The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [2]
“Oh, Basil, please.”
“Darling Basil, you must.”
“No, I won’t. Imogen will be in a rage with me.”
“No, she won’t, will you, Imogen?”
“Imogen, tell him you won’t be in a rage with him.”
“Basil, do read it please.”
“Well, then, if you promise you won’t hate me”—and he smoothed out the piece of paper.
“Flower—Cactus.
“Drink—Rum.
“Stuff—Baize.
“Furniture—Rocking-Horse.
“Food—Venison.
“Address—Dublin.
“And Animal—Boa constrictor.”
“Oh, Basil, how marvellous.”
“Poor Adam, I never thought of him as Dublin, of course it’s perfect.”
“Why Cactus?”
“So phallic, my dear, and prickly.”
“And such vulgar flowers.”
“Boa constrictor is brilliant.”
“Yes, his digestion you know.”
“And can’t sting, only crush.”
“And fascinates rabbits.”
“I must draw a picture of Adam fascinating a rabbit,” and then, “Imogen, you’re not going?”
“I must. I’m terribly sleepy. Don’t get drunk and wake me up, will you?”
“Imogen, you are in a rage with me.”
“My dear, I’m far too tired to be in a rage with anybody. Good night.”
The door shut.
“My dear, she’s furious.”
“I knew she would be, you shouldn’t have made me read it.”
“She’s been very odd all the evening, I consider.”
“She told me she lunched with Adam before she came down.”
“I expect she ate too much. One does with Adam, don’t you find?”
“Just libido.”
“But you know, I’m rather proud of that character all the same. I wonder why none of us ever thought of Dublin before.”
“Basil, do you think Imogen can have been having an affaire with Adam, really?”
Circumstances
NOTE.—No attempt, beyond the omission of some of the aspirates, has been made at a phonetic rendering of the speech of Gladys and Ada; they are the cook and house-parlourmaid from a small house in Earls Court, and it is to be supposed that they speak as such.
The conversations in the film are deduced by the experienced picture-goer from the gestures of the actors; only those parts which appear in capitals are actual “captions.”
THE COCKATRICE CLUB 2.30 A.M.
A CENTRE OF LONDON NIGHT LIFE.
The “Art title” shows a still life of a champagne bottle, glasses, and a comic mask—or is it yawning?
“Oh, Gladys, it’s begun; I knew we’d be late.”
“Never mind, dear, I can see the way. Oh, I say—I am sorry. Thought the seat was empty—really I did.”
Erotic giggling and a slight struggle.
“Give over, can’t you, and let me get by—saucy kid.”
“’Ere you are, Gladys, there’s two seats ’ere.”
“Well I never—tried to make me sit on ’is knee.”
“Go on. I say, Gladys, what sort of picture is this—is it comic?”
The screen is almost completely dark as though the film has been greatly over-exposed. Fitful but brilliant illumination reveals a large crowd dancing, talking and eating.
“No, Ada—that’s lightning. I dare say it’s a desert storm. I see a picture like that the other day with Fred.”
EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY.
Close up: the head of a girl.
“That’s ’is baby. See if she ain’t.”
It is rather a lovely head, shingled and superbly poised on its neck. One is just beginning to appreciate its exquisite modelling—the film is too poor to give any clear impression of texture—when it is flashed away and its place taken by a stout and elderly man playing a saxophone. The film becomes obscure—after the manner of the more modern Continental studios: the saxophonist has become the vortex of movement; faces flash out and disappear again; fragmentary captions will not wait until they are read.
“Well, I do call this soft.”
A voice with a Cambridge accent from the more expensive seats says, “Expressionismus.”
Gladys nudges Ada and says, “Foreigner.”
After several shiftings of perspective, the focus becomes suddenly and stereoscopically clear. The girl is seated at a table leaning towards a young man who is lighting her cigarette for her. Three or four others join them at the table and sit down. They are all in evening dress.
“No, it isn’t comic, Ada—it’s Society.”
“Society’s sometimes comic. You see.”
The girl is protesting that she must go.
“Adam, I must. Mother thinks I went out to a theatre with you and your mother. I don’t know