Hobohemians

173In the café an anxious attentive eye to all Willy’s actions, eye-flutterings, phrases. More than was necessary, with heightened uncalled emphasis, Willy went to the lavatory. He encouraged the father swiftly, fearfully to go, promising on sacred oaths not to budge. Ludmila’s father could see then how improper a place, how imperfect a means the lavatory offered. Not to be expected. Hastily back, her father saw Willy’s hand fluttering to a hat but he was easily in time. “Like to look at some papers?” he said.

174They walked in the Luxembourg till the drumbeats, walked to Montmartre, sitting hours on unnumbered coffees, walked the crowded boulevards, Willy openly on the point of escape, always despairingly defeated. His friends too watchful and at home the father to a whispering Ludmila had promised him safe and sound. In the rue Soufflot the father met—not to be avoided—a friend. After half an hour Willy saw how clearly friend was endeavouring to borrow, sinking in unknown languages his demands. “But I can’t,” said Ludmila’s father, “I can’t, I have only a few francs. I can’t.”

175Never had Willy seen such determination to borrow, such obstinacy not to be borrowed from. Over a no man’s land of gesticulation the inimical brethren, determination and obstinacy, flung battle for five francs. On the barbed wire of Willy’s mind hung the casualties of determination—two hundred, hundred, fifty, five—If I had any I’d give it to get rid of him, thought he, patently abstracted in other more terrifying worlds of thought. He walked round them. Obstinacy had fallen back and the terrain was ten francs. Suicidal Willy wandered round the talkers, unkindly politely speaking English now for his stranger benefit. Walked up and down, keeping in the father’s eye, this way, that way. At the corner of a street he was waved, called relentlessly back. No escape, he stood dolefully there. Hours this was enduring, while he was on the brink of . . . He got as far as the corner, more and more successfully weakening repeated recalls to his guardian.

176This success angered him. He was now fifty feet away, half a street, easily escapable. Still they were talking. What friends were these? Ludmila should be there too, a headache was no excuse when her lover might at any moment—This was completely forcing it on him, forgetting him like this.

177Blackly, Willy strode on the embattled two. “I must go now,” he threatened. Startled, recalled to his duty towards daughter and young Englishman, the father agreed. Half an hour later they got away.

178“I have helped that man too much,” said the father. “He owes me thousands.”

179Willy was led back to the prison of his life and persuaded, bullied into sleeping with Ludmila’s father. He undressed. The father took away his clothes and shoes, locked them in a trunk, put the key on his body belt and the belt next his skin.

180“You will excuse me,” he said. “Here are some pyjamas.”