Read Online Harold and Maude by Colin Higgins - Free Book Online Page B

closely at the ice. “I think I see it,” he said to Maude.
    â€œYes,” she agreed. “It’s almost there.”
    Glaucus stood up, his eyes barely open. He shuffled in place and made a few swipes at the air with his tools. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Not giving up…. Almost done…. Almost finished.”
    He wandered over to his large couch and sat down.
    â€œJust a little rest…. Not long…. Then, once more up the hill….” His voice trailed off, and his head fell forward on his chest. He began to snore.
    â€œI think he’s asleep,” Harold whispered.
    â€œAha! Morpheus!” shouted Glaucus, popping up, wild-eyed. “I’ll beat … I’ll never …” His eyelids closed. “Gonna make it…. Gonna make it…. Make it….” He plopped on the couch and drifted back against the cushions. It was over. He had fallen asleep.
    Harold took the tools from his hands, and Maude made him comfortable on the couch, loosening his boots and covering him with a rug.
    As they turned to go, Harold took a last look at the ice sculpture.
    â€œIt’s melting away,” he said.
    â€œYes,” said Maude.
    â€œDon’t you think we should turn off the heat?”
    â€œWhy?” asked Maude. “There’ll be a new block of ice in the morning.”
    F OR DINNER THAT EVENING Maude decided to go Japanese. She gave Harold a kimono to wear, and she put one on herself. It was a beautiful robe (“a gift from an admirer,” she said), made of blue and white silk that matched the colors of her eyes and hair. A friendly dragon was embroidered on the back.
    They had supper by lantern light in the Japanese nook, and afterwards she explained to Harold how she had fallen in love with the Orient during the many trips she and Frederick made there after the First World War. Indeed, she confessed, her contact with the East had made a profound impression on her life and, striking a match, she lit up her hookah.
    Harold leaned back on the cushions and thought over the day.
    â€œI like Glaucus,” he said.
    â€œYes,” said Maude, puffing away pleasantly, “so do
    I. But I think he is a little … old-fashioned.” She gestured at the hookah. “Like a drag, Harold?”
    â€œWell, I really don’t smoke.”
    â€œOh, this isn’t tobacco. It’s a mixture of grass and poppy seeds.”
    â€œBut I’ve never smoked that kind of …”
    â€œIt’s all right,” said Maude, offering him the hose. “It’s organic.”
    Harold took the hose and inhaled. He smiled. “I’m sure picking up on vices,” he said.
    â€œVice? Virtue? It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality. As Confucius says, ‘Don’t simply be good. Make good things happen.’”
    â€œDid Confucius say that?”
    â€œWell….” Maude smiled. “They say he was very wise, so I’m sure he must have.”
    Harold looked at her intently. “You are the wisest person I know,” he said.
    â€œMe!” cried Maude. “Ha! When I look around me, I know I know nothing. I remember, though, once long ago in Persia we met a wise man in the bazaar. He was a professional and used to sell his wisdom to anyone willing to pay. His speciality for tourists was a maxim engraved on the head of a pin—‘The wisest,’ he said, ‘the truest, the most instructive words for all men at all times.’ Frederick bought one for me, and back at the hotel I peered through a magnifying glass to read what it said: ‘And this too shall pass away.’”
    Maude laughed. “And the wise man was right. Apply that, and you’re bound to live life fully.”
    Harold sucked thoughtfully on the pipe. “Yes,” he said sadly. “I haven’t lived.” He took a deep breath. He suddenly giggled.