Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [12]
chapter 4
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Mr. Salter. "D'you know, I believe it would be as well to keep Lord Copper in ignorance of this incident. The Twopence will be a day ahead of us � perhaps more. Lord Copper would not like that. It might cause trouble for the Foreign Contacts Adviser or �or someone." William's luggage was piled in the Byzantine Hall; even there, under the lofty, gilded vaults, it seemed enormous. He and Mr. Salter regarded it sadly. "I'll have all this sent to your hotel. It must not be seen by the Personal Staff. Here is your application form for an emergency passport. The Art Department will take your photograph and we have an Archdeacon in the Religious Department who will witness it. Then I think you had better keep away from the office until you start. I'm afraid that you've missed the Messageries ship, but there's a P. and O. next day to Aden. You can get across from there. And officially, remember, you left this afternoon." It was a warm evening, heavy with the reek of petrol. William returned sadly to his hotel and re-engaged his room. The last edition of the evening papers was on the streets. Society Beauty in Public Convenience, they said. Mrs. Stitch Again. William walked to Hyde Park. A black man, on a little rostrum, was explaining to a small audience why the Ishmaelite Patriots were right and the Traitors were wrong. William turned away. He noticed with surprise a tiny black car bowling across the grass; it sped on, dexterously swerving between the lovers; he raised his hat, but the driver was intent on her business. Mrs. Stitch had just learned that a baboon, escaped from the Zoo, was up a tree in Kensington Gardens, and she was out to catch it. "Who built the Pyramids?" cried the Ishmaelite orator. "A Negro. Who invented the circulation of the blood? A Negro. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you as impartial members of the great British public, who discovered America?" And William went sadly on his way to a solitary dinner and an early bed.
At the Passport Office next morning they told William that he would want a visa for Ishmaelia. "In fact you may want two. Someone's just opened a rival legation. We haven't recognized it officially of course but you may find it convenient to visit them. Which part are you going to?" "The patriotic part." "Ah, then you'd better get two visas," said the official. William drove to the address they gave him. It was in Maida Vale. He rang the bell and presently a tousled woman opened the door. "Is this the Ishmaelite Legation?" he asked. "No, it's Doctor Cohen's and he's out." "Oh ... I wanted an Ishmaelite visa." "Well, you'd better call again. I daresay Doctor Cohen will have one only he doesn't come here not often except sometimes to sleep." The lower half of another woman appeared on the landing overhead. William could see her bedroom slippers and a length of flannel dressing-gown. "What is it, Effie?" "Man at the door." "Tell him whatever it is we don't want it." "He says will the Doctor give him something or other." "Not without an appointment." The legs disappeared and a door slammed. "That's Mrs. Cohen," said Effie. "You see how it is they're Yids." "Oh dear," said William, "I was told to come here by the Passport Office." "Sure it isn't the nigger downstairs you want?" "Perhaps it is." "Well, why didn't you say so? He's downstairs." William then noticed, for the first time, that a little flag was flying from the area railings. It bore a red hammer and sickle on a black ground. He descended to the basement where, over a door between two dustbins, a notice proclaimed: