‘I care,’ I said. ‘She cheats.’
The next three or four days at the shop were an audio-vegetative armageddon. Jane came in every morning to look at the Arachnid, and her presence was more than the flower could bear. Unfortunately I couldn’t starve the plants below their thresholds. They needed exercise and they had to have the Arachnid to lead them. But instead of running through its harmonic scales the orchid only screeched and whined. It wasn’t the noise, which only a couple of dozen people complained about, but the damage being done to their vibratory chords that worried me. Those in the seventeenth century catalogues stood up well to the strain, and the moderns were immune, but the Romantics burst their calyxes by the score. By the third day after Jane’s arrival I’d lost two hundred dollars’ worth of Beethoven and more Mendelssohn and Schubert than I could bear to think about.
Jane seemed oblivous to the trouble she was causing me.
‘What’s wrong with them all?’ she asked, surveying the chaos of gas cylinders and drip feeds spread across the floor.
‘I don’t think they like you,’ I told her. ‘At least the Arachnid doesnșt. Your voice may love men to strange and wonderful visions, but it throws that orchid into acute melancholia.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said, laughing at me. ‘Give it to me and I’ll show you how to look after it.’
’Are Tony and Harry keeping you happy?’ I asked her. I was annoyed that I couldn’t go down to the beach with them and instead had to spend my time draining tanks and titrating up norm solutions, none of which ever worked.
‘They’re very amusing,’ she said. ‘We play i-Go and I sing for them. But I wish you could come out more often.’
After another two weeks I had to give up. I decided to close the plants down until Jane had left Vermilion Sands. I knew it would take me three months to rescore the stock, but I had no alternative.
The next day I received a large order for mixed coloratura herbaceous from the Santiago Garden Choir. They wanted delivery in three weeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jane said, when she heard I wouldn’t be able to fill the order. ‘You must wish that I’d never come to Vermilion Sands.’
She stared thoughtfully into one of the darkened tanks.
‘Couldn’t I score them for you?’ She suggested.
‘No thanks,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’ve had enough of that already.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course I could,’
I shook my head.
Tony and Harry told me I was crazy.
‘Her voice has a wide enough range,’ Tony said. ‘You admit it yourself.’
‘What have you got against her?’ Harry asked. ‘That she cheats at i-Go?’
‘It’s nothing to do with that,’ I said. ‘And her voice has a wider range than you think.’
We played i-Go at Jane’s apartment. Jane won ten dollars from each of us.
‘I am lucky,’ she said, very pleased with herself. ‘I never seem to lose.’ She counted up the bills and put them away carefully in her bag, her golden skin glowing.
Then Santiago sent me a repeat query.
I found Jane down among the cafés, holding off a siege of admirers.
‘Have you given in yet?’ she asked me, smiling at the young men.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing to me,’ I said, ‘but anything is worth trying.’
Back at the shop I raised a bank of perennials past their thresholds. Jane helped me attach the gas and fluid lines.
‘We’ll try these first,’ I said. ‘Frequencies 543–785. Here’s the score.’
Jane took off her hat and began to ascend the scale, her voice clear and pure. At first the Columbine hesitated and Jane went down again and drew them along with her. They went up a couple of octaves together and then the plants stumbled and went off at a tangent of stepped chords.
‘Try K sharp,’ I said. I fed a little chlorous acid into the tank and the Columbine followed her up eagerly, the infra-calyxes warbling delicate variations on the treble clef.
‘Perfect,’ I said.
It took us only four hours to fill the order.
‘You’re better than the Arachnid,’ I congratulated her. ‘How would you like a job? I’ll fit you out with a large cool tank and all the chlorine you can breathe.’
‘Careful,’ she told me. ‘I may say yes. Why don’t we rescore a few more of them while we’re about it?’
‘You’re tired,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and have a drink.’
‘Let me try the Arachnid,’ she suggested. ‘That would be more of a challenge.’
Her eyes never left the flower, I wondered what they’d do if I left them together. Try to sing each other to death?
‘No,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow perhaps.’
We sat on the balcony together, glasses at our elbows, and talked the afternoon away.
She told me little about herself, but I gathered that her father had been a mining engineer in Peru and her mother a dancer at a Lima vu-tavern. They’d wandered from deposit to deposit, the father digging his concessions, the mother signing on at the nearest bordello to pay the rent.
‘She only sang, of course,’ Jane added. ‘Until my father came.’ She blew bubbles into her glass. ‘So you think I give them what they want at the Casino. By the way, what do you see?’
‘I’m afraid I’m your one failure,’ I said. ‘Nothing. Except you.’
She dropped her eyes. ‘That sometimes happens,’ she said. ‘I’m glad this time.’
A million suns pounded inside me. Until then I’d been reserving judgment on myself.
Harry and Tony were polite, if disappointed.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Harry said sadly. ‘I won’t. How did you do it?’
‘That mystical left-handed approach, of course,’ I told him. ‘All ancient seas and dark wells.’
‘What’s she like?’ Tony asked eagerly. ‘I mean, does she burn or just tingle?’
Jane sang at the Casino every night from eleven to three, but apart from that I suppose we were always together. Sometimes in the late afternoons we’d drive out along the beach to the Scented Desert and sit alone by one of the pools, watching the sun fall away behind the reefs and hills, lulling ourselves on the rose-sick air. When the wind began to blow cool across the sand we’d slip down into the water, bathe ourselves and drive back to town, filling the streets and café terraces with jasmine and musk-rose and helianthemum.
On other evenings we’d go down to one of the quiet bars at Lagoon West, and have supper out on the flats, and Jane would tease the waiters and sing honeybirds and angelcakes to the children who came in across the sand to watch her.
I realize now that I must have achieved a certain notoriety along the beach, but I didn’t mind giving the old women – and beside Jane they all seemed to be old women – something to talk about. During the Recess no one cared very much about anything, and for that reason I never questioned myself too closely over my affair with Jane Ciracylides. As I sat on the balcony with her looking out over the cool early evenings or felt her body glowing beside me in the darkness I allowed myself few anxieties.
Absurdly, the only disagreement I ever had with her was over her cheating.
I remember that I once taxed her with it.
‘Do you know you’ve taken over five hundred dollars from me, Jane? You’re still doing it. Even now!’
She laughed impishly. ‘Do I cheat? I’ll let you win one day.’
‘But why do you?’ I insisted.
‘It’s more fun to cheat,’ she said. ‘Otherwise it’s so boring.’
‘Where will you go when you leave Vermilion Sands?’ I asked her.
She looked at me in surprise. ‘Why do you say that? I don’t think I shall ever leave.’
‘Don’t tease me, Jane. You’re a child of another world than this.’
‘My father came from Peru,’ she reminded me.