Пол Боулз - Let it come down

«It’s a signal,» thought Eunice as the girl went beneath the looped-up beaded curtain. «She wants to warn Hadija so she won’t come out or talk loud». «Do you have many rooms?» she said.

«Four». Madame Papaconstante shivered slightly. «Pink, blue, green and yellow».

«I adore yellow,» said Eunice unexpectedly. «They say it’s the color of madness, but that doesn’t prevent me. It’s so brilliant and full of sunshine as a color. Vous ne trouvez pas ?»

«I like all colors,» Madame Papaconstante said vaguely, looking toward the street with apprehension.

The girl returned without the sweater. «It’s not there,» she announced. Madame Papaconstante looked at her meaningfully, but the girl’s face was blank. She returned to her position behind the bar. Two Spaniards in overalls ducked in from the street and ordered beer; evidently they had come from somewhere nearby, as their clothes were only slightly sprinkled with raindrops. Madame Papaconstante rose. «I’m going to look for it myself,» she announced. «One moment. Je reviens a l’instant ». As she waddled down the hallway, running her hand along the wall, she murmured aloud: « Qué mujer! Qué mujer !»

More customers entered. When she came out, wearing over the kimono a huge purple sweater which had been stretched into utter formlessness, she looked a little happier. Without speaking to Eunice she went to the bar and joked with the men. It was going to be a fairly good night for business, after all. Perhaps if she ignored the foreign lady she would go away. The men, none of whom happened to have seen Eunice before, asked her in undertones who the strange woman was, what she was doing, sitting there alone in the bar. The question embarrassed Madame Papaconstante. «A tourist,» she said nonchalantly. «Here?» they exclaimed, astonished. «She’s a little crazy,» she said, by way of explanation. But she was unhappy about Eunice’s presence; she wished she would go away. Naively she decided to try and get her drunk, and not wishing to be re-engaged in conversation with her, sent the drink, a double straight gin, over to her table by Lolita.

« Ahí tiene ,» said Lolita, setting the glass down. Eunice leered at her, and lifting it, drained it in two swallows. Madame Papaconstante’s ingenuousness amused her greatly.

A few minutes later Lolita appeared at the table with another drink. «I didn’t order this,» said Eunice, just to see what would happen.

«A gift from Madame».

« Ah, de veras !» said Eunice. «Wait!» she cried sharply as the girl started away. «Tell Madame Papaconstante I want to speak to her».

Presently Madame Papaconstante was leaning over her table. «You wanted to see me, madame?»

«Yes,» said Eunice, making an ostensible effort to focus her eyes on the fleshy countenance. «I’m not feeling well. I think I’ve had too much to drink». Madame Papaconstante showed solicitude, but not very convincingly. «I think,» Eunice went on, «that you’ll have to take me to a room and let me lie down».

Madame Papaconstante started. «Oh, impossible, Madame! It’s not allowed for ladies to be in the rooms».

«And what about the girls?»

« Ah, oui, mais ça c’est naturel ! They are my employees, madame».

«As you like,» said Eunice carelessly, and she began to sing, softly at first, but with rapidly increasing stridency. Madame Papaconstante returned to the bar with misgivings.

Eunice Goode sang on, always louder. She sang: «I Have To Pass Your House to Get to My House» and «Get Out of Town». By the time she got to «I Have Always Been a Kind of Woman Hater» and «The Last Round-Up» the sound that came from her ample lungs was nothing short of a prolonged shriek.

Noticing Madame Papaconstante’s expression of increasing apprehension, she said to herself with satisfaction: «I’ll fix the old bitch, once and for all». She struggled to her feet, managing as she did so to upset not only her chair, but the table as well. Pieces of glass flew toward the feet of the men who stood at one end of the bar.

« Aaah, madame, quand-même !» cried Madame Papaconstante in consternation. «Please! You are making a scandal. One does not make scandals in my bar. This is a respectable establishment. I can’t have the police coming to complain».

Eunice moved crookedly toward the bar, and smiling apologetically, leaned her arm on Madame Papaconstante’s cushion-like shoulder. « Je suis navrée ,» she began hesitantly. « Je ne me sens pas bien. Ça ne va pas du tout . You must forgive me. I don’t know. Perhaps a good large glass of gin..».

Madame Papaconstante looked around helplessly. The others had not understood. Then she thought: perhaps now she will leave, and went behind the bar to pour it out herself. Eunice turned to the man beside her and with great dignity explained that she was not at all drunk, that she merely felt a little sick. The man did not reply.

At the first sip of her drink she raised her head, looked at Madame Papaconstante with startled eyes, and put her hand to her forehead.

«Quick! I’m ill! Where’s the toilet?»

The men moved a little away from her. Madame Papaconstante seized her arm and pulled her through the doorway down the hall. At the far end she opened a door and pushed her into a foul-smelling closet, totally dark. Eunice groaned. «I shall bring a light,» said Madame Papaconstante, hurrying away. Eunice lit a match, flushed the toilet, made some more groaning sounds, and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. She stepped out swiftly and went into the next room, which was also dark. She lit another match, saw a couch against the wall. She lay down and waited. A minute or two later there were voices in the hallway. Presently someone opened the door. She lay still, breathing slowly, deeply. A flashlight was turned into her face. Hands touched her, tugged at her. She did not move.

« No hay remedio ,» said one of the girls.

A few more halfhearted attempts were made to rouse her, and then the group withdrew and closed the door.

As he climbed behind Thami through the streets that were half stairways, Dyar felt his enthusiasm for their project rapidly diminishing. The wet wind circled down upon them from above, smelling of the sea. Occasionally it splashed them with rain, but mostly it merely blew. By the time they had turned into the little street that ran level, he was thinking of his room back at the Hotel de la Playa almost with longing. «Here,» said Thami.

They walked into the bar. The first thing Dyar saw was Hadija standing in the back doorway. She was wearing a simple flannel dress that Eunice had bought her on the Boulevard Pasteur, and it fitted her. She had also learned not to make up so heavily, and even to do her hair up into a knot at the back of her neck, rather than let it stand out wildly in hopeless imitation of the American film stars. She looked intently at Dyar, who felt a slight shiver run down his spine.

«By God, look at that!» he murmured to Thami.

«You like her?»

«I could use a little of it, all right».

A Spaniard had placed a portable radio on the bar; two of the girls bent over listening to faint guitar music behind a heavy curtain of static. Three men were having a serious drunken discussion at a table in the corner. Madame Papa-constante sat at the end of the bar, smoking listlessly. « Muy buenas ,» she said to them, beaming widely, mistaking them in her sleepiness for Spaniards.

Thami replied quietly without looking at her. Dyar went to the bar and ordered drinks, keeping his eye on Hadija, who when she saw his attention, looked beyond him to the street. Hearing English being spoken, Madame Papaconstante rose and approached the two, swaying a little more than usual.