Read Online Porterhouse Blue by Tom Sharpe - Free Book Online Page B

fork into Zipser’s hand. Zipser poked the crumpet at the fire tentatively and felt once again that dissociation from reality that seemed so much a part of life in Cambridge. It was as if everyone in the College sought to parody himself, as if a parody of a parody could become itself a new reality. Behind him the Chaplainstumbled over a footrest and deposited a jar of honey with a boom on the brass-topped table. Zipser removed the crumpet, blackened on one side and ice cold on the other, and put it on a plate. He toasted another while the Chaplain tried to spread butter on the one he had half done. By the time they had finished Zipser’s face was burning from the fire and his hands were sticky with a mixture of melted butter and honey. The Chaplain sat back in his chair and filled his pipe from a tobacco jar with the Porterhouse crest on it.
    ‘Do help yourself, my dear boy,’ said the Chaplain, pushing the jar towards him.
    ‘I don’t smoke.’
    The Chaplain shook his head sadly. ‘Everyone should smoke a pipe,’ he said. ‘Calms the nerves. Puts things in perspective. Couldn’t do without mine.’ He leant back, puffing vigorously. Zipser stared at him through a haze of smoke.
    ‘Now then where were we?’ he asked. Zipser tried to think. ‘Ah yes, your little problem, that’s right,’ said the Chaplain finally. ‘I knew there was something.’
    Zipser stared into the fire resentfully.
    ‘The Senior Tutor said something about it. I didn’t gather very much but then I seldom do. Deafness, you know.’
    Zipser nodded sympathetically.
    ‘The affliction of the elderly. That and rheumatism. It’s the damp, you know. Comes up from the river. Very unhealthy living so close to the Fens.’ His pipepercolated gently. In the comparative silence Zipser tried to think what to say. The Chaplain’s age and his evident physical disabilities made it difficult for Zipser to conceive that he could begin to understand the problem of Mrs Biggs.
    ‘I really think there’s been a misunderstanding,’ he began hesitantly and stopped. It was evident from the look on the Chaplain’s face that there was no understanding at all.
    ‘You’ll have to speak up,’ the Chaplain boomed. ‘I’m really quite deaf.’
    ‘I can see that,’ Zipser said. The Chaplain beamed at him.
    ‘Don’t hesitate to tell me,’ he said. ‘Nothing you say can shock me.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ Zipser said.
    The Chaplain’s smile remained insistently benevolent. ‘I know what we’ll do,’ he said, hopping to his feet and reaching behind his chair. ‘It’s something I use for confession sometimes.’ He emerged holding a loudhailer and handed it to Zipser. ‘Press the trigger when you’re going to speak.’
    Zipser held the thing up to his mouth and stared at the Chaplain over the rim. ‘I really don’t think this is going to help,’ he said finally. His words reverberated through the room and set the teapot rattling on the brass table.
    ‘Of course it is,’ shouted the Chaplain, ‘I can hear perfectly.’
    ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Zipser said desperately. The fronds of the castor-oil plant quivered ponderously. ‘I meant I don’t think it’s going to help to talk about …’ He left the dilemma of Mrs Biggs unspoken.
    The Chaplain smiled in absolution and puffed his pipe vigorously. ‘Many of the young men who come to see me,’ he said, invisible in a cloud of smoke, ‘suffer from feelings of guilt about masturbation.’
    Zipser stared frantically at the smoke screen. ‘Masturbation? Who said anything about masturbation?’ he bawled into the loudhailer. It was apparent someone had. His words, hideously amplified, billowed forth from the room and across the Court outside. Several undergraduates by the fountain turned and stared up at the Chaplain’s windows. Deafened by his own vociferousness, Zipser sat sweating with embarrassment.
    ‘I understood from the Senior Tutor that you wanted to see me about a sexual