The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [28]
The music ended, and everyone went back to the tables. Eddie, flushed with dancing and the contact with Frau Meyer's body, watched Hella intently as she sat down and then leaned over on Mosca's chair, her hand resting on his shoulder. In his mind he saw the hard, white body on a brown Army blanket, spreading, spreading, his face close to her neat and passive head. In a moment he felt sure of his success—how it would happen he did not know—and then the image shattered as from the rose-colored circle of light under which the band played, the only friendly color in the room, came three short, commanding blasts of a trumpet.
The small hum quieted, the white bright lights dimmed, and the room became cavernous, the high, domed ceiling invisible in the darkness above them.
On the auditorium stage a Hue of girls came out dancing so badly that when they exited there was not even a polite smattering of applause. They were followed by a juggler and then by acrobats. And then a girl singer with a robust figure and a high, weak voice.
“Christ,” Mosca said, “let's get the hell out’
Wolf shook his head. “Wait a bit”
The audience was still attentive, still expectant. The trumpet gave out another flourish, and the lights dimmed almost to darkness; the stage at the end of the room became a luminous, yellow square, and into it, strolling nonchalantly from the outside darkness of the wings, came a small, dapper man with the full, round, rubberlike face of the born comedian. He was greeted with a storm of applause. He began to talk to the audience conversation” ally, as if there were no barrier between them.
“I must apologize that part of my famous act cannot be performed tonight. My dog, Frederick, is not to be found anywhere.” He paused, his face sorrowful, and then in simulated anger, “Ifs a shame, really a shame. Ten dogs I have trained and always they disappear. In Berlin—gone. In Dlisseldorf—gone, and now here. Always the same.” A girl came rushing out on the stage. She whispered in his ear. The comedian nodded his head and turned briskly to the audience. “My friends, the management has asked me to announce that meat sandwiches will be available right after this performance.” He winked. “No ration card necessary but at an exorbitant price Of course. Now as I was saying—” He stopped. On his face a look so comical in its wonder, dismay, and then complete understanding shattered the audience into a great wave of laughter. “Frederick, my Frederick,” he shrieked, and rushed off the stage. He came strolling back into the light munching a sandwich. As the laughter subsided he said sadly, “Too late. But he is a good friend to the last. A truly tasty sandwich.” And with an enormous bite he made most of it disappear.
Waiting for the applause to die, he wiped his mouth and then took a piece of paper from Ins pocket Raising a hand for silence he began, “Today everyone worries about calories. I read here that we need 1300 calories to stay alive and that we get 1S50 calories in the ration established by Military Government No criticism of the authorities intended, but I wish to point out tonight how careful we must be with our extra two hundred calories. Now, a few simple rules,”
He told all the old jokes about calories but so expertly that one ripple of laughter followed another. He was interrupted by a scantily clad girl who came dancing on the stage and whirled around him. He watched her with a greedy and appraising eye and then from his pockets drew out a carrot, a small head of lettuce, and a handful of green beans. He counted on his fingers and shook his head. Then shrugged and said, “She will take a thousand calories at least”
The girl pushed against him. He explained to her in pantomime what the trouble was. She reached between her breasts and drew out a small bunch of grapes.