no human sound and it was dark but for the feeble red glow beyond the cabinet. You could make out the shapes of the persons sitting next to you and in front but no more. It was about as dark as it is in a theater when the lights have gone down and the curtain not yet risen.
Mrs. Collins, from her seat at the end of the front row, suggested they should all sing something. Hassan’s favorite song was alleged to be “Pale Hands I Loved Beside the Shalimar” but no one knew the words, so they sang “The Volga Boatmen” instead.
At the third repetition of “Heave, my brothers,” the curtains parted a little and a figure in a turban appeared between them. You could just make out the shape of the turban and a long white robe.
Miss Finlay whispered to Dolly, “That’s Hassan.”
“Sssh,” said Mrs. Leebridge.
The figure spoke in a voice like that of the man who kept the Tandoori takeaway shop in the Seven Sisters Road. “Good evening, friends.”
There were murmurs from the audience and Mrs. Leebridge said, “Good evening, Hassan,” in a loud schoolmistressy way. “Are you going to show us any spirit friends tonight?”
Hassan made no reply but disappeared between the curtains. A moment or two later his voice said:
“I have a lady here who passed on with a wound to her head, a car accident or something of that kind.”
There was silence. Dolly heard someone whispering behind her. Then a man from the row behind said rather hoarsely:
“Is it for me?”
Hassan said, “That’s the voice,” and the curtains parted to disclose another draped white figure, bulkier this time and with what looked like a bandage tied round its head. From behind Dolly came a sound as of indrawn breath. The figure spoke in a subdued girlish voice.
“It wasn’t my fault, Michael.”
The man behind said, “Let me see you close to.”
There was a mumbled something that sounded like “too soon” and the figure glided back between the curtains. Dolly heard the man say, “Oh, dear God,” in a voice tremulous with emotion.
“His wife was killed last year,” said Miss Finlay. “She drove her car out into the road in front of a lorry. They lived next door to Mrs. Bullen. Listen, Hassan’s speaking again.”
“Is there anyone who has lost a gentleman who was in the forces perhaps? Anyway who wore a uniform?”
A girl from a row behind called out, “Is it you, Dad?”
“That’s the voice.”
From between the curtains came another white-robed shape. Mrs. Leebridge said, “Look, you can see his peaked cap.”
“Sssh,” said Miss Finlay.
Pup could see no peaked cap, only someone tall and thin, wrapped up in a sheet. The figure stood to attention and saluted.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Mrs. Leebridge. “And you can see Mrs. Fitter in the cabinet there lying in a deep trance all the time.
Nothing in the cabinet was visible to Pup. It was too dark. He had looked carefully, though, as one taking a professional interest in something not too distant from his own line of country. The back of the hall, however, was a little less dark owing to one of the blinds having ridden up a fraction and let in a shaft of twilight. This was sufficient to show him the owner of the voice who had been claimed as his daughter by the figure in the peaked cap. It must be her, for everyone else (in Pup’s own phrase) was as old as the hills. He saw the profile of a round youthful face, the plump curve of a cheek, an upturned nose, and a mass of dark curly hair, and he was trying to see more when Mrs. Leebridge got up and tugged down the blind.
The curtains closed quickly. Hassan’s voice asked if there was anyone who had lost a four-footed companion. There were several replies to this, so it remained uncertain whose pet was the flickering white something that appeared briefly between the curtain hems or even what kind of animal it was. A bird materialized after that, or Mrs. Collins said it was a bird, she said she saw it come out
Mrs. Collins, from her seat at the end of the front row, suggested they should all sing something. Hassan’s favorite song was alleged to be “Pale Hands I Loved Beside the Shalimar” but no one knew the words, so they sang “The Volga Boatmen” instead.
At the third repetition of “Heave, my brothers,” the curtains parted a little and a figure in a turban appeared between them. You could just make out the shape of the turban and a long white robe.
Miss Finlay whispered to Dolly, “That’s Hassan.”
“Sssh,” said Mrs. Leebridge.
The figure spoke in a voice like that of the man who kept the Tandoori takeaway shop in the Seven Sisters Road. “Good evening, friends.”
There were murmurs from the audience and Mrs. Leebridge said, “Good evening, Hassan,” in a loud schoolmistressy way. “Are you going to show us any spirit friends tonight?”
Hassan made no reply but disappeared between the curtains. A moment or two later his voice said:
“I have a lady here who passed on with a wound to her head, a car accident or something of that kind.”
There was silence. Dolly heard someone whispering behind her. Then a man from the row behind said rather hoarsely:
“Is it for me?”
Hassan said, “That’s the voice,” and the curtains parted to disclose another draped white figure, bulkier this time and with what looked like a bandage tied round its head. From behind Dolly came a sound as of indrawn breath. The figure spoke in a subdued girlish voice.
“It wasn’t my fault, Michael.”
The man behind said, “Let me see you close to.”
There was a mumbled something that sounded like “too soon” and the figure glided back between the curtains. Dolly heard the man say, “Oh, dear God,” in a voice tremulous with emotion.
“His wife was killed last year,” said Miss Finlay. “She drove her car out into the road in front of a lorry. They lived next door to Mrs. Bullen. Listen, Hassan’s speaking again.”
“Is there anyone who has lost a gentleman who was in the forces perhaps? Anyway who wore a uniform?”
A girl from a row behind called out, “Is it you, Dad?”
“That’s the voice.”
From between the curtains came another white-robed shape. Mrs. Leebridge said, “Look, you can see his peaked cap.”
“Sssh,” said Miss Finlay.
Pup could see no peaked cap, only someone tall and thin, wrapped up in a sheet. The figure stood to attention and saluted.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Mrs. Leebridge. “And you can see Mrs. Fitter in the cabinet there lying in a deep trance all the time.
Nothing in the cabinet was visible to Pup. It was too dark. He had looked carefully, though, as one taking a professional interest in something not too distant from his own line of country. The back of the hall, however, was a little less dark owing to one of the blinds having ridden up a fraction and let in a shaft of twilight. This was sufficient to show him the owner of the voice who had been claimed as his daughter by the figure in the peaked cap. It must be her, for everyone else (in Pup’s own phrase) was as old as the hills. He saw the profile of a round youthful face, the plump curve of a cheek, an upturned nose, and a mass of dark curly hair, and he was trying to see more when Mrs. Leebridge got up and tugged down the blind.
The curtains closed quickly. Hassan’s voice asked if there was anyone who had lost a four-footed companion. There were several replies to this, so it remained uncertain whose pet was the flickering white something that appeared briefly between the curtain hems or even what kind of animal it was. A bird materialized after that, or Mrs. Collins said it was a bird, she said she saw it come out
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