He walked across the dining-room, surveyed himself in the mirror.
‘Thanks, Mrs Gandell,’ he said, and returned to the table.
‘For God’s sake don’t keep on thanking me,’ she said.
‘I do what I want to do,’ he said.
He picked up the glass, and then the bottle. He held it high to the light.
‘What a noble flash lies therein, Mrs Gandell,’ and he helped himself to another drink.
The most awkward situations, the most ordinary situations hold their desperation, and they both knew this, on a flat morning. She held up her own glass, gave him a sudden smile, and said, ‘Your health, Jones.’
‘That’s the third time, Mrs Gandell,’ he said, refusing to smile.
He leaned across to her, she felt the quick squeeze on her arm, as Jones said, in a wheedling tone, ‘I am sure that you are looking forward to crossing the frontier, Mrs Gandell,’ and went on squeezing.
She kissed him with a wet mouth, took his hands. ‘I always look forward to you doing your duty, Jones.’
‘Lovely.’
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ Jones said. ‘I do have my moods.’
‘Don’t we all,’ she replied.
He noticed that her speech was beginning to thicken, he sat back in his chair. The gin began to dribble on her chin, the hand with the glass was shaky, and he quietly removed it. ‘Yes, you like crossing the frontier, Mrs Gandell,’ he said, accepting without thanks, her expanding smile. ‘I’ll set you on fire.’
‘Will you, Jones?’ and the smile stayed.
‘Soon,’ Jones said, ‘soon,’ leaned across again, patted her hand.
‘You are very good to me, Jones,’ Mrs Gandell said, and for the hundreth time, ‘I wouldn’t know what to do without you.’
Jones was so glad that he gave her another drink, and then helped himself. And for the fourth time they toasted each other’s health. He had begun to stutter, but she was quite blind to that.
‘Do - - d’you know what they call me in this town, Mrs Gandell?’
‘Wha - - - what do they call you - - - - Jones?’
‘I - - I - - I’ll tell you,’ said Jones, and he loved the great, coarse laugh that followed.
‘Th - - th - - they call me an emanation, Mrs - - Gand - - ell.’ He gave a loud titter, adding, ‘Think of that. An emanation. Think of it, an e - - - man - - a - - - tion.’
‘Wh, wh - - what is that?’ she asked, and would have dropped her glass had he not deftly caught it.
‘What it is,’ he said, and grinned at her.
He sat well back in the chair, he noted the high flush that had come to the Gandell cheeks. He lit a cigarette, spread legs, picked up the bottle and replaced the top. ‘Enough is enough.’
Mrs Gandell made to get up, but sat heavily down again. Jones watched, Jones smiled, the language was old, and he knew all the words.
‘Soon, Mrs Gandell,’ he said, ‘soon.’
She made to rise again, grabbed the table.
‘Did I tell you that the man with the chariot in his head has written Vaughan another letter, Mrs Gandell?’
She shook her head, leaned heavily on the table.
He stood up, leaned over her. ‘I’ll re - - - re - - read it to you after we’ve crossed the frontier, Mrs Gandell.’
‘A l - - le - letter,’ she said.
‘A letter,’ Jones said.
‘You - - you - - you’ve been in - - her room, Jones.’
‘I always empty her wastepaper basket,’ he said, and he leaned very close to her and hissed, ‘And you know that.’
Suddenly her head was heavy on his shoulder, and he was stroking what was vast in her.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘ah!’ And he stroked, and went on stroking. ‘She never reads letters. I told you,’ and felt her breath in his face as she stuttered her reply.
‘Oh - - - yes - - yes, of course - I remember now. I see, Jones.’
‘Glad you do,’ he said. ‘I have to tell you things so often, Mrs Gandell,’ and against her ear, added, ‘Sometimes I think you’ve a brain with the fragility of a wren’s leg.’
She seemed unaware that he was speaking, and she had closed her eyes, and only knew that he was actually there by reason of a geographical exploration across her flesh.
