A Song for Summer

"She's nice though, Aniella is." The tiny Sabine spoke with unexpected resolution.

"Yes, she is," said Sophie. "She's ordinary but she's special too. She's a chicken saint--you know, the kind that shelters people." She stuck out her thin arms, turning them into sheltering wings. "She looks after children and old people--"'

"And after animals," put in Flix. "Every kind of animal. Even salamanders and hedgehogs and grass snakes. The pictures are in the

church."

"Do you all know the story then?"' Bennet was surprised.

"No, we don't," said some children at the back.

"Perhaps you'd better tell us then, Sophie," said the headmaster.

"Oh no, I couldn't!"

"Go on, Sophie," said Ellen gently.

So Sophie took a deep breath and began. Her mother had told her she couldn't project her voice and her father had said one must never put oneself forward but now she forgot both of them. As she spoke, the children could see Aniella moving among the sick and wounded animals in her flower-filled meadow ...

could hear the clatter of hoofs as the evil knights rode towards her house. They were with her as she prayed in the grotto ("It's the one above the larch plantation, the one full of bicycle tyres," said Sophie) and hear the wing beats of the angel who consoled her. They followed the saint across the lake in a flotilla of boats, and felt the horror as she was stabbed and blood flowed over her wedding dress. "But it was all right," said Sophie, using the words that Lieselotte had used in the church. "Because she became beautiful again and floated up and up and flowers came down and lovely music played."

"It could be a promenade performance," said Leon when she had finished.

"What's a promenade performance?"' asked Janey.

"It's where people follow the action round. You'd start in Aniella's house and go on to the grotto and so on. Not that I could have anything to do with it," Leon went on hastily, "because religion is the opium of the people."

"Well that's really stupid," said Ursula hotly. "You might as well say you can't do a play about the Arctic because you're not a penguin."

"Leon is perfectly correct, however," said Jean-Pierre. "It is out of the question that we should have anything to do with a piece of Catholic superstition. Still, the lighting in the cave could be interesting: by using mirrors and back projection ..." His gaze became inward as he gave vent to a farrago of technicalities.

"We've got all those animal masks spare from Abattoir. I don't see why we couldn't let them have those,"

said Rollo.

"You could use some of the muslin that's left over and dye it and use it to swag the boats, each one a different colour," said Bruno--and Rollo stared at him open-mouthed, for the boy had seized a piece of paper and begun to draw.

Bennet, letting the discussion move freely, found himself totally amazed. His agnostic--not to say atheistic--children, his Marxist staff with their detestation of any kind of superstition, were seriously discussing a religious pageant celebrating the life of a minor Austrian saint whose authenticity was much disputed. He imagined Frank's father hearing of it, or the other parents who had entrusted their children to him on the understanding that they would grow up free of the spurious consolations of an afterlife. And why was Jean-Pierre, who slept with a poster of Lenin above his head, holding forth on the merits of the lighting technique known as Pepper's Ghost?

"I wouldn't mind being a salamander," said Sabine firmly. "I'd rather be a salamander than a carcass."

Bennet called the meeting to order. "I shall not prevent anyone from helping," he said, "but it must be made clear that it is done on an individual basis."

The children, however, were concerned with a more important point.

"Who's going to be Aniella?"' they asked each other. "Who's going to be the saint?"'

It would have to be a grown-up--Aniella wasn't a child--and someone whom everybody liked, both the village and the school.

But really the question was already answered. Bennet saw them nod to each other, heard Ellen's name go through the room like wind through corn ... saw them looking to where she sat, leaning her head against the window.

They were right, of course. She would be wonderful as Aniella. She would pull this amateurish escapade together with her warmth, her gravitas. Surely this time she would not refuse to be singled out, to be in the limelight?

Yes, she was going to do it! She had risen to her feet and shaken out her hair--and she looked as happy as she had done when he first saw her. Happy and honoured, perhaps, at the obvious wishes, now being expressed, that she should be the pageant's centre and its star.

Except that she wasn't looking at the people now surging towards her; she had turned back to the window and was looking out at the coach house roof, on to the gable of which a man on a tall ladder was fixing a wooden wheel.