The Sheltering Sky - Bowles, Paul [16]
Port thought of the cool subterranean bodegas at Jerez where Tio Pepe of 1842 had been tendered him, and ordered the same. The young man looked at him with a certain curiosity in his eyes, but said nothing. Presently a large, sallow-skinned woman, her hair fiery with henna, appeared in the doorway and squealed. She had the glassy black eyes of a doll; their lack of expression was accentuated by the gleaming make-up around them. The young man turned in her direction.
“Hello, Mother. Come in and sit down.”
The woman moved to the youth’s side but did not sit. In her excitement and indignation she seemed not to have noticed Port. Her voice was very high. “Eric, you filthy toad!” she cried. “Do you realize I’ve been looking for you everywhere? I’ve never seen such behavior! And what are you drinking? What do you mean by drinking, after what Doctor Levy told you? You wretched, boy!”
The young man did not look at her. “Don’t scream so, Mother.”
She glanced in Port’s direction, saw him. “What is that you’re drinking, Eric?” she demanded again, her voice slightly more subdued, but no less intense.
“It’s just sherry, and it’s quite delightful. I wish you wouldn’t get so upset.”
“And who do you think’s going to pay for your caprices?” She seated herself on the stool beside him and began to fumble in her bag. “Oh, blast! I’ve come off without my key,” she said. “Thanks to your thoughtlessness. You’ll have to let me in through your room. I’ve discovered the sweetest mosque, but it’s covered with brats all shrieking like demons. Filthy little beasts, they are! I’ll show it to you tomorrow. Order a glass of sherry for me, if it’s dry. I think it might help me. I’ve felt wretched all day. I’m positive it’s the malaria coming back. It’s about time for it, you know.”
“Otro Tio Pepe, ” said the youth imperturbably.
Port watched, fascinated as always by the sight of a human being brought down to the importance of an automaton or a caricature. By whatever circumstances and in whatever manner reduced, whether ludicrous or horrible, such persons delighted him.
The dining room was unfriendly and formal to a degree which is acceptable only when the service is impeccable; this was not the case here. The waiters were impassive and moved slowly. They seemed to have difficulty in understanding the wants even of the French; certainly they showed no sign of interest in pleasing anyone. The two English people were given a table near the corner where Port and Kit were eating; Tunner was out with his French girl.
“Here they are,” whispered Port. “Keep an ear open. But try and keep a straight face.”
“He looks like a young Vacher,” said Kit, leaning far over the table, “the one who wandered across France slicing children into pieces, you remember?”
They were silent a few minutes, hoping to be diverted by the other table, but mother and son appeared to have nothing to say to each other. Finally Port turned to Kit and said: “Oh, while I think of it, what was all that this morning? “
“Do we have to go into it now?”
“No, but I was just asking. I thought maybe you could answer.”
“You saw all there was to see.”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I thought so.”
“Oh, can’t you see—” Kit began in a tone of exasperation; then she stopped. She was about to say: “Can’t you see that I didn’t want Tunner to know you hadn’t come back last night? Can’t you see he’d be interested to know that? Can’t you see it would give him just the wedge he’s looking for?” Instead she said: “Do we have to discuss it? I told you the whole story when you came in. He came while I was having breakfast and I sent him into your room to wait while I got dressed. Isn’t that perfectly proper?”
“It depends on your conception of propriety, baby.”
“It certainly does,” she said acidly. “You notice I haven’t mentioned what you did last night.”
Port smiled and said smoothly: “You couldn’t very well, since you don’t know.”
“And I don’t want to.” She was letting her anger show in spite of herself. “You can think whatever you want to think. I don’t give a damn.” She glanced over at the other table and noticed that the large bright eyed woman was following what she could of their conversation with acute interest. When that lady saw that Kit was aware of her attention, she turned back to the youth and began a loud monologue of her own.