Read Online House of All Nations by Christina Stead - Free Book Online Page B

whoopee, don’t we? No business.’ He clapped his hands and stared round at the pillars. ‘Waiter, where’s the waiter? A bottle of wine. You want some more wine, don’t you, Margaret? Of course. Marianne? Aristide?’ They all licked their lips and agreed under their breaths. Aristide alone said in a businesslike tone, ‘We’ve got enough, Henri.’
    â€˜Enough? Enough! Two bottles of wine for four people. You’re not going to go back on me, Margaret? I want to have fun tonight. I come to Paris to have fun. Come on, darling, say you’ll drink some more wine? You will. Waiter! More wine. Another bottle.’
    â€˜Certainly.’
    Léon looked round the table grandly, with satisfaction. Aristide said, bending over his plate and cutting a great hunk of meat, ‘Bertillon makes fortunes for himself at Deauville and on the stock exchange: he’s lucky—’
    â€˜Don’t talk about Bertillon,’ commanded Léon cheerfully: ‘let’s talk about me. I want to be with my friends tonight. What’ll we do afterwards? Eh? A cabaret. The Scheherazade? I’ve got four tickets. A girl there gave them to me. Four tickets and champagne free. She gave me four. We’ll go to the Scheherazade.’
    They ate dumbly while he looked round, searching for fresh horizons to beam upon. He leaned forward. ‘Ah, I tell you, Marianne, Alfonso XIII has to go. They all have to go: all the tyrants. That’s what my heart tells me. No oppression. You can make more money under socialism. And if you couldn’t, I’d still want it … Money-making isn’t all of life. My life would be empty if there were only money-making in it. I tell you, Margaret, if I thought my life was going to end like that, I’d go and throw a bomb at one of the men who are oppressing people. A man can’t go out like that. You light a gas flame, it sings and suddenly it goes out. There’s no more money in the meter. Do I want to be like that? I get sad, Margaret, when I think that my life is empty.’ He got gayer. ‘No, Margaret, I can’t end like that. I’ve got to be famous, Margaret: by James, I’ll be famous, I’ll make my name known, even I have to throw a bomb and kill—George V—no he’s too gray—kill Mussolini and free his people.’ He looked tenderly at them all. ‘Eh, Marianne, did you know I felt like that? No, Marianne, I can’t just be put back into a box after having been out all over the table, like a pack of cards.’ He looked around. ‘My, what a pretty girl! Don’t they have pretty girls here. Hé , Miss!’ The girl smiled and approached with her tray of cigarettes. ‘What do you want, Margaret? Abdullas, Abdullas, Marianne? I’ll buy you all cigarettes. Have you got any small Abdullas, Miss? These, these, no these, haven’t you got any smaller—there you are, Margaret. You’re too pretty to be working here, Miss. Bring me some cigars, will you?’ She went off smiling. He whispered gigantically, ‘I say, she’s a pretty girl: um, isn’t she? Isn’t she a pretty girl? What do you think? Say, they’re pretty smart, aren’t they? Nothing but pretty girls here. Look at the other one: not so bad. Poor girl, I bet she has to work hard.’
    They smiled suitably. The girl approached again. It must not be forgotten that theoretically Margaret Weyman had approached Léon on a business proposition. Léon said, ‘Hey, Miss, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here? You ought to be in the chorus. Aren’t you in the chorus? Why aren’t you?’
    The girl dallied, with aplomb but without conviction. ‘Why, I never thought about it, sir.’
    â€˜You’re too pretty to be working here. You work pretty hard, eh? When do you get off?’
    The girl said with a quiet dignity, her eyes having summed up the other