A Masque for the Wedding

Tonight be hostess. None must see
the Drang behind your gaiety.
Your houselights glitter, green and red,
the bride is searching for the groom
who has withdrawn to sulk in bed,
persuaded by the ocean's boom
he is The One who sojourns on
through gulfs where lighthouse never shone,
the boy! Tonight promote the wit,
and joke-as-good to follow it:
disguise your daughter's sobbing, take
heart from the hired crooner's song:
ignore the threats her brothers make,
the grouchy whispers in the throng.
Be tactful, calm and wise, dispel
the wicked rumours that foretell
the loss of someone very dear,
the brothers who will interfere,
for even now the levelled gun
is smoking, and the crowd's recoiled.
The bride's white wedding gown is spoiled
and round her bridesmaids scream and run.

Tonight be radiant, be the bride,
be Daddy's Precious, Daddy's pride.
Yes, move beneath the coloured lights
where every glass is raised to you
and every smiling eye invites
favours you smilingly eschew.
Behind you stand your Brothers Three
who eye the crowd derisively
and growl as you implore the groom
to come down from his upstairs room.
Every leaf and bird is still;
the moon is caged, the brilliant moon
these trees will not set free until
the groom fall at your feet aswoon
and gently as a rising tide
you raise the husband to your side.
But his balcony stays black;
the mutters start behind your back,
the crowd is pressing and you feel
the touch of something very cold.
Be brave, for now you're being told
you have a wound that will not heal.

Tonight be awkward, be the groom
the taciturn young man for whom
the ceremony is arranged.
Your hiding place is cold and dark;
the pledge you made cannot be changed.
Across the water signals spark
like fireworks from ships that steam
to search the gulfs in which you dream
of one who's trained to shoot on sight
an agent who is here tonight.
Downstairs the call for you is loud;
the guests are waiting like a net.
Though some you know are in the crowd
your bride is one you haven't met.
Though all have praised her loveliness
she fills you with a vague distress
as if some terrible event
was aimed at her with your consent.
Now out at sea a signal beams,
The hired assassin has slipped through
and will make good his rendezvous.
Rigid, you listen for the screams.

Tonight be swift, make no mistakes,
be him the brilliant moon forsakes.
Observe the radio-silence, cross
The Strait where hostile ships patrol.
The beach is as it should be, toss
your wet clothes in the shallow hole.
Strike north across the dunes, then veer
north-east as soon as lights appear.
Reach the ‘safe house’ by five to one.
Eat here, then change, and check the gun.
Proceed. There will be checkpoints. Flit
down alley and the unlit road.
On reaching target-zone transmit
a signal briefly; use the code.
Enter. The gateman has been paid.
Note where the target is displayed—
you'll recognise her long white dress,
she may show signs of some distress.
Approach. Shoot now. That's good. That's clean.
The guests are shouting wild alarms.
Three men have pinned you by the arms.
They'll kill you, as you had foreseen.

Tonight be audience and see
the action in the allegory.
The girl who now will change her name
is at the centre of the scene.
The hired assassin hardly came,
the sea is moonlit and serene.
Drink to her as she talks to each,
drink to her father's comic speech,
drink to the bridegroom's flushed reply
then doze beneath this kindly sky.
Tomorrow there is ample time
for the disguises love may bring
to play their risky pantomime
and show the world their everything.
But now the night is drawing on.
The blissful couple must be gone
to where bliss is, and so must you.
Wink at the host and hostess who
now smile with joy and some remorse,
wink at the groom, so near the bride
who never really left her side,
whose smile is purest joy, of course.