Крис Бекетт - The Turing Test

“Yes,” I said, soothingly, “I do see that it must be irritating when one’s homeland always conjures up the same one thing in the minds of outsiders.”

“It is irritating to think that our country is known only for its monsters,” said Lady Henry, “but unfortunately it is more than just irritating. How will we ever develop anything approaching a mature and serious cultural life as long as the educated and uneducated alike spend all their free time yelling their heads off in horse-races and horse-fights, and a man’s worth is measured in equestrian skill? I do not blame you for your curiosity, Mr Clancy, but how we long for visitors who come with something other than fire horses in mind.”

“Hear, hear,” said several of them, but the poet smiled and said nothing.

“Well, I’ll have to see what I can do about that,” I said.

But of course in reality I knew that my Metropolitan readers would not be any more interested than I was in the arch theatricals at the Flain Opera or the third-rate canvasses in the National Gallery of Flain, straining querulously for profundity and importance. ‘The Arts’ are an urban thing, after all, and no one does urban things better than the Metropolis itself.

“I hardly like to mention it,” I said in a humble voice, which I hoped would be disarming, “but the other thing for which Flain is famous is of course the game of sky-ball.”

The poet’s mother gave a snort of distaste.

“Ritualised thuggery!” she exclaimed. “And so tedious. I can’t abide the game myself. I honestly think I would rather watch paint drying on a wall. I really do. At least it would be restful.”

But Angelica the painter took a different view.

“Oh I love sky-ball!” she declared. “There’s a big game tomorrow – the Horsemen and the Rockets. William and I should take you there, Mr Clancy. You’ll have a wonderful time!”

William smiled.

“Good idea, Angie. I’d be very glad to take you, Mr Clancy, if you’d like to go.”

“But Mr Clancy is to visit the Academy tomorrow,” protested his mother. “Professor Hark himself has agreed to show him round. We really cannot…”

“I do so appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to,” I purred, “but if it is at all possible to put Professor Hark off, I would very much like to see the Horsemen and the Rockets.”

For, even back in the Metropolis, I had heard of the Horsemen and the Rockets.

“Well, of course,” said Lady Henry, “if you want to go to the game we must take you. You know best what you need to see. I will talk to Professor Hark. No, a sky-ball game will be… an experience for me.”

“But good lord, Lady Henry,” I protested, “there’s no need for you to come if you don’t want. I’m sure William and Miss Meadows and I can…”

Polite murmurs of support came from the distinguished guests, but Lady Henry was resolved:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr Clancy, of course I will come. We must sample every aspect of life, must we not? Not just those we find congenial.” She summoned up a brave smile. “No, I am sure it will be great fun .”

So we set off in the Henrys’ car the next morning, Lady Henry riding up in front next to the elderly chauffeur (the seat had been removed to accommodate her wheelchair) while William and myself reclined on red leather in the back. We picked up Angelica on the way and she squeezed in between us, warm and alive and smelling of freshly mowed grass.

“I do hope you don’t support the Rockets, Lady Henry,” she exclaimed, “because I must warn you I’m an absolutely rabid fan of the Horsemen!”

Lady Henry gave a breathless, incredulous laugh.

“I can assure you I really have no idea about ‘supporting’ anyone, Angela, but I’m absolutely determined to have fun!” cried the poet’s mother bravely.

She grew braver and braver by the minute. In fact, as the stadium itself came into view and we began to pass the supporters converging on the ground, Lady Henry’s braveness became so intense that I feared it might blow out the windows of the car.

“What a good idea this was, Mr Clancy! What fun! The colours are very striking don’t you think in this light, Angelica? Red, blue. Almost luminous. One thinks of those rather jolly little things that you paint on glass.”

“Which are the Horsemen and which are the Rockets?” I asked.

“The Horsemen wear red,” William began, “because their emblem is a…”

“Here, Buttle,” interrupted Lady Henry, “pull over here and let me speak to this man.”

A steward was directing the crowds to the various gates and Lady Henry waylaid him:

“I say, could you arrange some balcony seats for us please… I will need someone to carry me up the stairs… And our hamper too… No, no reservations…. I do hope you are not going to have to be bureaucratic about this, as I am a personal friend of the mayor… and this is Mr Clancy from the Metropolis, the distinguished writer… Thankyou so much… Here is something for your trouble… You are doing a stalwart job I can see.”

I glanced at William. I could see he was angry and embarrassed, though Angelica seemed just to be amused.

“There,” said Lady Henry with satisfaction. “Drive on Buttle, thankyou. Now if you drop us off just here I believe these are the young men now who are going to help us up the stairs.”

With one steward unpacking our substantial picnic hamper for us, another sent off to find her a blanket and a third dispatched to search for aspirin (for she said she had a migraine coming on), Lady Henry settled into her seat and surveyed the scene.

“Of course, I have absolutely no idea of the rules, William. Just tell me what on earth these young men are going to be trying to do.”

“To begin with the Rockets will be trying to get to the top, mother,” said William, “and the Horsemen will be trying to get to the bottom. After each goal they reverse the direction of play. The main thing is…”

At this point the game itself began, to a great bellow from the crowd.

“The main thing is, mother…” William began again patiently.

But the old lady made an exasperated gesture.

“Oh, this is all much too complicated for me. I’m just going to concentrate on the spectacle of the thing I think. The spectacle. And it is all rather jolly I have to admit. Rather your sort of thing Angelica isn’t it? Red and blue painted on glass. The sort of cheerful, uncomplicated thing that you do so well.”

Then a huge roar of emotion rose around us like a tidal wave, preventing further conversation. A goal had been narrowly averted. Angelica leapt to her feet.

“Come on you reds!” she bellowed like a bull.

William watched her with a small, pained, wistful smile which I could not properly read, but did not join in. Lady Henry winced and looked away.

“I quite liked your last show Angelica,” she said, as soon as the painter sat down in the next lull, “but if you will forgive me for being frank, I am starting to feel that you need to stretch yourself artistically a little more if your work is not in the end to become a bit repetitive and predictable.”

“Let’s just watch the game, shall we, Mother?” said William.

Six massive pylons were arranged in a hexagon around the arena and between them were stretched at high tension a series of horizontal nets, one above another every two metres, ascending to fifty metres up. Each net was punctured by a number of round openings through which the players could drop, jump or climb, but these openings were staggered so that a player could not drop down more than one layer at a time.