Hobohemians

61Willy saw Ali turn into the lavatory.—Pity the stairs to the chess room flattened out near the lavabos. Many a minute’s visitor, long awaited friend, leaves the one to be ensnared hours over coffee-mathematics above. Ali believes he’s a chess champion, just because he’s a Persian. The only good chess players are Jews. Calculation is the Jewish attempt at imagination. Strange that the only really clever men I meet are Jews. Viktor.

62He’s out again. Doesn’t expect me to apologise, I suppose. After all, it’s natural to make a bit of a scene. As soon as I saw him sneaking into the library I knew he’s broken his word. The way he put his books on the desk next to me and sat down. Wouldn’t say himself, that’s what I can’t forgive. Had to ask him what happened: ‘Well, what happened? Did you? . . .’ No wonder he looked ashamed, oriental hypocrite, promising under no circumstances to touch her and then feebly bleating: ‘She did it. She asked me.’ Finished it for me, spoilt it. If it had been anyone else but my friend. If he had been scoundrel enough to seduce her, don’t I know that’s his sole talent? I shouldn’t have minded. But to spoil everything for me by letting her. . . . I couldn’t speak. When I came back from rushing about he was still sitting there, miserably trying to be amused. Said nothing till he went, not a word. Cleared out after ten minutes. I watched him coming out from the cloakroom lighting his pipe, philosophic mussulmanic shoulders. The more these people speak of friendship, the feebler they are as friends. Not that she thought he was great guns when I asked her. Haven’t spoken to her since, and never will. Now I hear she hates me. Looks hate too. Nothing like a woman scorned.

63Languidly, see how offhand the popular man can be with any one of his friends, shook a Persian hand.

* * *

64The golden curtains of the theatre-large café windows were pulled across by the door-whirling porter. Liana of tropical argument crept into the under rooms of idleness. The bald pates of madmen were dripped on by tormenting coffees to frenzy. At Viktor’s table, Ali, selecting a cheesecake, said: “I was in the library to-day. What has happened about Fitzroy?”

65Willy, tail of eye on Lotte, foot of brain on library, burst out, “These Americans are fools. I got the whole thing fixed up for him. Went along to see this woman of his. I found I was the first friend to go round there and she hated me instinctively. Felt I was the one to take her sweetie away, I was the enemy. She told me: ‘You go to Italy. It is my country and there the young men in the villages will bring you grapes if you are hungry. Go to Milan.’—Next day Fitzroy said: ‘She will kill you if she knows I’m going away with you. She thinks only you’re going. She’s threatened to kill herself if I leave her. Can I stay the last night with you?’—Well, you know how awkward it is at my place, but I arranged it. Yesterday he came in the coffee-room: ‘I can’t go. I dare not go. She’s taken a slow poison, told me this morning. She must have suspected something. Had to get something to make her sick.’—So he’s not coming. Not sorry, now I think about it.”