No More Parades - Ford Madox Ford (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ford Madox Ford
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Sylvia called across to him:
“Wouldn’t it be fun to see the blue uniform with the silver buttons again and some decently set-up men? …”
The general shouted:
“I’d be glad to see them … I’m sick to death of these …”
Tietjens took up something he had been saying to Cowley: what it was Sylvia did not hear, but Cowley answered, still droning on with an idea Sylvia thought they had got past:
“I remember when I was sergeant in Quetta, I detailed a man—called Herring—for watering the company horses, after he begged off it because he had a fear of horses … A horse got him down in the river and drowned ’im … Fell with him and put its foot on his face … A fair sight he was … It wasn’t any good my saying anything about military exigencies … Fair put me off my feed, it did … Cost me a fortune in Epsom salts …”
Sylvia was about to scream out that if Tietjens did not like men being killed it ought to sober him in his war-lust, but Cowley continued meditatively:
“Epsom salts they say is the cure for it … For seeing your dead … And of course you should keep off women for a fortnight … I know I did. Kept seeing Herring’s face with the hoof-mark. And … there was a piece: a decent bit of goods in what we called the Government Compound …”
He suddenly exclaimed:
“Saving your … Ma’am, I’m …” He stuck the stump of the cigar into his teeth and began assuring Tietjens that he could be trusted with the draft next morning, if only Tietjens would put him into the taxi.
He went away, leaning on Tietjens’ arm, his legs at an angle of sixty degrees with the carpet …
“He can’t …” Sylvia said to herself, “he can’t, not … If he’s a gentleman … After all that old fellow’s hints … He’d be a damn coward if he kept off … For a fortnight … And who else is there not a public …” She said: “O God! …”
The old general, lying in his chair, turned his face aside to say:
“I wouldn’t, madam, not if I were you, talk about the blue uniform with silver buttons here … We, of course, understand …”
She said: “You see … even that extinct volcano … He’s undressing me with his eyes full of blood veins … Then why can’t he? …”
She said aloud:
“Oh, but even you, general, said you were sick of your companions!”
She said to herself:
“Hang it! … I will have the courage of my convictions … No man shall say I am a coward …”
She said:
“Isn’t it saying the same thing as you, general, to say that I’d rather be made love to by a well-set-up man in blue and silver—or anything else!—than by most of the people one sees here! …”
The general said:
“Of course, if you put it that way, madam …” She said:
“What other way should a woman put it?” … She reached to the table and filled herself a lot of brandy. The old general was leering towards her:
“Bless me,” he said, “a lady who takes liquor like that …”
She said:
“You’re a Papist, aren’t you? With the name of O’Hara and the touch of the brogue you have … And the devil you no doubt are with … You know what … Well, then … It’s with a special intention! … As you say your Hail Marks …”
With the liquor burning inside her she saw Tietjens loom in the dim light.
The general, to her bitter amusement, said to him: “Your friend was more than a bit on … Not the society surely for madam!”
Tietjens said:
“I never expected to have the pleasure of dining with Mrs. Tietjens tonight … That officer was celebrating his commission and I could not put him off …” The general said: “Oh, ah! Of course not … I dare say …” and settled himself again in his chair …
Tietjens was overwhelming her with his great bulk. She had still lost her breath … He stooped over and said: it was the luck of the half-drunk; he said:
“They’re dancing in the lounge …”
She coiled herself passionately into her wickerwork. It had dull blue cushions. She said:
“Not with anyone else … I don’t want any introductions …” Fiercely! … He said:
“There’s no one there that I could introduce you to …”
She said:
“Not if it’s a charity!”
He said:
“I thought it might be rather dull … It’s six months since I danced …” She felt beauty flowing over all her limbs. She had a gown of gold tissue. Her matchless hair was coiled over her ears … She was humming Venusberg music: she knew music if she knew nothing else …
She said: “You call the compounds where you keep the W.A.A.C.’s Venusbergs, don’t you? Isn’t it queer that Venus should be your own? … Think of poor Elisabeth!”
The room where they were dancing was very dark … It was queer to be in his arms … She had known better dancers … He had looked ill … Perhaps he was … Oh, poor Valentine-Elisabeth … What a funny position! … The good gramophone played … Destiny! … You see, father! … In his arms! … Of course, dancing is not really … But so near the real thing! So near! “Good luck to the special intention! …” She had almost kissed him on the lips … All but! Effleurer, the French call it … But she was not as humble … He had pressed her tighter … All these months without … My lord did me honour … Good for Malbrouck s’en va-t-en guerre … He knew she had almost kissed him on the lips … And that his lips had almost responded … The civilian, the novelist, had turned out the last light … Tietjens said, “Hadn’t we better talk? …” She said: “In my room, then! I’m dog-tired … I haven’t slept for six nights: … In spite of drugs …” He said: “Yes. Of course! Where else? …” Astonishingly … Her gown of gold tissue was like the colobium sindonis the King wore at the coronation … As they mounted the stairs she thought what a fat tenor Tannhäuser always was! … The Venusberg music was dinning in her ears … She said: “Sixty-six inexpressibles! I’m as sober as a judge … I need to be!”
Part III
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