Read Online Sea Fury (1971) by James Pattinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Pattinson
Tags: Action/Adventure
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again. In his business you had to keep the fingers strong and supple.
Pearl was sewing a button on one of his shirts; the female half even of an acrobatic and juggling team had to turn her hand to domestic tasks, especially when the team was not terribly prosperous.
She said, not lifting her eyes from the sewing, voicing that uneasiness concerning the future which she could never banish completely from her mind, “Do you really think it will work out, Syd?”
He went on squeezing the ball, his fingers pressing and relaxing, pressing and relaxing, again and again. He was standing with his back to her, looking out through the porthole, watching the glitter of the sunlight reflected in the sea.
“Do I think what will work out?”
Though he asked the question, he knew what she meant; only too well, he knew. And it worried him a little also, though he never admitted it.
“You know. Australia. Will there be anything for us there? Will there?”
He did not turn. She severed the cotton with her teethand looked at his strong back, at the muscular shape of his neck that she knew so well. She was worried for him more than for herself; she could always find something to do; if it came to the worst she could go back to the old kind of job, become a waitress again.
But Syd was different; the world of show business had been his world from childhood; it was everything to him. Whenever she suggested that there might be other ways of earning a living, easier, safer ways, he would dismiss the idea with contempt.
“You expect me to work in an office or something? Me, Sydney East? You must be out of your mind.”
It was useless to point out that it did not have to be an office job, that there were plenty of other openings for a man of his age and ability. But it might not always be so; he was not getting any younger; if he were going to make the break now surely was the time. But would he? Would he not go on trying to fight his way back to the top even though he must surely realise the attempt was doomed to failure?
“Of course there’ll be something for us,” he said. “It’s a big country, Australia. Growing fast. New people pouring in. People need entertaining, don’t they? They don’t work all the time. They’ve got to have relaxation.”
“They’ve got television.”
Television was the villain of the piece. It was television that Sydney East always blamed for the death of the music-halls, the provincial theatre circuits. Pearl believed they would have died anyway; television just gave them the final push. But it was no use telling him that.
Now he switched his ground. “Why shouldn’t we get on television? The telly has to have entertainers too, you know. Somebody has to get up in front of the cameras and perform .”
It was an old dream. He had dreamed about it in England too, but it had never come to anything. The competition was too fierce. And why would it be any easier in Australia? She wished he would come to terms with the situation, stop dreaming about impossible successes; that way there could lie nothing but disappointment. She was woman enough to hanker after security, and she could see no security in the East and West line of country.
East pursued the subject; he turned away from the porthole and faced his wife; he even stopped squeezing the ball. “If we could just get a chance on Australian television it might be the start of something really big. Millions see you. Maybe they like you. They want more.”
She could see that light in his eyes that she knew only too well and had learnt to distrust. It was his visionary look. But what could there be for them on Australian television? Most of the programmes were probably canned imports from the United States or Britain. Australian performers emigrated, didn’t they? So what hope was there for newcomers? She wanted to tell him not to kid himself; that it was all wishful thinking and would never come to anything; but she could not bring herself to
Pearl was sewing a button on one of his shirts; the female half even of an acrobatic and juggling team had to turn her hand to domestic tasks, especially when the team was not terribly prosperous.
She said, not lifting her eyes from the sewing, voicing that uneasiness concerning the future which she could never banish completely from her mind, “Do you really think it will work out, Syd?”
He went on squeezing the ball, his fingers pressing and relaxing, pressing and relaxing, again and again. He was standing with his back to her, looking out through the porthole, watching the glitter of the sunlight reflected in the sea.
“Do I think what will work out?”
Though he asked the question, he knew what she meant; only too well, he knew. And it worried him a little also, though he never admitted it.
“You know. Australia. Will there be anything for us there? Will there?”
He did not turn. She severed the cotton with her teethand looked at his strong back, at the muscular shape of his neck that she knew so well. She was worried for him more than for herself; she could always find something to do; if it came to the worst she could go back to the old kind of job, become a waitress again.
But Syd was different; the world of show business had been his world from childhood; it was everything to him. Whenever she suggested that there might be other ways of earning a living, easier, safer ways, he would dismiss the idea with contempt.
“You expect me to work in an office or something? Me, Sydney East? You must be out of your mind.”
It was useless to point out that it did not have to be an office job, that there were plenty of other openings for a man of his age and ability. But it might not always be so; he was not getting any younger; if he were going to make the break now surely was the time. But would he? Would he not go on trying to fight his way back to the top even though he must surely realise the attempt was doomed to failure?
“Of course there’ll be something for us,” he said. “It’s a big country, Australia. Growing fast. New people pouring in. People need entertaining, don’t they? They don’t work all the time. They’ve got to have relaxation.”
“They’ve got television.”
Television was the villain of the piece. It was television that Sydney East always blamed for the death of the music-halls, the provincial theatre circuits. Pearl believed they would have died anyway; television just gave them the final push. But it was no use telling him that.
Now he switched his ground. “Why shouldn’t we get on television? The telly has to have entertainers too, you know. Somebody has to get up in front of the cameras and perform .”
It was an old dream. He had dreamed about it in England too, but it had never come to anything. The competition was too fierce. And why would it be any easier in Australia? She wished he would come to terms with the situation, stop dreaming about impossible successes; that way there could lie nothing but disappointment. She was woman enough to hanker after security, and she could see no security in the East and West line of country.
East pursued the subject; he turned away from the porthole and faced his wife; he even stopped squeezing the ball. “If we could just get a chance on Australian television it might be the start of something really big. Millions see you. Maybe they like you. They want more.”
She could see that light in his eyes that she knew only too well and had learnt to distrust. It was his visionary look. But what could there be for them on Australian television? Most of the programmes were probably canned imports from the United States or Britain. Australian performers emigrated, didn’t they? So what hope was there for newcomers? She wanted to tell him not to kid himself; that it was all wishful thinking and would never come to anything; but she could not bring herself to
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