Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [103]
At the first note of the supper chimes he hurried down to the cabin once more. Possibly by now she had recovered. But when he inquired if she was ready to eat she feebly turned her head to the wall. He asked if he could bring her anything. A bowl of soup?—an orange?—a slice of cake? She did not respond. He climbed the ladder again, whistling. He had not whistled for many years.
He marched into the dining salon rubbing his hands with anticipation. He sat down alone at the table, which seated eight, and without hesitation he devoured everything the steward put in front of him.
109 On the Morning Train
One rainy morning before dawn they landed at Southampton and in sleepy silence rode through the orderly English countryside toward London. Somewhere along the way a middle-aged Englishman wearing a sweater and a tweed jacket stepped into the compartment, seated himself, and began to read a newspaper. Mr. Bridge was dozing when the door opened and he caught only a glimpse of the man before he disappeared behind the newspaper, yet in that instant he saw something which disturbed him, and he waited for a better look. At last the Englishman folded the paper, then Mr. Bridge saw his face. The face was that of his grandfather.
Later in the day at their hotel in London while she was unpacking the suitcases he studied the timetable of the Southampton train. He was certain he would never again see this man, who had vanished in the crowd at the station as mysteriously as he appeared, and he had no intention of trying to locate him, but he wanted to know the name of the town where the Englishman got aboard the train. So he shut his eyes, trying to recall the announcement of the stop; then she asked if he had a headache. No, he said, and put away the timetable.
During their five days in London he realized that he was searching for the man—in the hotel lobby, on the street, in restaurants, art galleries, and theaters. If he had encountered the stranger he would not have spoken, nor offered the slightest sign of recognition, yet all the while they were in London he found himself hunting for that face.
110 Petra
They spent their first evening in Paris with a young art student from Kansas City named Morgan Hager whose parents had informed him that Mr. and Mrs. Bridge were touring Europe. He therefore was expected to entertain them, if they wished to be entertained. Hager called the hotel, suggested an aperitif, and volunteered to come by for them in a taxi. Mr. Bridge, suspecting that Hager might be existing on very little money, told him the taxi was unnecessary, and they arranged to meet at a sidewalk cafe called Le Petit Lapin.
Here, after a second aperitif, Mr. Bridge expressed a desire to see something of the Bohemian life. Hager thought this over. He scratched his head without removing his beret, he plucked at his beard, and finally he suggested they have dinner at a restaurant called Henri’s on Montparnasse. Artists and models ate there.
This sounded fine. Mr. Bridge paid for the drinks and they started up the boulevard in the direction of Montparnasse.
They walked past the Comédie Française, they walked around the Luxembourg Gardens, crossed Raspail, went up one alley and down another, and eventually, having walked for more than half an hour, they arrived at Henri’s. It was extremely small, with sawdust on the floor, very dirty and very crowded.
For various reasons this meal was memorable. Mrs. Bridge was unable to cut the beefsteak without help, the wine resembled cherry soda with flecks of cork floating about on the surface, the bread was like stone, one of their neighbors, whom Hager introduced as Claude, had not bathed in a month or two, and Claude discovered a spider in his salad, although this did not trouble him