The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [167]
“His Excellency says it is a great pleasure to welcome such illustrious guests. In the phrase of our people he says his house is yours.”
The English stood aside and separated. Whitemaid had sighted a buffet at the far end of the tapestried hall. Scott-King stood diffidently alone; a footman brought him a glass of sweet effervescent wine. Dr. Fe brought him someone to talk to.
“Allow me to present Engineer Garcia. He is an ardent lover of England.”
“Engineer Garcia,” said the newcomer.
“Scott-King,” said Scott-King.
“I have work seven years with the firm Green, Gorridge and Wright Limited at Salford. You know them well, no doubt?”
“I am afraid not.”
“They are a very well-known firm, I think. Do you go often to Salford?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never been there.”
“It is a very well-known town. What, please, is your town?”
“I suppose, Granchester.”
“I am not knowing Granchester. It is a bigger town than Salford?”
“No, much smaller.”
“Ah. In Salford is much industry.”
“So I believe.”
“How do you find our Neutralian champagne?”
“Excellent.”
“It is sweet, eh? That is because of our Neutralian sun. You prefer it to the champagne of France?”
“Well, it is quite different, isn’t it?”
“I see you are a connoisseur. In France is no sun. Do you know the Duke of Westminster?”
“No.”
“I saw him once at Biarritz. A fine man. A man of great propriety.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. London is his propriety. Have you a propriety?”
“No.”
“My mother had a propriety but it is lost.”
The clamour in the hall was tremendous. Scott-King found himself the centre of an English-speaking group. Fresh faces, new voices crowded in on him. His glass was repeatedly filled; it was over-filled and boiled and cascaded on his cuff. Dr. Fe passed and re-passed. “Ah, you have soon made friends.” He brought reinforcements; he brought more wine. “This is a special bottle,” he whispered. “Special for you, Professor,” and refilled Scott-King’s glass with the same sugary froth as before. The din swelled. The tapestried walls, the painted ceiling, the chandeliers, the gilded architrave, danced and dazzled before his eyes.
Scott-King became conscious that Engineer Garcia was seeking to draw him into a more confidential quarter.
“How do you find our country, Professor?”
“Very pleasant, I assure you.”
“Not how you expected it, eh? Your papers do not say it is pleasant. How is it allowed to scandalize our country? Your papers tell many lies about us.”
“They tell lies about everyone, you know.”
“Please?”
“They tell lies about everyone,” shouted Scott-King.
“Yes, lies. You see for yourself it is perfectly quiet.”
“Perfectly quiet.”
“How, please?”
“Quiet,” yelled Scott-King.
“You find it too quiet? It will become more gay soon. You are a writer?”
“No, merely a poor scholar.”
“How, poor? In England you are rich, no? Here we must work very hard for we are a poor country. In Neutralia for a scholar of the first class the salary is 500 ducats a month. The rent of his apartment is perhaps 450 ducats. His taxes are 100. Oil is 30 ducats a litre. Meat is 45 ducats a kilo. So you see, we work.
“Dr. Fe is a scholar. He is also a lawyer, a judge of the Lower Court. He edits the Historical Review. He has a high position in the Ministry of Rest and Culture, also at the Foreign Office and the Bureau of Enlightenment and Tourism. He speaks often on the radio about the international situation. He owns one-third share in the Sporting Club. In all the New Neutralia I do not think there is anyone works harder than Dr. Fe, yet he is not rich as Mr. Green, Mr. Gorridge and Mr. Wright were rich in Salford. And they scarcely worked at all. There are injustices in the world, Professor.”
“I think we must be quiet. The Lord Mayor wishes to make a speech.”
“He is a man of no cultivation. A politician. They say his mother . . .”
“Hush.”
“This speech will not be interesting, I believe.”
Something like silence fell on the central part of the hall. The Lord Mayor had his speech ready typed on a sheaf of papers. He squinnied at it with his single eye and began