The Lost Girl - D. H. Lawrence (great books to read .txt) 📗

And you two are cycling back to the camp of Kishwégin tonight?
We mustn't prolong our cheerfulness too far."

"Ciccio is staying to help me with my bag tomorrow," said Alvina.
"You know I've joined the Tawaras permanently—as pianist."

"No, I didn't know that! Oh really! Really! Oh! Well! I see! Permanently! Yes, I am surprised! Yes! As pianist? And if I might ask, what is your share of the tribal income?"

"That isn't settled yet," said Alvina.

"No! Exactly! Exactly! It wouldn't be settled yet. And you say it is a permanent engagement? Of cauce, at such a figure."

"Yes, it is a permanent engagement," said Alvina.

"Really! What a blow you give me! You won't come back to the
Endeavour? What? Not at all?"

"No," said Alvina. "I shall sell out of the Endeavour."

"Really! You've decided, have you? Oh! This is news to me. And is this quite final, too?"

"Quite," said Alvina.

"I see! Putting two and two together, if I may say so—" and he glanced from her to the young men—"I see. Most decidedly, most one-sidedly, if I may use the vulgarism, I see—e—e! Oh! but what a blow you give me! What a blow you give me!"

"Why?" said Alvina.

"What's to become of the Endeavour? and consequently, of poor me?"

"Can't you keep it going?—form a company?"

"I'm afraid I can't. I've done my best. But I'm afraid, you know, you've landed me."

"I'm so sorry," said Alvina. "I hope not."

"Thank you for the hope" said Mr. May sarcastically. "They say hope is sweet. I begin to find it a little bitter!"

Poor man, he had already gone quite yellow in the face. Ciccio and
Geoffrey watched him with dark-seeing eyes.

"And when are you going to let this fatal decision take effect?" asked Mr. May.

"I'm going to see the lawyer tomorrow, and I'm going to tell him to sell everything and clear up as soon as possible," said Alvina.

"Sell everything! This house, and all it contains?"

"Yes," said Alvina. "Everything."

"Really!" Mr. May seemed smitten quite dumb. "I feel as if the world had suddenly come to an end," he said.

"But hasn't your world often come to an end before?" said Alvina.

"Well—I suppose, once or twice. But never quite on top of me, you see, before—"

There was a silence.

"And have you told Miss Pinnegar?" said Mr. May.

"Not finally. But she has decided to open a little business in
Tamworth, where she has relations."

"Has she! And are you really going to tour with these young people—?" he indicated Ciccio and Gigi. "And at no salary!" His voice rose. "Why! It's almost White Slave Traffic, on Madame's part. Upon my word!"

"I don't think so," said Alvina. "Don't you see that's insulting."

"Insulting! Well, I don't know. I think it's the truth—"

"Not to be said to me, for all that," said Alvina, quivering with anger.

"Oh!" perked Mr. May, yellow with strange rage. "Oh! I mustn't say what I think! Oh!"

"Not if you think those things—" said Alvina.

"Oh really! The difficulty is, you see, I'm afraid I do think them—" Alvina watched him with big, heavy eyes.

"Go away," she said. "Go away! I won't be insulted by you."

"No indeed!" cried Mr. May, starting to his feet, his eyes almost bolting from his head. "No indeed! I wouldn't think of insulting you in the presence of these two young gentlemen."

Ciccio rose slowly, and with a slow, repeated motion of the head, indicated the door.

"Allez!" he said.

"Certainement!" cried Mr. May, flying at Ciccio, verbally, like an enraged hen yellow at the gills. "Certainement! Je m'en vais. Cette compagnie n'est pas de ma choix."

"Allez!" said Ciccio, more loudly.

And Mr. May strutted out of the room like a bird bursting with its own rage. Ciccio stood with his hands on the table, listening. They heard Mr. May slam the front door.

"Gone!" said Geoffrey.

Ciccio smiled sneeringly.

"Voyez, un cochon de lait," said Gigi amply and calmly.

Ciccio sat down in his chair. Geoffrey poured out some beer for him, saying:

"Drink, my Cic', the bubble has burst, prfff!" And Gigi knocked in his own puffed cheek with his fist. "Allaye, my dear, your health! We are the Tawaras. We are Allaye! We are Pacohuila! We are Walgatchka! Allons! The milk-pig is stewed and eaten. Voilà!" He drank, smiling broadly.

"One by one," said Geoffrey, who was a little drunk: "One by one we put them out of the field, they are hors de combat. Who remains? Pacohuila, Walgatchka, Allaye—"

He smiled very broadly. Alvina was sitting sunk in thought and torpor after her sudden anger.

"Allaye, what do you think about? You are the bride of Tawara," said
Geoffrey.

Alvina looked at him, smiling rather wanly.

"And who is Tawara?" she asked.

He raised his shoulders and spread his hands and swayed his head from side to side, for all the world like a comic mandarin.

"There!" he cried. "The question! Who is Tawara? Who? Tell me! Ciccio is he—and I am he—and Max and Louis—" he spread his hand to the distant members of the tribe.

"I can't be the bride of all four of you," said Alvina, laughing.

"No—no! No—no! Such a thing does not come into my mind. But you are the Bride of Tawara. You dwell in the tent of Pacohuila. And comes the day, should it ever be so, there is no room for you in the tent of Pacohuila, then the lodge of Walgatchka the bear is open for you. Open, yes, wide open—" He spread his arms from his ample chest, at the end of the table. "Open, and when Allaye enters, it is the lodge of Allaye, Walgatchka is the bear that serves Allaye. By the law of the Pale Face, by the law of the Yenghees, by the law of the Fransayes, Walgatchka shall be husband-bear to Allaye, that day she lifts the door-curtain of his tent—"

He rolled his eyes and looked around. Alvina watched him.

"But I might be afraid of a husband-bear," she said.

Geoffrey got on to his feet.

"By the Manitou," he said, "the head of the bear Walgatchka is humble—" here Geoffrey bowed his head—"his teeth are as soft as lilies—" here he opened his mouth and put his finger on his small close teeth—"his hands are as soft as bees that stroke a flower—" here he spread his hands and went and suddenly flopped on his knees beside Alvina, showing his hands and his teeth still, and rolling his eyes. "Allaye can have no fear at all of the bear Walgatchka," he said, looking up at her comically.

Ciccio, who had been watching and slightly grinning, here rose to his feet and took Geoffrey by the shoulder, pulling him up.

"Basta!" he said. "Tu es saoul. You are drunk, my Gigi. Get up. How are you going to ride to Mansfield, hein?—great beast."

"Ciccio," said Geoffrey solemnly. "I love thee, I love thee as a brother, and also more. I love thee as a brother, my Ciccio, as thou knowest. But—" and he puffed fiercely—"I am the slave of Allaye, I am the tame bear of Allaye."

"Get up," said Ciccio, "get up! Per bacco! She doesn't want a tame bear." He smiled down on his friend.

Geoffrey rose to his feet and flung his arms round Ciccio.

"Cic'," he besought him. "Cic'—I love thee as a brother. But let me be the tame bear of Allaye, let me be the gentle bear of Allaye."

"All right," said Ciccio. "Thou art the tame bear of Allaye."

Geoffrey strained Ciccio to his breast.

"Thank you! Thank you! Salute me, my own friend."

And Ciccio kissed him on either cheek. Whereupon Geoffrey immediately flopped on his knees again before Alvina, and presented her his broad, rich-coloured cheek.

"Salute your bear, Allaye," he cried. "Salute your slave, the tame bear Walgatchka, who is a wild bear for all except Allaye and his brother Pacohuila the Puma." Geoffrey growled realistically as a wild bear as he kneeled before Alvina, presenting his cheek.

Alvina looked at Ciccio, who stood above, watching. Then she lightly kissed him on the cheek, and said:

"Won't you go to bed and sleep?"

Geoffrey staggered to his feet, shaking his head.

"No—no—" he said. "No—no! Walgatchka must travel to the tent of
Kishwégin, to the Camp of the Tawaras."

"Not tonight, mon brave," said Ciccio. "Tonight we stay here, hein. Why separate, hein?—frère?"

Geoffrey again clasped Ciccio in his arms.

"Pacohuila and Walgatchka are blood-brothers, two bodies, one blood. One blood, in two bodies; one stream, in two valleys: one lake, between two mountains."

Here Geoffrey gazed with large, heavy eyes on Ciccio. Alvina brought a candle and lighted it.

"You will manage in the one room?" she said. "I will give you another pillow."

She led the way upstairs. Geoffrey followed, heavily. Then Ciccio. On the landing Alvina gave them the pillow and the candle, smiled, bade them good-night in a whisper, and went downstairs again. She cleared away the supper and carried away all glasses and bottles from the drawing-room. Then she washed up, removing all traces of the feast. The cards she restored to their old mahogany box. Manchester House looked itself again.

She turned off the gas at the meter, and went upstairs to bed. From the far room she could hear the gentle, but profound vibrations of Geoffrey's snoring. She was tired after her day: too tired to trouble about anything any more.

But in the morning she was first downstairs. She heard Miss Pinnegar, and hurried. Hastily she opened the windows and doors to drive away the smell of beer and smoke. She heard the men rumbling in the bath-room. And quickly she prepared breakfast and made a fire. Mrs. Rollings would not appear till later in the day. At a quarter to seven Miss Pinnegar came down, and went into the scullery to make her tea.

"Did both the men stay?" she asked.

"Yes, they both slept in the end room," said Alvina.

Miss Pinnegar said no more, but padded with her tea and her boiled egg into the living room. In the morning she was wordless.

Ciccio came down, in his shirt-sleeves as usual, but wearing a collar. He greeted Miss Pinnegar politely.

"Good-morning!" she said, and went on with her tea.

Geoffrey appeared. Miss Pinnegar glanced once at him, sullenly, and briefly answered his good-morning. Then she went on with her egg, slow and persistent in her movements, mum.

The men went out to attend to Geoffrey's bicycle. The morning was slow and grey, obscure. As they pumped up the tires, they heard some one padding behind. Miss Pinnegar came and unbolted the yard door, but ignored their presence. Then they saw her return and slowly mount the outer stair-ladder, which went up to the top floor. Two minutes afterwards they were startled by the irruption of the work-girls. As for the work-girls, they gave quite loud, startled squeals, suddenly seeing the two men on their right hand, in the obscure morning. And they lingered on the stair-way to gaze in rapt curiosity, poking and whispering, until Miss Pinnegar appeared overhead, and sharply rang a bell which hung beside the entrance door of the work-rooms.

After which excitements Geoffrey and Ciccio went in to breakfast, which Alvina had prepared.

"You have done it all, eh?" said Ciccio, glancing round.

"Yes. I've made breakfast for years, now," said Alvina.

"Not many more times here, eh?" he said, smiling significantly.

"I hope not," said Alvina.

Ciccio sat down almost like a husband—as if it were his right.

Geoffrey was very quiet this morning. He ate his breakfast, and rose to go.

"I shall see you soon," he said, smiling sheepishly and bowing to
Alvina. Ciccio accompanied him to the street.

When Ciccio returned, Alvina was once more washing dishes.

"What time shall we go?" he said.

"We'll catch the one train. I must see the lawyer this morning."

"And what shall you say to him?"

"I shall tell him to sell everything—"

"And marry me?"

She started, and looked at him.

"You don't want to marry, do you?" she said.

"Yes, I do."

"Wouldn't you rather wait, and see—"

"What?" he said.

"See if there is any money."

He watched her steadily, and his brow darkened.

"Why?" he said.

She began to tremble.

"You'd like it better if there was money."

A slow, sinister smile came on his mouth. His eyes never smiled, except to Geoffrey,