Sirens of Titan - Kurt Vonnegut [12]
It was her tall, straight figure that mattered most in the display. The details of her face were insignificant. A cannonball, substituted for her head, would have suited the grand composition as well.
But Beatrice did have a face—and an interesting one. It could be said that she looked like a buck-toothed Indian brave. But anyone who said that would have to add quickly that she looked marvelous. Her face, like the face of Malachi Constant, was a one-of-a-kind, a surprising variation on a familiar theme—a variation that made observers think, Yes—that would be another very nice way for people to look. What Beatrice had done with her face, actually, was what any plain girl could do. She had overlaid it with dignity, suffering, intelligence, and a piquant dash of bitchiness.
"Yes," said Constant from below, "that Mr. Constant is still here." He was in plain view, leaning against a column in the arch that opened onto the foyer. But he was so low in the composition, so lost in architectural details as to be almost invisible.
"Oh!" said Beatrice. "How do you do." It was a very empty greeting.
"How do you do," said Constant.
"I can only appeal to your gentlemanly instincts," said Beatrice, "in asking you not to spread the story of your meeting with my husband far and wide. I can well understand how tremendous the temptation to do so must be."
"Yes—" said Constant, "I could sell my story for a lot of money, pay off the mortgage on the homestead, and become an internationally famous figure. I could hob-nob with the great and near-great, and perform before the crowned heads of Europe."
"You’ll pardon me," said Beatrice, "if I fail to appreciate sarcasm and all the other brilliant nuances of your no doubt famous wit, Mr. Constant. These visits of my husband’s make me ill."
"You never see him any more, do you?" said Constant.
"I saw him the first time he materialized," said Beatrice, "and that was enough to make me ill for the rest of my days."
"I liked him very much," said Constant.
"The insane, on occasion, are not without their charms," said Beatrice.
"Insane?" said Constant.
"As a man of the world, Mr. Constant," said Beatrice, "wouldn’t you say that any person who made complicated and highly improbable prophecies was mad?"
"Well—" said Constant, "is it really very crazy to tell a man who has access to the biggest space ship ever built that he’s going out into space?"
This bit of news, about the accessibility of a space ship to Constant, startled Beatrice. It startled her so much that she took a step back from the head of the staircase, separated herself from the rising spiral. The small step backward transformed her into what she was—a frightened, lonely woman in a tremendous house.
"You have a space ship, do you?" she said.
"A company I control has custody of one," said Constant. "You’ve heard of The Whale?"
"Yes," said Beatrice.
"My company sold it to the Government," said Constant. "I think they’d be delighted if someone would buy it back at five cents on the dollar."
"Much luck to you on your expedition," said Beatrice.
Constant bowed. "Much luck to you on yours," he said.
He left without another word. In crossing the bright zodiac on the foyer floor, he sensed that the spiral staircase now swept down rather than up. Constant became the bottommost point in a whirlpool of fate. As he walked out the door, he was delightfully aware of pulling the aplomb of the Rumfoord mansion right out with him.
Since it was foreordained that he and Beatrice were to come together again, to produce a child named Chrono, Constant was under no compunction to seek and woo her, to send her so much as a get-well card. He could go about his business, he thought, and the haughty Beatrice would have to damn well come to him—like any other bimbo.
He was laughing when he put on his dark glasses