Read Online The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michel Faber
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you. Cabs are trotting backwards and forwards, thickly bearded gentlemen in dark clothing dash across their path, sandwich-board men patrol the gutters and, over there, a trio of street-sweepers are standing over a drain, cramming the accumulated porridge of snow-slush, dirt and horse-dung down through the grille with jabs of their brooms. Even as they toil, an equipage bristling with provincial businessmen jingles by, leaving a steamy festoon of turd in its wake.
An omnibus is reined to a halt, and half a dozen passengers alight. One of them, a soberly dressed man of average height and build, is in an indecent hurry, and almost runs into the shit-spill: just in time he reels backwards, like a street clown performing for whinnying onlookers in Seven Dials. Mortified, he whips off his hat, and advances with a cringing gait. His hair, thus released into the atmosphere, is remarkable in how it sits, or more accurately jumps around, on his head. From the forehead down, he looks terribly serious, even anxious, as if he’s late for work and may expect a reprimand, but from the forehead up he is a comic delight: a flip-flopping crest of curly golden hair, like a small furry animal fallen out of the sky onto the head of a man, and determined to keep its purchase there no matter what.
Sugar smiles, relieved to see something amusing in the world at last; then she hugs her parcel once more, and starts to idle along the Stretch. Just a few more minutes, here on the cobbled shore of London’s tomorrow, and she’ll be ready to go home.
Leave Sugar to herself now; she longs to walk alone, anonymous. She’s already forgotten about the man with the ridiculous hair, whom you took to be just another passer-by, a flash of local colour distracting you from your quest to find the people you came here to meet. Stop daydreaming now; cross the shiny Rubicon of Regent Street, avoiding the traffic and the mounds of muck; and seek out that clownish man.
Whatever you do, don’t let him melt into the crowd, for he’s really a very important man, and he’ll take you further than you can possibly imagine.
THREE
W illiam Rackham, destined to be the head of Rackham Perfumeries but rather a disappointment at present, considers himself to be in desperate need of a new hat. That’s why he is hurrying so. That’s why you had better stop staring at the gently bobbing bustle of Sugar’s dress as she moves away from you, stop staring at her sharp shoulder-blades and wasp waist and the wisps of orange hair fluttering under her bonnet, and run after William Rackham instead.
You hesitate. Sugar is going home, to a bawdy-house with the most peculiar name of ‘Mrs Castaway’s’. You’d like to see the insides of such a place, wouldn’t you? Why should you miss whatever is about to happen, just to pursue this stranger, this … man? Admittedly his bouncing mop of golden hair was comical, but he was otherwise not very fascinating – especially compared to this woman you’re only just getting to know.
But William Rackham is destined to be the head of Rackham Perfumeries. Head of Rackham Perfumeries! If you want to get on, you can’t afford to linger in the company of whores. You must find it in you to become extraordinarily interested in why William Rackham considers himself to be in desperate need of a new hat. I will help you as much as I can.
His old hat he carries in his hand as he walks along, for he’d rather go bareheaded in a world of hatted men than wear it a minute longer, so ashamed is he of its unfashionable tallness and its frayed brim. Of course, whether he wears it or doesn’t wear it, people will be staring at him in pity, just as they stared at him in the omnibus … do they truly imagine he can’t see them smirking? Oh God! How is it possible things have come to this! Life has conspired … but no, he has no right to make so all-embracing an accusation … Rather say, there are unfriendly elements in Life conspiring against
An omnibus is reined to a halt, and half a dozen passengers alight. One of them, a soberly dressed man of average height and build, is in an indecent hurry, and almost runs into the shit-spill: just in time he reels backwards, like a street clown performing for whinnying onlookers in Seven Dials. Mortified, he whips off his hat, and advances with a cringing gait. His hair, thus released into the atmosphere, is remarkable in how it sits, or more accurately jumps around, on his head. From the forehead down, he looks terribly serious, even anxious, as if he’s late for work and may expect a reprimand, but from the forehead up he is a comic delight: a flip-flopping crest of curly golden hair, like a small furry animal fallen out of the sky onto the head of a man, and determined to keep its purchase there no matter what.
Sugar smiles, relieved to see something amusing in the world at last; then she hugs her parcel once more, and starts to idle along the Stretch. Just a few more minutes, here on the cobbled shore of London’s tomorrow, and she’ll be ready to go home.
Leave Sugar to herself now; she longs to walk alone, anonymous. She’s already forgotten about the man with the ridiculous hair, whom you took to be just another passer-by, a flash of local colour distracting you from your quest to find the people you came here to meet. Stop daydreaming now; cross the shiny Rubicon of Regent Street, avoiding the traffic and the mounds of muck; and seek out that clownish man.
Whatever you do, don’t let him melt into the crowd, for he’s really a very important man, and he’ll take you further than you can possibly imagine.
THREE
W illiam Rackham, destined to be the head of Rackham Perfumeries but rather a disappointment at present, considers himself to be in desperate need of a new hat. That’s why he is hurrying so. That’s why you had better stop staring at the gently bobbing bustle of Sugar’s dress as she moves away from you, stop staring at her sharp shoulder-blades and wasp waist and the wisps of orange hair fluttering under her bonnet, and run after William Rackham instead.
You hesitate. Sugar is going home, to a bawdy-house with the most peculiar name of ‘Mrs Castaway’s’. You’d like to see the insides of such a place, wouldn’t you? Why should you miss whatever is about to happen, just to pursue this stranger, this … man? Admittedly his bouncing mop of golden hair was comical, but he was otherwise not very fascinating – especially compared to this woman you’re only just getting to know.
But William Rackham is destined to be the head of Rackham Perfumeries. Head of Rackham Perfumeries! If you want to get on, you can’t afford to linger in the company of whores. You must find it in you to become extraordinarily interested in why William Rackham considers himself to be in desperate need of a new hat. I will help you as much as I can.
His old hat he carries in his hand as he walks along, for he’d rather go bareheaded in a world of hatted men than wear it a minute longer, so ashamed is he of its unfashionable tallness and its frayed brim. Of course, whether he wears it or doesn’t wear it, people will be staring at him in pity, just as they stared at him in the omnibus … do they truly imagine he can’t see them smirking? Oh God! How is it possible things have come to this! Life has conspired … but no, he has no right to make so all-embracing an accusation … Rather say, there are unfriendly elements in Life conspiring against
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