Fancies and Goodnights - Collier John (серия книг .txt) 📗
«Oh, Charles, you're so sweet. I feel I hear them singing.»
«And here's our lunch. But before we eat, go behind the rock there, and see what you find.»
I heard her cry out in delight when she saw the summer dress I had put there for her. When she came back the spring day smiled to see her, and the lake shone brighter than before. «Ella, let us have lunch. Let us have fun. Let us have a swim. I can just imagine you in one of those new bathing suits.»
«Let's just sit there, Charles, and talk.»
So we sat and talked, and the time was gone like a dream. We might have stayed there, forgetful of everything, had it not been for the spider.
«Charles, what are you doing?»
«Nothing, my dear. Just a naughty little spider, crawling over your knee. Purely imaginary, of course, but that sort are sometimes the worst. I had to try to catch him.»
«Don't, Charles! It's late. It's terribly late. They'll be back any minute. I'd better go home.»
I took her home to the kitchenware on the sub-ground floor, and kissed her good-day. She offered me her cheek. This troubles me.
MAY 10 «Ella, I love you.»
I said it to her just like that. We have met many times. I have dreamt of her by day. I have not even kept up my journal. Verse has been out of the question.
«Ella, I love you. Let us move into the trousseau department. Don't look so dismayed, darling. If you like, we will go right away from here. We will live in that little restaurant in Central Park. There are thousands of birds there.»
«Please — please don't talk like that!»
«But I love you with all my heart.»
«You mustn't.»
«But I find I must. I can't help it. Ella, you don't love another?»
She wept a little. «Oh, Charles, I do.»
«Love another, Ella? One of these? I thought you dreaded them all. It must be Roscoe. He is the only one that's any way human. We talk of art, life, and such things. And he has stolen your heart!»
«No, Charles, no. He's just like the rest, really. I hate them all. They make me shudder.»
«Who is it, then?»
«It's him.»
«Who?»
«The night-watchman.»
«Impossible!»
«No. He smells of the sun.»
«Oh, Ella, you have broken my heart.»
«Be my friend, though.»
«I will. I'll be your brother. How did you fall in love with him?»
«Oh, Charles, it was so wonderful. I was thinking of birds, and I was careless. Don't tell on me, Charles. They'll punish me.»
«No. No. Go on.»
«I was careless, and there he was, coming round the corner. And there was no place for me; I had this blue dress on. There were only some wax models in their underthings.»
«Please go on.»
«I couldn't help it. I slipped off my dress, and stood still.»
«I see.»
«And he stopped just by me, Charles. And he looked at me. And he touched my cheek.»
«Did he notice nothing?»
«No. It was cold. But Charles, he said — he said — 'Say, honey, I wish they made 'em like you on Eighth Avenue.' Charles, wasn't that a lovely thing to say?»
«Personally, I should have said Park Avenue.»
«Oh, Charles, don't get like these people here. Sometimes I think you're getting like them. It doesn't matter what street, Charles; it was a lovely thing to say.»
«Yes, but my heart's broken. And what can you do about him? Ella, he belongs to another world.»
«Yes, Charles, Eighth Avenue. I want to go there. Charles, are you truly my friend?»
«I'm your brother, only my heart's broken.»
«I'll tell you. I will. I'm going to stand there again. So he'll see me.»
«And then?»
«Perhaps he'll speak to me again.»
«My dearest Ella, you are torturing yourself. You are making it worse.»
«No, Charles. Because I shall answer him. He will take me away.»
«Ella, I can't bear it.»
«Ssh! There is someone coming. I shall see birds — real birds, Charles — and flowers growing. They're coming. You must go.»
MAY 13 The last three days have been torture. This evening I broke. Roscoe had joined me. He sat eying me for a long time. He put his hand on my shoulder.
He said, «You're looking seedy, old fellow. Why don't you go over to Wanamaker's for some skiing?»
His kindness compelled a frank response. «It's deeper than that, Roscoe. I'm done for. I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can't write, man, I can't even write.»
«What is it? Day starvation?»
«Roscoe — it's love.»
«Not one of the staff, Charles, or the customers? That's absolutely forbidden.»
«No, it's not that, Roscoe. But just as hopeless.»
«My dear old fellow, I can't bear to see you like this. Let me help you. Let me share your trouble.»
Then it came out. It burst out. I trusted him. I think I trusted him. I really think I had no intention of betraying Ella, of spoiling her escape, of keeping her here till her heart turned towards me. If I had, it was subconscious, I swear it.
But I told him all. All! He was sympathetic, but I detected a sly reserve in his sympathy. «You will respect my confidence, Roscoe? This is to be a secret between us.»
«As secret as the grave, old chap.»
And he must have gone straight to Mrs. Vanderpant. This evening the atmosphere has changed. People flicker to and fro, smiling nervously, horribly, with a sort of frightened sadistic exaltation. When I speak to them they answer evasively, fidget, and disappear. An informal dance has been called off. I cannot find Ella. I will creep out. I will look for her again.
LATER Heaven! It has happened. I went in desperation to the manager's office, whose glass front overlooks the whole shop. I watched till midnight. Then I saw a little group of them, like ants bearing a victim. They were carrying Ella. They took her to the surgical department. They took other things.
And, coming back here, I was passed by a flittering, whispering horde of them, glancing over their shoulders in a thrilled ecstasy of panic, making for their hiding places. I, too, hid myself. How can I describe the dark inhuman creatures that passed me, silent as shadows? They went there — where Ella is.
What can I do? There is only one thing. I will find the watchman. I will tell him. He and I will save her. And if we are overpowered — -Well, I will leave this on a counter. Tomorrow, if we live, I can recover it.
If not, look in the windows. Look for the three new figures: two men, one rather sensitive-looking, and a girl. She has blue eyes, like periwinkle flowers, and her upper lip is lifted a little.
Look for us.
Smoke them out! Obliterate them! Avenge us!
WITCHS MONEY
Foiral had taken a load of cork up to the high road, where he met the motor truck from Perpignan. He was on his way back to the village, walking harmlessly beside his mule, and thinking of nothing at all, when he was passed by a striding madman, half naked, and of a type never seen before in this district of the Pyrenees-Orientales.
He was not of the idiot sort, with the big head, like two or three of them down in the village. Nor was he a lean, raving creature, like Barilles' old father after the house burned down. Nor had he a little, tiny, shrunken-up, chattering head, like the younger Lloubes. He was a new sort altogether.
Foiral decided he was a kind of bursting madman, all blare and racket, as bad as the sun. His red flesh burst out of his little bits of coloured clothes; red arms, red knees, red neck, and a great round red face bursting with smiles, words, laughter.
Foiral overtook him at the top of the ridge. He was staring down into the valley like a man thunderstruck.
