Russell Hoban - Her Name Was Lola

‘Right,’ says Lola. ‘Have you been there?’

‘Not yet,’ says Max. ‘It’s one of those things I’ve seen in dreams but not in real life.’

‘What kind of dreams?’

‘All I remember is wideness and greenness and the wind.’

‘By day or by night?’

‘Always by day, in the golden light of late afternoon.’

‘Never in the morning?’

‘Not that I remember.’

PUDDLETOWN, says a sign. An arrow points to WEYMOUTH and Lola turns as directed. At Maumbury Rings she gets on to the road that takes them to MAIDEN CASTLE. ‘Mai Dun is the old name,’ she says as they pull into the car park. And here it is. Not looming very high but very wide, happed in ancient grasses green and brown and tawny. Sheep graze on the layered years. The wind sighs, the ghosts also. Max and his mind as well. The day is bright and sunny but on the cool side with a fresh breeze blowing.

Although this is the beginning of the weekend there aren’t too many cars in the car park. There are information boards and Max wants to read them but Lola pulls him away. ‘Facts will just get between you and it,’ she says. ‘Mai Dun is beyond facts.’

Carrying hamper, sleeping bags and blanket, Max and Lola start up the brown path to the access track. ‘Why is this day different from other days?’ says Max’s mind.

‘You know why,’ says Max.

‘You could have called off this trip after you saw Lula Mae,’ says his mind.

‘I didn’t know how,’ says Max.

‘This day is different from other days,’ says Lola.

‘I know,’ says Max. There are little white daisies and small yellow flowers by the track. ‘What do you call this yellow one?’ says Max.

‘Primula,’ says Lola.

They climb to the inner rampart and feel the sky around them. Looking south past the outer ramparts and ditches they take in the tree-lined fields and meadows undulating in easy sweeps to the blue distance. ‘This is the place,’ says Lola.

‘That’s what Brigham Young said,’ says Max’s mind. ‘Women were no problem for him.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ says Max. ‘Be quiet.’

They spread their blanket and open the hamper which is full of good things including three bottles of Cristal in icy sleeves. At a nod from Lola, Max uncorks the first bottle and Lola takes it from him and pours a little on the ground. ‘Absent friends,’ she says.

‘They’re probably used to something a little less expensive,’ says Max. He pours two glasses and he and Lola drink to each other.

Lola takes the ribbon from her hair, ties it to a long stem of grass where it flutters like a tiny banner. ‘They’re all around us,’ she says, ‘the ones who lived here on Mai Dun thousands of years ago. The wind that’s blowing my ribbon blew the smoke of their fires. Nothing goes away. I chose this day to come here because it’s the vernal equinox, the first day of spring when the night and the day are the same length.’

‘The light and the dark equal,’ says Max as his mind gives him that image: light on the left, dark on the right.

The hamper now gives up its contents: melon and prosciutto, ciabatta and roast peppers, pâté and salami, ripe Camembert and oat crackers. Max uncorks the second bottle which goes down even more smoothly than the first. The third follows in due course.

There are only a few other people, some with dogs, all with cameras taking pictures of the ramparts and ditches, the views and one another. Lola and Max take out their cameras and photograph each other and their picnic spread. ‘I want to stay here till midnight,’ says Lola. She and Max press close to each other as the afternoon grows colder. Evening comes and they’re alone with the sky all around them. They zip the sleeping bags together, take off their clothes, get inside and make each other warm. Max’s rucksack provides a bottle of Courvoisier which dissolves any vestigial chill. Evening becomes night and they lie listening to the speaking of the earth and the wind in the grasses of Mai Dun. Noah’s Ark appears, stranded in Max’s mind from his father’s memory of long ago. The raven flies out, loops the loop once, and is gone. ‘What does this mean?’ Max asks his mind.

‘I can only tell you what I know,’ says his mind, ‘and I don’t know what this image means or why it haunts us.’

The almost-full moon rises and looks down on the banks and ditches of the hill-fort, the labial configurations at either end meant to baffle invaders or possibly honour the white goddess. Despite the paling of the sky the stars are clearly visible, brighter than in London. Burning and flickering, they send their light from before the age of dinosaurs, the Babylonian exile, the fall of Rome, the sack of Jerusalem. ‘See the Great Bear?’ says Lola. ‘Ursa Major?’

‘The Big Dipper,’ says Max, ‘and the North Star.’

‘Polaris,’ says Lola. Gripping Max’s hand, she murmurs rapidly, ‘Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, Dubhe.’

‘What was that?’ says Max.

‘The names of the seven stars of Ursa Major. Say them after me: Alkaid.’

‘Alkaid.’

‘Mizar.’

‘Mizar.’

‘Alioth.’

‘Alioth.’

‘Megrez.’

‘Megrez.’

‘Phecda.’

‘Phecda.’

‘Merak.’

‘Merak.’

‘Dubhe.’

‘Dubhe.’

‘Max and Lola,’ says Lola.

‘Stop,’ says Max’s mind. ‘This is a serious ritual. What are you doing?’

‘Lola and Max,’ says Max. He thinks he might faint.

‘That’s it then,’ says Lola. ‘That’s us with the seven and the absent friends. And Hale-Bopp says yes.’

‘Who’s Hale-Bopp?’

‘The comet. It’s up there in the northwest between Andromeda and Cassiopeia. Very bright, although you can see the tail better on moonless nights.’ She takes Max’s head in her hands and aims him at the comet. ‘See it?’

‘Got it. You seem to be good friends with the stars.’

‘Yes,’ says Lola, ‘good friends with the stars. I’m pregnant.’

When Eve first said those two words to Adam she watched his face closely. Lola’s doing the same with Max.

‘Wow,’ says Max.

‘Say more,’ says Lola.

‘Speechless,’ says Max. Big hug, big kiss.

‘So you’re happy about it?’ says Lola.

‘Like crazy,’ says Max.

March 1997. It’s 01:15 so it’s the 22nd now. Lola has just made her announcement and Max has said his very few words. It’ll take about ten minutes to come down from Mai Dun and walk back to the car. Not much traffic at this time in the morning so it’s maybe two and a half hours back to Fulham. Say a total of two hours and forty minutes that have to be filled with something. ‘What am I going to say?’ Max says to his mind. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ says his mind. ‘What we have here is overload. All I want to do is be somewhere else.’

‘That makes two of us,’ says Max.

‘Two of us what?’ says Lola.

‘Two of us with something to think about.’

‘You said you’re happy about it but you don’t seem happy,’ she says.

‘It’s a lot to take in,’ says Max. He squeezes her hand but she doesn’t squeeze back.

‘I’ve never come here with anyone else,’ says Lola. ‘Never said the names of the seven at midnight on this day of the year with anyone before.’

‘I’ll never forget this day and night as long as I live,’ says Max.

‘You look, you sound, as if you’re saying goodbye,’ says Lola.

‘The present is always saying goodbye to the past,’ says Max.

‘You never used to talk bollocks like that,’ says Lola. ‘Wait a minute — do I smell Lula Mae Flowers again?’