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• Classic-Fiction

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. “I can’t bring you the bottle. It will be in an ordinary Pernod bottle.”

“I can tell it,” Roger said.

“I believe you, sir,” the waiter said. “Do you want a frappe or drip?”

“Straight drip. You have the dripping saucers?”

“Naturally, sir.”

“Without sugar.”

“Won’t the lady want sugar, sir?”

“No. We’ll let her try it without.”

“Very good, sir.”

er the waiter was gone Roger took Helena’s hand under the table. “Hello my beauty.”

“This is wonderful. Us here and this good old poison coming and we’ll eat in some fine place.”

“And then go to bed”

“Do you like bed as much as all that?”

“I never did. But I do now.’

“Why did you never?”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“We won’t.”

“I don’t ask you about everyone you’ve been in love with. We don’t have to talk about London do we?”

“No. We can talk about you and how beautiful you are. You know you still move like a colt?”

“Roger, tell me, did I really walk so it pleased you?”

“You walk so that it breaks my heart.”

“All I do is keep my shoulders back and my head straight up and walk. I know there are tricks I ought to know.”

“When you look the way you do, daughter, there aren’t any tricks. You’re so beautiful that I’d be happy just to look at you.”

“Not permanently I hope.”

“Daytimes,” he said. “Look, daughter. The one thing about absinthe is that you have to drink it awfully slowly. It won’t taste strong mixed with the water but you have to believe it is.”

“I believe. Credo Roger.”

“I hope you’ll never change it the way Lady Caroline did.”

“I’ll never change it except for cause. But you’re not like him at all.”

“I wouldn’t want to be.”

“You’re not. Someone tried to tell me you were at college. They meant it as a compliment I think but I was terribly angry and made an awful row with the English professor. They made us read you you know. I mean they made the others read it. I’d read it all. There isn’t very much, Roger. Don’t you think you ought to work more?”

“I’m going to work now as soon as we get out west.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay tomorrow then. I’ll be so happy when you work.”

“Happier than now?”

“Yes,” she said. “Happier than now.”

“I’ll work hard. You’ll see.”

“Roger, do you think I’m bad for you? Do I make you drink or make love more than you should?”

“No, daughter.”

“I’m awfully glad if it’s true because I want to be good for you. I know it’s a weakness and silliness but I make up stories to myself in the daytime and in one of them I save your life. Sometimes it’s from drowning and sometimes from in from of a train and sometimes in a plane and sometimes in the mountains. You can laugh if you want. And then there is one where I come into your life when you are disgusted and disappointed with all women and you love me so much and I take such good care of you that you get an epoch of writing wonderfully. That’s a wonderful one. I was making it up again today in the car.”

“That’s one I’m pretty sure I’ve seen in the movies or read somewhere.”

“Oh I know. I’ve seen it there too. And I’m sure I’ve read it too. But don’t you think it happens? Don’t you think I could be good for you? Not in a wishy-washy way or by giving you a little baby but really good for you so you’d write better than you ever wrote and be happy at the same time?”

“They do it in pictures. Why shouldn’t we do it?”

The absinthe had come and from the saucers of cracked ice placed over the top of the glasses water, that Roger added from a small pitcher, was dripping down into the clear yellowish liquor turning it to an opalescent milkiness.

“Try that,” Roger said when it was the right cloudy color.

“It’s very strange,” the girl said. “And warming in the stomach. It tastes like medicine.”

“It is medicine. Pretty strong medicine.”

“I don’t really need medicine yet,” the girl said. “But this is awfully good. When will we be tight?”

“Almost any time. I’m going to have three. You take what you want. But take them slow.”

“I’ll see how I do. I don’t know anything about it yet except that it’s like medicine.