Authors: Albert Cohen
In the bathroom, she squeezed toothpaste on to the brush, embarked on a conscientious dental scouring, then stopped to consult the railway timetable. The train would arr. Bourg in ten minutes. Good, she had plenty of time. Best foot forward! Brush thoroughly for at least five minutes. Suddenly she removed the brush from her mouth. Sometimes trains were derailed, leaving injured passengers trapped groaning under axles! Without pausing to rinse out her mouth, she spoke to the Almighty in accents clouded by the foaming toothpaste.
'O Lord, let tomorrow'sh trainsh all crash, let hundredsh and hundredsh of people be killed, if shuch ish Thy will, but let everything go shmoothly today, pleashe. Dearesht, shweetesht Lord,' she added to butter Him up. (She rinsed her mouth and went on with her prayer, which, like all prayers, was shamelessly mercenary.) 'Do this for me, Lord,' she trilled in her most alluring, feminine voice. 'You know how much I love You. Please make it all right for tonight, won't You? O Lord, watch over my friend's train,' she ended, on a chaste note, 'friend' seeming to her the most suitable word to use when addressing God. (She straightened up and held her nose with two fingers so that she sounded like a clergyman delivering a sermon.) 'Dear brothers and sisters, I will now pass beneath the waters of my bath, accompanied by both my rather ample bosoms. But first grant me leave to take another peek at my lover-man's picture, but just five seconds' worth so it doesn't go stale on me and stays fresh and heart-stopping. There, that'll do, put it away. And now for another little dekko at the telegram that came today, to pep me up a bit. Let's see what he says.'
She unfolded the square of green paper and read it in a dramatic, stagy voice, with actions. The wonderful last word made her knees go weak. Oh the joy, the glory, and the ecstatic cherubim singing on high beneath the wings of great angels bearing sounding harps, oh wonderful man! He had signed it simply 'Yours'! Just 'Yours'! How beautiful! But then she scowled. Perhaps 'Yours' was a word he'd just scribbled down without thinking, like a bank-manager putting 'Yours etc' at the bottom of a letter? No, that couldn't be, he must have intended something by it! The word said what it meant, and it meant that he was hers, hers alone, her chattel, her property. 'Yours,' she whispered, and she took a deep breath. Now for that bath. Run the hot water.
'Come along, get a move on, stupid,' she told the tap.
She put the photo, the telegram, the train timetable, the little bear with the Mexican hat and her father's watch on a stool next to the bath. And, because there was no one there to laugh at her, she kissed the telegram and the timetable. And if the nuns who'd been listening to her sermon didn't like it, well yah-boo-sucks to them! When the water had been tested and pronounced just right, she undid the tie with the crests on, dropped her ducky dress on the floor, got into the bath, stretched out, gave a series of contented sighs, stuck her foot out of the water, wiggled her toes, and pretended they were five little boys coming home from school. 'Look sharp now, go and wash your hands and faces,' she told them, and the five little boys ducked back under the water. Then she made swimming movements with her arms and was transported to the sea. Next, with one hand, she patted the bottom of the bath to make bubbles, which tickled as they rose between her thighs. Then she stuck her foot out again, waggled her toes, ordered them to keep still, have their bath like good little boys, and then trot straight off to school, holding hands nicely.
'And if you don't come home with good marks, you'll be for it!'
Now for a thorough soaping. No, hang on, not straight away, bide a while first, she had hours and hours in front of her. She rowed gently with the palms of her hands on the green water which shivered with rings of sun, and thought the little waves she made were awfully pretty, like younger sisters of the proper waves of the ocean, where they'd all certainly end up together soon. Switching tack, she told herself that two pretty little light-blue parakeets were perched on one of the taps, the cold one, not the other one, which was too hot and would burn their little feet. Tweet-tweet, my pets, are you all right, are you happy? Me too, very, you can't possibly imagine how tremendously all right and happy I am! Suddenly serious, she hailed the marvellous coming of tonight by chanting the tune of the Whitsun hymn, substituting, not without a qualm or two, the name of the man she loved for the Sacred Name:
O my believing soul,
Be proud now and content,
For see! there comes thy heavenly king,
Solal is near: his praises sing!
But now, get down to it. Standing up with legs apart, singing and whistling by turns, shooting glances now and then towards watch and timetable, which were soon liberally sprinkled with water, she proceeded to the important business of cleansing her body, soaping herself ardently, frowning with concentration, rinsing herself off and resoaping herself, and pumicing her feet. Though she was doomed to die, she spared no effort, worked with a will to make "herself perfect, like a conscientious craftsman, with her tongue poking out.
'Whew, it wears you out being in love,' she announced as she slipped back into the suds.
After blowing the pumice-stone to make it sail along by itself, she pulled out the plug, refilled the bath with clean water into which, as a reward, she poured scented bath salts. Yes, she had to feel frantically good: too bad if that meant behaving like the Catherlix do. Lying lusciously prone, it occurred to her that she was stupid to have had her bath as early as this. By the time he got there, she'd be showing the effects of several hours' decay of her flawlessness. Heigh-ho, she'd see how things went.
'Yours.'
She closed her eyes so that she could hear the most beautiful word on earth loud and clear, pronounced it in various ways until she was glutted with it, and all the while she contemplated her naked body under the flattering, insidious water. Chanting a singsong, wordless dirge, she felt the weight of her hot, firm breasts, stroked her nipples, sighed, ran more hot water to make herself comfortable, smiled at the two faithful parakeets who sat slinkily on their tap, dinkily raising their legs one after the other, exercising their toes to relax them. She closed her eyes, grew torpid,, and let her mind wander.
CHAPTER69
While his wife in Geneva was letting her mind wander in the bath, Adrien Deume, in the railway station at Basle, stood with his elbows leaning on the open window of his first-class compartment, feeling important and enjoying the sensation. Aware that lesser mortals in the commuter train drawn up alongside were staring, he adopted the nonchalant, superior air of one accustomed to travelling in luxury, the world-weary manner of a bored grandee, a cross between Lord Byron and Talleyrand.
Four mournful blasts of a whistle signalled the off, and there was a groan of protesting metal, and the engine emitted a long, valedictory hiss, and the whole train shuddered, staggered under a series of concussive impacts, began to move, and soon was hastening on its way with studied respiratory application, like an overgrown schoolboy chanting French verbs. Deprived of his admiring audience, Adrien Deume sat down and flicked through the timetable. Next stop was Delemont at five fifty. Perfect. Then Bienne, Neuchatel, Lausanne and finally Geneva at eight forty-five. A ten-minute taxi ride and he'd be at Cologny. Which meant that by nine o'clock tonight he'd be holding her in his arms.
He rubbed his hands briskly and looked around him with an air of satisfaction. Very nice, these first-class carriages. But remember now, a quarter of an hour before getting into Geneva, just after Nyon, go to lavatory, wash face, scrub nails, give beard good comb, give coat good brushing, especially the collar, which showed the dandruff, in a word make self presentable. To put a shine on his shoes, he could wipe them on the plush of the seat. It wasn't allowed, but what the hell. To smack him on the BTM, they'd have to catch him first! What a surprise for Arianny, who wasn't expecting him for another week! A surprise and a half, by jingo! Running his tapered tongue over his lips, he savoured in advance her delight and astonishment. To pass the time, he murmured what he was going to say after he'd kissed her.
'You see, darling, I couldn't resist it. Yesterday, right out of the blue, I suddenly had this feeling that I couldn't bear to wait another day longer. So I made a beeline for Sabena, unfortunately there wasn't a seat left on the plane, I played the ranking-official card but it did no good, couldn't budge them, fully booked up, never mind, decided to catch this morning's train. I did think of wiring you, but then I thought it would be nicer to give you a surprise, right? So who's a happy Arianny, then? A surprise and a half, right, duckie? Mummy was none too pleased, you know, but who cares, I mean is a chap entitled to pop back and see his missus after they've been separated for three months or is he not! You are glad to see me, aren't you? Haifa mo, I'll give you your presents now.'
He yawned and in a whisper babbled o' grand titles. Baron Adrien Deume. Count Deume. General Sir Adrien Deume. He gave another gaping yawn and, getting up, cast around for something^else to while away the time. He stood by the window, which he lowered, and leaned out. The rushing air made him blink and look stern and astute. The telegraph wires looped up down, up down, retreated, separated into a continuous line, their poles brave with white teacups dipping and rising, and trees sped towards him with cinematographic abruptness before careering backwards, heads bowed, to rejoin the green lights of signals left far behind, and all the while, too fast for eyes, the gravel of the other track flashed by between rails streaked with dazzling shafts of sudden illumination.
The engine gave a despairing, demented whinny, and he turned away, sat down on the red plush seat, gave a contented sigh, and smiled at his wife. What splendid breasts she had on her. Like marble, old bean, if you only knew, and I'll be making the most of them tonight, just you see if I don't. Yes, the moment he got in, he'd kiss her, hold her tight, then upwards and onwards to bed, his or hers, didn't matter. No, make it hers, it was bigger. Undress her quickly, tell her to He down, and forward charge, like the Light Brigade! Basically, women loved it. Anyhow, for God's sake, he'd had his conjugalities cut off for three months, and it was more than flesh could bear! Afterwards, he'd get up and smoke a relaxing pipe, which was something he liked doing after performing his marital duty, and he'd open the case of presents! He could see it now! She'd clap her hands for joy! And then he'd tell her all about his official tour, the interview with the High Commissioner (a Lord, for goodness' sake!), and then the lunch with the High Commissioner (and a field marshal to boot, for goodness' sake!), and then he'd show her the photos he'd had taken with the top brass, show her everything, she'd be fascinated, she'd be proud of her hubby.
'Find it fascinating, do you, my little chickadee? I've come out of it rather well, even though I do say it myself. Carried all before me! I think that what went down best was that I didn't conduct myself like a civil servant, let alone a senior civil servant, but pitched the thing on a higher level, slipping in literary asides, Latin tags, very much the man of the world, if you see what I mean. Good. Fine. Tell her how I came through with flying colours in Syria and end with the big finish, i.e. Palestine, because that was the high point, she won't know what's hit her. Start with the personal contacts made in the bureau of the High Commission, the information gathered, the first visits by top people at my hotel, definitely make a point of telling her about the hotel, a hotel and a half, darling, the King David no less, the best, a top-class establishment. I had a full set of rooms, what they call a suite in these five-star places, i.e. drawing-room, bedroom and deluxe bathroom. A suite definitely has an edge, because if some top nob comes to see you you don't have to go downstairs and entertain him in one of the public rooms, you can have him come up and receive him in your very own drawing-room, do you see what that means, it puts you in quite another class, it means you're somebody. Absolutely, you can take it from me: when you've got a suite at the King you know you're somebody! Oh yes, it's known locally in the best circles as the King, that's what people say. Of course it was bathroom with lavatory, which was a convenience, no need to go wandering outside along the corridor. Can't get by any more without my own lavatory. Either you're a diplomat or you're not is what I say. Especially since things could have been better from a digestive-functions point of view, all those slap-up dinners, you know, and having to venture out into the corridor three or four times a night would have been no fun, no fun at all. But the tummy-wobble problems can wait till tomorrow, when we'll have time to discuss them properly, we'll work out what if anything needs to be done after we've seen how things go between now and then, because the situation seems to be improving, markedly so, for example just three times today whereas yesterday it was seven, if you please! By the by, the plan I drew of my rooms at the King was jolly good, wasn't it? Of my suite, I should say. I had the dickens of a job with it, you know. Getting the measurements down on paper, setting it all out to scale, it took me a whole day. But 'nufF said, that brings me to my last days in Jerusalem, which were, if I say it myself, the high point of the entire tour. Can you picture it, Madame Adrien Deume, your lord and master being granted the honour of an audience with His Excellency the High Commissioner? I mean, he's only the most important man in those parts! A field marshal, mark you, the highest rank in the British military establishment. The audience lasted half an hour, would you believe! Atmosphere jolly friendly, well perhaps not friendly exactly, but definitely cordial. His Excellency was terribly pleasant, took an interest, quizzed me about my functions (not the digestive sort, of course!), asked questions about the work of the Mandates Section, he was altogether charming, and I sat there in an armchair very much at my ease, chatting man to man you might say, with His Excellency saying that it was his earnest wish that we should work together, close cooperation was what he said actually, and then paying tribute to the disinterested and difficult work of the L of N, and on top of that, listen to this it's very important you'll see why in just a moment, on top of that asking me to convey in person his good wishes and very best regards to Sir John, and so on and so forth. So, all in all, everything went off like a dream. I think I can say, without false modesty, that I was a definite hit.'