Читать книгу Mirror, Mirror - Paula Byrne - Страница 18

A bad day at the studio.

The crew was pale. Nobody said a word.

‘Do it again.’

‘Why are you so incapable of doing anything correctly?’

‘Clear the set.’

This was the third time Mo had cleared the set. I waited outside in the blazing Californian heat while he screamed and shouted at her. Mother stayed silent.

This was the final scene. Madou was to ring the great cathedral bell, proclaiming herself the Empress of Russia. A huge steel crucifix had been attached to the end of the rope, which was weighted with sandbags, rigged onto a pulley. Every time she pulled the rope, using the full force of her body, the crucifix whacked against her inner thigh. She was required to ring the bell eight times.

‘Cut! Miss Madou, what on earth are you doing. You are not ringing for the butler at an elegant dinner in Paris, you are ringing the bells of the Kremlin. Do it again!’

On the fourteenth take, he cried: ‘Miss Madou. Try for a little expression on that beautiful face of yours. You are seizing a throne, not calling in the cows like an Austrian milkmaid.’

On the twenty-fifth take, her hands trembled and she began to perspire. The crew looked on in shocked silence. The tension in the air was unbearable. At that moment everyone on-set despised Mr von Goldberg.

On the fiftieth take, she could take no more. Her pale, lovely face was contorted, like the agonised screams of those gargoyles. She was not the Empress of Russia, triumphant, victorious, ringing the bells of her success. She was a hollow shell. And that’s the one he chose.

‘Cut! Print! Ladies and gentlemen, thank you.’

And with those words he left the set.

Nellie and I rushed to my mother. The metal edges of the crucifix had lacerated her inner thighs, blood seeped through her white long tights. Nellie begged her to see the studio doctor. Mother finally spoke: ‘No. Do not let anyone know about this. Not a soul. Bring me a bowl, towels and alcohol. Take me to my dressing room and lock the door.’

I could hardly bear to look as she poured the stinging liquid onto her cuts, but she didn’t flinch. Nellie and I bandaged her legs, and then we drove home in silence.

Back in the House of Mirrors, Mother prepared her goulash, opened the wine, and waited for Mo. He didn’t appear. At nine, she cracked and telephoned him.

When he arrived, she served him his food in the mirrored dining room. She was limping.

‘Is it good? Would you like more flat noodles?’

He looked at her in sorrow and shame. But he said nothing.

‘It’s fine, Mo. You were right. You are always right. I was terrible in that scene. I am sorry for being so much trouble to you.’

I felt so hungry that my belly ached, but I excused myself and left the table. She would be angry with me for my appalling manners, and I knew I would pay for it, but at that moment I hated the little man. The Red Queen had made her final move. I didn’t know why or how my mother had won. I just knew that she had.