speaks in English: Your
car is waiting.
...the woman in red shoes leaning back now, her head leaning
back on the arm of the sofa as her right knee is raised, her
thighs apart, an offering, or maybe a resignation, her sex
exposed to the fingers of the other woman, two fingers of the
left hand between the white thighs, the buttocks now pressed once
again on the points of the black heels, the fingers moving as the
other one opens her mouth, her red lips, the tip of a pink
tongue, the mouth closing and then opening again...
[end extract]