West issued a statement saying she was returning to London and would not appear in the mixed.
‘Typical Rebecca,’ said Wells. ‘Change your mind on the spur of the moment. No discussion. No consultation. Completely irrational.’
‘What an arsehole,’ said Stead.
‘Rebecca’s own son agrees with me,’ said Wells.
‘And what sex is her son?’ asked Stead. ‘Is he, for example, male?’
‘The point is, what am I supposed to do now?’
‘Of course,’ said Stead. ‘Of course that is the point.’
Tallulah Bankhead, beaten by Bessie Smith, explained she was really here to play in the mixed but wasn’t quite sure who would partner her. ‘Haven’t decided yet. I’m looking.’
Does she like what she sees?
‘I do. Yes. Very much.’
When does she think she’ll know?
‘Not sure. Auditions are coming along nicely.’
Does she concede that this is all a little bit unusual?
‘For whom, dear?’
Hannah Arendt, who beat Sylvia Beach today and looks very good, was in even worse trouble. She was asked if she could explain her choice of mixed-doubles partner.
‘The question is flawed. Martin Heidegger is the partner I have chosen. No one else can make my choice.’
That is acknowledged. But could she nevertheless please explain it?
‘The fact that you do not understand something does not compel me to explain it.’
How might it be possible to understand something without information?
‘You did not ask for information or for understanding, but for an explanation.’
Could she speak into the microphone, please?
‘Certainly.’
Has she known Heidegger for a long time?
‘For many years.’
And have they played together a lot?
‘Many, many times.’
How did she explain the fact that their games seemed so different?
‘Could you put that question again without the word “seem” in it?’
Would she not admit that Heidegger’s entire approach was different from her own?
‘“Admit”? What is this? I’m not allowed to select my own partner?’
Could she answer the question, please?
‘I suggest the person to ask about “Heidegger’s entire approach” is Heidegger.’
But how might Heidegger’s approach differ from her own?
‘In that it is Heidegger’s.’
Did she agree with Heidegger?
‘Heidegger believes we should go to dinner tonight. I am considering this.’
Mystery-man Ludwig Wittgenstein was matched against the combined might of the highly fancied Lawrence of Nottingham, his personal trainer Frieda, sister of the Red Baron, the entire British press and 3000 English supporters.
Frank ‘the Ferret’ and Queenie Leavis, already eliminated, have been whipping up interest in the young champion. ‘There are five great players,’ the Ferret told Roland Barthes, ‘and Lawrence is one of only two still alive; the other of course being Jane Austen.’
When it was pointed out that Austen had died in 1817, the Ferret took the view that ‘in that rather narrow and limited sense she is, certainly, not as fully alive within the conventional meaning of the term, as are, for example, a great many persons still living today.’
Wittgenstein perked up somewhat when he heard this. ‘That is interesting,’ he said and for twenty minutes he remained silent. Then he said, ‘No.’
The result of the match was never in doubt as Lawrence found himself bereft of any real defence against the deceptive angles and superb ground strokes of a top international player very much at the height of his powers. English bookmakers will have dropped a bundle today and Lawrence’s first task when he returns home is to appear before a disciplinary hearing following an outburst in the first set which obliged officials to clear the court and disinfect the area behind the baseline at the southern end.
In other matches, Nijinsky brushed Les Hartley aside, Spock took Diaghilev apart and local fervour was satisfied by the passage of Georges Seurat through the challenging waters of the Bay of Ernst.
Nijinsky continues to look fabulous, although after the match he described himself as ‘The Supreme Being’ and offered to describe how he created the world. Friends say this is not a good sign.
Diaghilev was shocked to go out of the tournament, especially to someone who has never won at this level, but the Spockster is fit and smart and read the match well. ‘Diaghilev sees this whole thing as a battle between men. He told me during the hit-up that he would crush me, so I knew he had a problem. He didn’t need to crush me. He just needed to play better tennis.’
‘Mad’ was Diaghilev’s verdict on his opponent. ‘If I ever play him again I’ll crush him.’
The finale this evening had an element of tragedy about it. Frank Lloyd Wright, lacklustre against John Masefield in the first round, came out tonight against Rainer Rilke with a different plan. ‘This time I went back to what I learnt in Tokyo.’ (Wright won the Japanese Open the year the tournament was played during an earthquake.) Rilke won the first set and at 2–4 in the second Wright sat down and began to run water over his head and across his shoulders, allowing it to cascade over the back of the chair and onto the ground. At 4–4 he ran it down his arms and let it plunge from his thighs onto some nearby plants. Then he came out and began opening up huge spaces out wide and balancing them with volleys to the other side. In no time he had taken the second set and was looking a very good thing at 5–2 in the third. His confidence was high and he was punching the air and shouting ‘Come on!’ after points which went his way.
The more assured Wright became of victory, however, the more Rilke lifted. At 8–8 in the tie-break Rilke dropped back and moved wide to receive service and Wright went down the middle. How Rilke got to this is anyone’s guess but he put it on the line in the back corner. Wright knew he was in trouble at a set down and the Czech looked as if he had just invented a new type of saxophone. Wright came back and took the fourth and might have pulled off a
