Hobohemians

181Ludmila came to the door and kissed Willy. Her father whispered: “Can’t run away.”

182Willy was up early in the morning. Doomfully, purposefully he shook the father. “Give me the key. Give me the key.” Drowsing on, turning over. Never gets up till mid-day, thought Willy, but he must wake now to keep an eye on me. Sleepily the father rolled on his back exposing the belt. Bitterly Willy snapped off the key.—Do anything for rest, sacrifice anyone for a little comfort.

183Noisily he dressed, noisily walked past Ludmila’s door. She too slept like a pig.

184Slammed the door.

* * *

185The Café du Dome was crowded. Viktor reading his newspaper recorded the strangeness of nights when everyone he knew turned up and had to be avoided at surrounding tables. Having five hundred francs in his pocket book he read assiduously. He had no desire to enter into café conversations. He would go home early.

186Viktor always read the faits divers [brief crime and accident reports]. They gave him something to think about that did not clash with the chatter of a café. Accidents of automobile, child burnt alive, ploughed up bombs, on a trouvé un malheureux, deux balles dans la tete, prés de Tours, une carte sur lui, on croit qu’il s’agit d’un anglais nommé Burton [an unfortunate man has been found with two bullets in his head near Tours; a card was found on him, and he is believed to be an Englishman named Burton].

187Heinke said he believed it. The little Englishman had been strange a whole month. “I thought somehow I would never see him again. He bought a pistol against my desire from that scoundrel Piet. I tried to get it from him. We had a bit of a fight.”

188Viktor gave Heinke ten francs to go to Willy’s lodging. When Heinke returned an hour later—“there wasn’t a taxi, I had a Pernod to strengthen me”—he dropped heavily on the seat.

189“Any of that ten francs left?” asked Viktor. “I haven’t got money to waste all round on billiard acquaintances.”

190“He hasn’t been home three days,” said Heinke, “his landlady is going to Tours. He owed her eight hundred francs.”

191Bela came over: “Someone must find his address and write home. I will. I have a friend who knows English.”

192Viktor haughtily: “I am his best friend. I will do it. Not let Hungarian swindlers rook his parents of money for exhibitions in London. I will go, and take some paintings with me.”

193Heinke said: “I always wondered what would become of him. He wasn’t an artist. He wasted his time.”

194Viktor folded his paper: “You could see he was the end of a long line of English aristocrats. They peter out in nice useless gentlemen. He hadn’t the force to get on. Life is always the lower classes coming up, upper going down. That’s why your communism is useless.”

195A little Czech at the next table asked if it were the young Englishman who drank. “He was not like an Englishman. He danced when he got drunk. He had no money the other day, I know.”