to anyone but Clover yet that day. After a moment he turned his head away slightly, and spoke again. ‘Perfecting it. Making it—realer, or less real.’
Aurora watched him struggle to find words.
‘I mean, the point is the point. To make the joke so perfect—’ Victor paused, eyes up on a line of reflected light dancing on the ceiling. ‘We are only pointing at the moon, but it is the moon.’
He saw Clover watching him, and lifted one hand into a sketched salute.
Aurora opened the glass door to let the bee drowse out into the garden. ‘I will go with you when you go,’ she said, leaning out into the summer day.
FINALE
JULY 1, 1917
Qu’Appelle, Saskatchewan
And now we have come to the act that closes the show.… Many have only waited to see the chief attraction of the evening, before hurrying off to their after-theatre supper and dance. So we spring a big ‘flash.’
BRETT PAGE, WRITING FOR VAUDEVILLE
The lights outside the Opera House blazed, and inside, the lobby glowed with electricity of all varieties. The heat of the day had begun to cool, and the open windows let in a small occasional breeze, gratefully received by the audience moving slowly through the ticket line. Nell Barr-Smith peeked out from the clinic across the hall to count the people going in, but gave up when she saw them jumbled by the door, excitedly pushing. She went back to have Miss Peavey tie her sash, happy to have been allowed to keep her cherry ribbons, to have helped with the aeroplane and listened to the vaudeville people talk. To be one of them.
Then they were lining up, and the music which had been trumpety-trum changed to something more important, a march, so the girls’ feet began to move—but did not clump, since Mrs. Avery (Mrs. Arthur Avery, the dancing mistress, not Mabel’s Aunt Elsie) had whispered fiercely not to. White slippers, white dresses, like a graduating class, except better. Miss Frye raised an arm for complete silence—and opened the door. Through the back hall, down to the secret entrance by the Town Clerk’s office, up the little set of stairs into the wings. It smelled so good back here, half church, half (Nell blushed interiorly, to think the word) bordello. The music rose up suddenly loud and the curtains were swinging open, it was time. On they pranced, right behind Mr. East and Mr. Verrall, who were doing a nice little soft-shoe shuffle up in front, where they called it ‘one.’ ‘Jeremiah Jones, a ladies’ man was he, Every pretty girl he loved to spoon.’
The ridiculous Mr. East ogled each of the girls in turn while Mr. Verrall sang the tweedling story, and then it was their turn to burst into finger-wagging song. This was the best thing in the world! ‘That isn’t the girl I saw you with at Brighton—Who—who—who’s your lady friend?’
Mrs. Gower sat enthroned in her usual seat, two rows up, smack in the middle. In front of her, Miss Frye leaned over to whisper to her friend Miss North, down for the concert, that the Avery sisters knew Mr. East very well, ‘And they assure me that the stories are only publicity stunts.’
Mrs. Gower rapped Miss Frye’s shoulder for silence, and turned her attention back to the stage. The romping, rampaging girls went galloping along, scolding and laughing, and trit-trotted off the other side, subsiding as the curtains swung to and the music crashed on in a festive climax.
Finding the break between the front curtains, Mr. East stepped out into a beam of light as the curtains closed gracefully behind him. ‘Happy to welcome you all to this patriotic event, in honour and support of our troops overseas. All donations kindly accepted, gifts of knitted goods are always welcome. The recruiting officer could not be here, he’s dealing with a rush of business in Regina, but feel free to find him At Home in his salon there, any day from ten to four. I’m speaking to you, young fella!’ (Here East pointed with some ferocity at Chum.) ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m going to be waving goodbye myself pretty soon—no, no, sadly they’ve turned me down. My feet, you know, so I’m stuck doing what I can to entertain, but my dear partner in crime, Mr. Didcot Verrall, is enlisting in the United States Army next week.’
Hearty cheers from the crowd as Verrall dodged out through the curtain break to doff his bowler with a shy grin.