The Sheltering Sky - Bowles, Paul [44]
Eric had finally extracted a worn thousand-franc note, and held it forth with a faint, propitiatory smile. “I hope you have change for this,” he said, finally looking into Port’s face, but as though it were costing him a great effort. Port sensed that this was the important moment, but he had no idea why. “I don’t know,” he said, not taking the proffered bill. “Do you want me to look?”
“If you could.” His voice was very low. As Port clumsily got out of bed and went to the valise where he kept his money and documents, Eric seemed to take courage.
“I do feel like a rotter, coming here in the middle of the night and bothering you this way, but first of all I want to get this off my mind, and besides, I need the change badly, and they don’t seem to have any here in the hotel, and Mother and I are leaving first thing in the morning for Messad and I was afraid I might not see you again-“
“You are? Messad?” Port turned, his wallet in his hand. “Really? Good Lord! And our friend Mr. Tunner wants so much to go!”
“Oh?” Eric stood up slowly. ‘Oh?” he said again. “I daresay we could take him along.” He looked at Port’s face and saw it brighten. “But we’re leaving at daybreak. You’d better go immediately and tell him to be ready downstairs at six-thirty. We’ve ordered tea for six o’clock. You’d better have him do likewise.”
“I’ll do that,” said Port, slipping his wallet into his pocket. “I’ll also ask him for the change, which I don’t seem to have.”
“Good. Good,” Eric said with a smile, sitting down again on the bed.
Port found Tunner naked, wandering distractedly around his room with a DDT bomb in his hand. “Come in, ” he said. “This stuff is no good.”
“What have you got?”
“Bedbugs, for one thing.”
“Listen. Do you want to go to Messad tomorrow morning at six-thirty?”
“I want to go tonight at eleven-thirty. Why?”
“The Lyles will drive you.”
“And then what?”
Port improvised. “They’ll be coming back here in a few days and going straight on to Bou Noura. They’ll take you down and we’ll be there expecting you. Lyle’s in my room now. Do you want to talk with him?”
“No.” There was a silence. The electric light suddenly went off, then came on, a feeble orange worm inside the bulb, so that the room looked as if it were being viewed through heavy black glasses. Tunner glanced at his disordered bed and shrugged. “What time did you say?”
“Six-thirty they’re going.”
“Tell him I’ll be down at the door.” He frowned at Port, a faint suspicion in his face. “And you. Why aren’t you going.
“They’ll only take one,” he lied, “and besides, I like it here.”
“You won’t once you’ve gotten into your bed,” said Tunner bitterly.
“You’ll probably have them in Messad too,” Port suggested. He felt safe now.
“I’ll take my chances on any hotel after this one.”
“We’ll look for you in a few days in Bou Noura. Don’t crash any harems.”
He shut the door behind him and went back to his room. Eric was still sitting in the same position on the bed, but he had lighted another cigarette, “Mr. Tunner is delighted, and’ll meet you at six-thirty down at the door. Oh, damn! I forgot to ask him about the change for your thousand francs.” He hesitated, about to go back out.
“Don’t bother, please. He can change it for me tomorrow on the way, in case I need it changed.”
Port opened his mouth to say: ‘But I thought you wanted to pay me back the three hundred.” He thought better of it. Now that the thing was settled, it would be tragic to risk a slip-up, just for a few francs. So he smiled and said: “Surely. Well, I hope we’ll see you when you come back.”
“Yes, indeed,” smiled Eric, looking at the floor. He got up suddenly and went to the door. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Port locked the door after him and stood by it, musing. Eric’s behavior had impressed him as being unusually eccentric, yet he still suspected that it was explainable. Being sleepy, he turned off what remained of the light and got into bed. The dogs barked in chorus, far and nearby, but he was not molested by vermin.
That night he awoke sobbing. His being was a well a thousand miles deep; he rose from the lower regions with a sense of infinite sadness and repose, but with no memory of any dream save the faceless voice that had whispered: