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caitri“The Club”
Oxford, 1956
It was Tuesday morning, and Edith was patient as Ronnie gathered his papers in typical haste to get out the door and not be late for his meeting. When she saw how he patted his pockets, she said, “Look, dear, your pipe is in your coat pocket, and your tobacco pouch should be in your office yet.”
Ronnie brightened. “Ah, yes! You’re quite right!” He disappeared down the hall and then returned looking pleased. “I forgot my book for this afternoon’s lecture. That wouldn’t be right, would it? What would the students think?”
“You’d make do, somehow, dear,” said Edith, and Ronnie beamed at her. He gave her a peck on the cheek as he went out the door. “You’re too good to me, Edie. Have fun with the girls.” “And you with the lads,” she answered.
No sooner was he out of sight than Maud and Joy came up the road, Phyllis lingering behind them awkwardly. The younger woman was the newest member of their little club, but she hugged the outer boundary of the group when Florence visited, and Florence was coming up from the opposite direction. Well, infidelity would make things awkward, Edith supposed, but then, why not blame Charles rather than each other? But then it wasn’t any of her business. She met them at the door, welcoming them briefly as they came in, taking coats as they hung up their hats, steered them to seats strategically chosen for the purpose. When everyone was settled, pleasantries exchanged and cups of tea served, there was a rustle of papers: Time for the meeting to start. “Who’s acting as secretary today?” Edith asked.
“I am,” said Maud, pencil at the ready. “April 15. Who’s starting?”
“I’ll go,” said Joy. She straightened her shoulders and began to read. “‘Susan was rather relieved when the others went on their vacation; it gave her more time for revisions before Uni started in the autumn…’” The story meandered a bit—Clive’s influence? she wondered—but the meat of it came in towards the end, after Susan had had sex for the first time. “‘She felt sore, but nonetheless relieved that it was over and done with,” (Definitely Clive, then…), “and they were startled by the knock on her door. ‘Quickly, under the bed,’ she whispered, and quick as an otter he disappeared while she put on her dressing gown. ‘I’m coming,’ she said more loudly, and then peeked out. ‘Telegram,’ said the bobby, who looked sad and awkward. And that was how she found out about the train crash…’”
When she was finished, there was a pause in the room. “Well that was dark,” said Maud.
Phyllis sniffled a moment, then said, “Are you implying the others died because she had sex?”
“Served her right,” muttered Florence. Phyllis sniffled more loudly still, and Edith glared at them both.
“Constructive criticism is the rule,” she said, and then turned back to Joy. “What are you thinking of calling it?”
“Does ‘Winter Returns’ sound too obvious?”
They debated the point for a while, then moved on. Maud contributed what she called a ‘found philosophical prose poem’ that owed rather more to Gertrude Stein directly than Anthroposophy more generally, while Phyllis offered an erotic vignette that was drawn rather too strongly from life. “‘Hold out your hand,’ her teacher instructed and she did so; the first strike of the ruler made a certain sound and left her pale skin pink. By the tenth strike it was bright red and she was breathing heavily. ‘Now lift your skirt,’ he instructed....”
“Oh, must we go on?” Florence demanded. “Hackneyed prose is one thing, but this is too cliché!”
“Not constructive,” Maud said blandly while Phyllis whimpered, “But it really happened!” and Edith wondered if it was too early or too late to add a tot of brandy to the tea.
“Time for cakes!” she said instead and got up, bustling to the kitchen; Joy followed, which left poor Maud to sort the other two. They shrugged at one another, and Joy fetched the plates while Edith sliced the Dundee cake neatly. “I’ll just put another kettle on!” she called out to the visiting room, surveyed the liquor cabinet, and then added two fingers of Ronnie’s whiskey to the tea pot. Joy raised her eyebrows at Edith. “Ronnie will recognize that it’s gone to the greater cause,” she answered. “And if the level gets low enough, he might see fit to have a word with Charles about keeping his house in order.”
“If it works, have him speak to Clive,” Joy said.
Edith gave an exceedingly unlady-like snort and picked up the tea tray. “To battle, then. Onwards!”
Maud had somehow placated Florence and Phyllis, and the doctored tea did the rest. The remainder of the meeting was quite calm, and even jolly, and then it was Edith’s turn to read. “This is one I’ve been struggling with,” she started, then stopped. “Ah. Hmm.”
“What is it?” asked Florence.
“Well.” Edith chuckled ruefully. “Ronnie was messing about even more than usual this morning. It seems he took my manuscript, and I have his!” The women paused, and then howled with laughter.
~
“Well go on, then, Ronnie old boy,” said Owen. “What’s the hurry, eh? Wot?”
“Ehem,” said Ronnie, awkwardly. “There appears to have been a bit of a mix-up with Edith’s manuscript.”
“Oh, no,” said Clive. “Not another fucking elf?”
Ronnie’s ears were quite red. “Indeed,” he said.
~
“But which one was it?” Phyllis wanted to know.
Edith reflected in annoyance that she was much less timorous when in her cups. “Legolas and Gimli,” she answered shortly.
“Ah,” said Florence “That’s not so bad, then. Why, it’s practically canon!”
“At least it wasn’t that Elladan and Elrohir epic you were working on forever,” said Maud.
“Oh, Ronnie did see that one,” Edith said. “Poor man couldn’t look into my eyes for a week!”
“Men,” said Joy with a shrug.
~
“Hmmph. Women!” said Charles when Ronnie finished reading. “They are the most perverse creatures.”
The other members of the Club looked at him, but he looked back, unruffled.
“Right,” said Clive. “To the Bird & Baby?”
“God, yes, please,” said Ronnie, though he was quite careful in stowing Edie’s manuscript into his bag, lest it get shuffled in with his other papers. He couldn’t imagine what would be worse: His students finding it, or his editor.
~
Seventy years later
Christopher carefully unwound the wrappings from his mother’s papers. He had often wondered if there was any value in them, and having gone through all of his father’s, he supposed it was time to find out. The first page read Mirkwood, An Unconventional Romance in Edith’s elegant script.
“Hmm,” said Christopher, and began reading.
It is uncommon knowledge that the Elvish races have some two hundred and forty-one words for soulmate. The Dwarves, in contrast, have only one.
It should surprise no one, then, that the first word Gimli called Legolas was utterly unprintable. Nonetheless, it was accurate. “You, sir, are a dick,” said the Dwarf.
Christopher stared in bewilderment, and then rapidly flipped through the remainder of the manuscript. It was, indeed, rather that he had imagined such stories to be like from his most superficial forays into, first, the “fanzines,” and then, more recently, the “Web.” There were also a deal more manuscripts, and what looked to be two ledger books that held the minutes of his mother’s “club.”
He sighed. “I hope Father never knew,” he said.
~
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Ronnie said when he got home that evening.
“I would feel awful for you, dear,” Edith said as he bussed her cheek, “but Florence and Phyllis were in especially fine form this morning.”
“Ah,” said Ronnie, saluting her with a cup from the decanter, then double-checking the level within it. “Indeed.” He poured her one as well, and handed it to her. “A toast?”
“To what?” Edith asked.
“The creative impulse, say,” said Ronnie.
“Cheers,” they said at once, and their glasses clinked together companionably.
THE END
