Read Online Lanceheim by Tim Davys - Free Book Online Page B

irritated her, but the smile she had put on remained unmoved.
    They exchanged a few more words with Jack, but moved in toward the hall and ended up beside Vincent Tortoise, the head of the Ministry of Culture.
    â€œReuben,” said Vincent in a voice vibrating with compassion, “I heard about what happened.”
    â€œAnything else would have shocked me,” mumbled Walrus.
    â€œThis is not a topic of conversation for an evening like this,” said Vincent, and Reuben felt deep gratitude toward the politician, who continued, “I’ll be in touch during the week, so we can talk a little, the two of us?”
    Reuben nodded, and Vincent Tortoise was swallowed up by the crowd of animals, who closed ranks and turned up the volume. Walrus snatched a glass of champagne that was being carried past on a large tray, forcing himself to smile politely and listen to the complaints from Countess Dahl. She let all her chins quiver with annoyance as she recounted the ignominy she was subjected to when her chauffeur for the evening proved to be a snake.
    Reuben nodded to the right and nodded to the left, feeling like all eyes were on him as he elbowed his way up toward the high windows where his ant had taken her station.
    â€œWe never should have come here,” he whispered. “Everyone knows! Everyone. How is it possible?”
    But before Denise had time to reply, they were attacked by another wave of admirers or backbiters, it was impossible to decide which; everyone smiled equally ingratiatingly and tenderly, anxious to express their dismay and concern.
    Jack Elephant had become a widower two years earlier, and these musical soirées were expensive pretexts to avoid spending evenings alone. Jack had been president of the Music Academy for many years, and Reuben Walrus did not dare say no to his invitations; he was not an enemy that Walrus could allow himself.
    On his way through the elephant’s sparsely furnished drawing room toward the grandiose dining room, Reuben walked close beside Denise. He had told her about Drexler’s syndrome that morning over a cup of coffee—which did not relieve his headache—at Gino’s. She was livid. How did he dare? To subject her to this? And when it was clear to herhow little he knew about the disease, how he had only accepted the doctor’s diagnosis, she promptly got up from the table and left. After the rehearsals in the afternoon, they had met at his place, and then she refused to talk about the matter.
    In some absurd manner this denial was pleasant; an angry look was preferable to a pitying one. Walrus refused to let himself be reduced to a victim, a poor thing. The sentence he had received was unmerciful, anxiety tore at his heart, but he still lived—and heard.
    He walked a half step behind Denise, breathing in the aroma of her perfume, the smell of cloth surrounding her hard-packed body, and for a few seconds he closed his eyes and tried to feel happy about getting to be so close.
    Â 
    In honor of the evening, Jack Elephant had placed Reuben Walrus at the short end of the table. He sat between a pianist he knew but whose name he could never remember, and a vivid green dog with red eyes from Amberville who lisped when she talked and introduced herself as Annette Afghan. The pianist was dressed in a tight-fitting black dress, which helped Reuben to recall her as a boring, honest, and ambitious stuffed animal. The dog was wearing something lownecked with ruffles.
    Denise Ant was sitting far away, between a duck that Reuben did not know and Tom Whitefish, music director at Radio Mollisan Town, who many considered to be the real power in the city’s musical life.
    â€œOh, so unexpected,” said Afghan as Reuben pulled out her chair and they sat down for dinner, “getting to sit next to a real TV star.”
    â€œTV star?” said Reuben with a self-conscious smile. “I don’t know if I—”
    â€œDo