Read Online Patricia Highsmith - The Tremor of Forgery by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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Falling on your ear? Can ’ t you come to the garden sober? The remembered schoolboy joke brought irrepressible laughter, which Ingham gulped down, though tears stood in his eyes. Fortunately, Adams didn ’ t take his smile amiss, because Ingham could not possibly have explained it. Adams was still smiling complaisan tl y himself.
‘I’m sure you ’ re right, ’ Ingham said forcefully, hoping to wind it up. One might be friendly , but one did not make friends with people like Adams, Ingham was thinking. They were dangerous.
A few minutes later, as Adams was tapering off, though still on the subject of Our Way of life, Ingham asked, ‘ What about some of the things normal people do in bed? Heterosexuals. Do you disapprove of those things? ’
‘ What things do you mean? ’ Adams asked attentively, and Ingham thought very likely Adams really didn ’ t know about them.
“ Well — various things. Matter of fact, the same things homosexuals do. The very same things. ’
‘ Oh. Well, they ’ re still male and female. Man and wife, ’ Adams said cheerfully, tolerantly.
Yes, if they happened to be married, Ingham thought. “ That ’ s true, ’ Ingham said. If OWL preached tolerance, Ingham would not be outdone. But Ingham sensed his mind beginning to boggle, as it so often did with Adams, his own unassailable arguments seeming to turn to sand. That was what happened in brainwashing, Ingham thought. It was odd.
‘ Have you ever written anything, ’ Ingham asked, ‘ on these subjects ? ’
Adams ’ s smile became a little sly.
Ingham could see that he had, or wanted to, or was writing something now.
‘ You ’ re a man of letters who I think I can trust .’ Adams said. ‘ I do write, in a way, yes. Come to my b ungalow when we get home and I’ll show you .’
Ingham paid for their inexpensive dinner, because he felt he had been a little rude to Adams, and because Adams had driven him here in his Cadillac. Ingham was glad Adams had driven, because half an hour after his dinner, he began to have waves of gripes in his lower abdomen, in fact all over his abdomen, up to the ribs. In Hammamet, back at the bungalows, Ingham excused himself under pretext of getting another pack of cigarettes, and went to the toilet. Diarrhea , and pretty bad. He swallowed a couple of Entero-Vioform tablets, then went over to Adams ’ s.
Adams showed Ingham into his bedroom. Ingham had never been in the room before. It had a double bed with a very pretty red, white and blue counterpane, which Adams must have bought. There were a few shelves of books, more pictures — all photographs — a cosy, lighted nook within reach of the head of the bed, which contained a few books, a notebook, pen, ashtray, matches.
Adams opened a tall closet with a key, and pulled out a handsome black leather suitcase, which he unlocked with a small key on his key ring . Adams opened the suitcase on the bed. There was a radio of some sort, a tape machine, and two thick stacks of manuscript, all neatly arranged in the suitcase.
‘ This is what I write, ’ Adams said, gesturing towards the typewritten stacks of papers at one side of the suitcase. ‘ In fact, I broadcast it, as you see. Every Wednesday night ’ Adams chuckled.
‘ Really? ’ So that was what Adams did on Wednesdays. ‘ That ’ s very interesting, ’ Ingham said. ‘ You broadcast in English? ’
‘ In American. It goes behind the Iron Curtain. In fact, exclusively behind the Iron Curtain .’
‘ You ’ re employed then. By the Government. The Voice of America? ’
Adams shook his head quickly. ‘ If you ’ ll swear not to tell anyone — ’
‘ I swear, ’ Ingham said.
Adams relaxed slightly and spoke more softly . ‘ I ’ m employed by a small group of anti-Communists behind the Iron Curtain. Matter of fact, they ’ re not a small group by any means. They don ’ t pay me much, because they haven ’ t got it. The money comes via Switzerland, and
Falling on your ear? Can ’ t you come to the garden sober? The remembered schoolboy joke brought irrepressible laughter, which Ingham gulped down, though tears stood in his eyes. Fortunately, Adams didn ’ t take his smile amiss, because Ingham could not possibly have explained it. Adams was still smiling complaisan tl y himself.
‘I’m sure you ’ re right, ’ Ingham said forcefully, hoping to wind it up. One might be friendly , but one did not make friends with people like Adams, Ingham was thinking. They were dangerous.
A few minutes later, as Adams was tapering off, though still on the subject of Our Way of life, Ingham asked, ‘ What about some of the things normal people do in bed? Heterosexuals. Do you disapprove of those things? ’
‘ What things do you mean? ’ Adams asked attentively, and Ingham thought very likely Adams really didn ’ t know about them.
“ Well — various things. Matter of fact, the same things homosexuals do. The very same things. ’
‘ Oh. Well, they ’ re still male and female. Man and wife, ’ Adams said cheerfully, tolerantly.
Yes, if they happened to be married, Ingham thought. “ That ’ s true, ’ Ingham said. If OWL preached tolerance, Ingham would not be outdone. But Ingham sensed his mind beginning to boggle, as it so often did with Adams, his own unassailable arguments seeming to turn to sand. That was what happened in brainwashing, Ingham thought. It was odd.
‘ Have you ever written anything, ’ Ingham asked, ‘ on these subjects ? ’
Adams ’ s smile became a little sly.
Ingham could see that he had, or wanted to, or was writing something now.
‘ You ’ re a man of letters who I think I can trust .’ Adams said. ‘ I do write, in a way, yes. Come to my b ungalow when we get home and I’ll show you .’
Ingham paid for their inexpensive dinner, because he felt he had been a little rude to Adams, and because Adams had driven him here in his Cadillac. Ingham was glad Adams had driven, because half an hour after his dinner, he began to have waves of gripes in his lower abdomen, in fact all over his abdomen, up to the ribs. In Hammamet, back at the bungalows, Ingham excused himself under pretext of getting another pack of cigarettes, and went to the toilet. Diarrhea , and pretty bad. He swallowed a couple of Entero-Vioform tablets, then went over to Adams ’ s.
Adams showed Ingham into his bedroom. Ingham had never been in the room before. It had a double bed with a very pretty red, white and blue counterpane, which Adams must have bought. There were a few shelves of books, more pictures — all photographs — a cosy, lighted nook within reach of the head of the bed, which contained a few books, a notebook, pen, ashtray, matches.
Adams opened a tall closet with a key, and pulled out a handsome black leather suitcase, which he unlocked with a small key on his key ring . Adams opened the suitcase on the bed. There was a radio of some sort, a tape machine, and two thick stacks of manuscript, all neatly arranged in the suitcase.
‘ This is what I write, ’ Adams said, gesturing towards the typewritten stacks of papers at one side of the suitcase. ‘ In fact, I broadcast it, as you see. Every Wednesday night ’ Adams chuckled.
‘ Really? ’ So that was what Adams did on Wednesdays. ‘ That ’ s very interesting, ’ Ingham said. ‘ You broadcast in English? ’
‘ In American. It goes behind the Iron Curtain. In fact, exclusively behind the Iron Curtain .’
‘ You ’ re employed then. By the Government. The Voice of America? ’
Adams shook his head quickly. ‘ If you ’ ll swear not to tell anyone — ’
‘ I swear, ’ Ingham said.
Adams relaxed slightly and spoke more softly . ‘ I ’ m employed by a small group of anti-Communists behind the Iron Curtain. Matter of fact, they ’ re not a small group by any means. They don ’ t pay me much, because they haven ’ t got it. The money comes via Switzerland, and
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