Mood Indigo (16 page)

She looked at Nicholas and added, ‘You don't look too well.'

‘I wouldn't know,' said Nicholas. ‘I feel as if I'm getting old.'

‘Let's have a look at your passport,' said Alyssum. He delved into his revolver pocket. ‘Here you are,' he said.

Alyssum opened the passport and turned pale. ‘How old were you when this was taken?' she asked gravely.

‘Twenty-nine …' said Nicholas. ‘Look …'

He counted the wrinkles. There were at least thirty-five. ‘I can't understand it …' he said.

‘It must be a mistake,' said Alyssum, ‘because you don't look older than twenty-nine.'

‘But I only looked twenty-one then,' said Nicholas.

‘We'll soon get it put right for you,' said Alyssum.

‘I like your hair,' said Nicholas. ‘Come on, come and see Chloe.'

‘What's wrong with everything here?' said Alyssum, twice as gravely.

‘Oh!' said Nicholas. ‘It's her illness. It's affected us all. It will all get put right soon and then I'll grow young again.'

Chloe was lying on the bed, dressed in mauve silk pyjamas with a dressing-gown of pale orange-beige quilted satin. There were lots of flowers all round her, mainly orchids and roses. But there were also hydrangeas, cyclamen, ornettes, baloulettes, rhodridons, camellias, large branches of peach blossom, almond blossom and great armfuls of hibiscus. Her breasts were uncovered and a large blue tendril appeared to be tattooed on the gilded amber skin of the one on the right. Her cheeks were slightly pink, her eyes brilliant but without their old shine, and her hair light and electrified like silken thread.

‘You'll catch cold!' said Alyssum. ‘Cover yourself up!'

‘No,' murmured Chloe. ‘I've got to be like that. Doctor's orders!'

‘What pretty flowers!' said Alyssum. ‘Colin will ruin himself …' she added gaily to make Chloe laugh.

‘He will,' murmured Chloe. She gave a feeble smile.

‘He's looking for a job,' she said in a low voice. ‘That's why he isn't here.'

‘Why are you talking like that?' asked Alyssum.

‘I'm thirsty …' said Chloe, breathlessly.

‘Do you really only have two spoonfuls a day?' said Alyssum.

‘Yes …' sighed Chloe.

Alyssum went close and kissed her.

‘You'll be better in no time.'

‘Yes,' said Chloe. ‘I'm going away tomorrow in the car with Nicholas.'

‘What about Colin?' asked Alyssum.

‘He's got to stay,' said Chloe. ‘He's got to work. My poor dear Colin! … He's got no doublezoons left …'

‘Why not?' asked Alyssum.

‘The flowers …' said Chloe.

‘Is it getting bigger?' murmured Alyssum.

‘The water-lily?' said Chloe, very quietly. ‘No … I think it's going away …'

‘So you're happy then?'

‘Yes,' said Chloe. ‘But I'm so thirsty.'

‘Why don't you put the light on?' asked Alyssum. ‘It's dark in here.'

‘It's been like it for some time,' said Chloe. ‘It's been like it for some time. We can't do anything about it. You try.'

Alyssum went to the switch and a feeble halo wobbled round the bulb.

‘The bulbs are dying,' said Chloe. ‘The walls are closing in too. And the window in here is shrivelling up!'

‘It can't be true,' said Alyssum.

‘Just look …'

The window which used to run round the whole room now filled no more than a couple of rectangles with very rounded corners. A kind of beanstalk had grown up in
the middle, joining top and bottom, and blotting out the sun. The ceiling had very obviously sunk lower and the platform under Colin and Chloe's bed was now only a few inches above the floor.

‘How can a thing like this happen?' asked Alyssum.

‘I don't know …' said Chloe. ‘Oh, look, here's a spot of light.'

The mouse with the black whiskers had just come in, carrying a corner broken from one of the kitchen corridor tiles which sent out a brilliant glow.

‘When it gets too dark,' explained Chloe, ‘it always brings me a little.'

She stroked the little animal who put its loot on the bedside table.

‘It's nice of you to come and see me, all the same,' said Chloe.

‘Oh,' said Alyssum, ‘you know I'm very fond of you.'

‘I know,' said Chloe. ‘And how's Chick?'

‘Oh, fine!' said Alyssum. ‘He's bought me a suit.'

‘It's pretty,' said Chloe. ‘It suits you too.'

She stopped speaking.

‘Are you in pain?' said Alyssum. ‘You poor darling.'

She went over and put her hand on Chloe's cheek.

‘Yes,' groaned Chloe. ‘And I'm so thirsty.'

‘I know,' said Alyssum. ‘If I kissed you, it might quench it a little.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Chloe.

Alyssum leaned over her.

Chloe sighed, ‘Your lips are so cool …'

Alyssum smiled. Her eyes were damp.

‘Where are you going?' she asked.

‘Not far,' said Chloe. ‘Up in the mountains.'

She turned on her left side.

‘Do you love Chick very, very much?'

‘Yes,' said Alyssum. ‘But he loves his books more than me.'

‘I'm not sure about that,' said Chloe. ‘Maybe it's true. But if I hadn't been married to Colin, then I'd have been so pleased if you could have lived with him.'

Alyssum kissed her again.

Chick came out of the shop. There was nothing in there to interest him. He walked along, looking down at his feet in their buffalo-hide shoes, and was surprised to see that one was trying to lead him one way, and the other in the opposite direction. He thought for a few moments, mentally bisected the angle between the two, and set off straight along the line thus produced. He narrowly escaped being run over by a fat greasy taxi and owed his salvation entirely to a graceful leap which landed him right on the feet of a man on the pavement who let out a curse and went straight into hospital to be put together again.

Chick went on his way. There was a bookshop straight ahead. He was in Jimmy Noone Street and the sign was painted in imitation of the one outside Lulu White's Mahogany Hall. He pushed the door, which pushed him equally roughly back, so he went in through the shop-window without any further argument.

The bookseller, perched on top of the complete works of John Galsworthy who had conceived them especially for
this purpose, was smoking the pipe of peace. It was a very pretty one made of briar and he was constantly stuffing it with olive leaves. By his side there was also a spittoon for any bait he might swallow, a wet towel for refreshing his temples, and a bottle of Provodka to back up the effects of his smoking.

He gave Chick a smelly disembodied look.

‘What do you want?' he asked.

‘Just to look at your books …' replied Chick.

‘Look then,' said the man, and he took aim at the spittoon with his lips – but it was only a false alarm.

Chick went into the bowels of the shop. There was an atmosphere favourable for discovery. He squashed a few insects as he walked farther in. The place smelt of old leather and the smoke of burning olive leaves – which makes a pretty foul stink.

The books were arranged in alphabetical order, but as the bookseller didn't know his alphabet very well, Chick found the Heartre section between T and B. He took out his magnifying glass and started to study the bindings. In a copy of
Breathing and Stuffiness
, the famous critical study of the effects of the common cold, he had soon unearthed a highly interesting fingerprint. Feverishly he took from his coat-pocket a little box in which, besides a camel-hair brush, he kept some fingerprint powder and a copy of
The Model Blood-Hound's Manual
by Cardinal Yesman. He worked with great care, making comparisons with a sheet that he took from his wallet. He stopped, breathless. It was the print of Heartre's left index finger which until then, had never been found by anybody anywhere except on his old pipes.

Clasping the precious find to his heart, he rushed back to the bookseller.

‘How much is this?'

The bookseller looked at the book and chuckled. ‘So you've found it! …'

‘What's so extraordinary about it?' asked Chick, pretending he didn't know.

‘Ho!' spluttered the bookseller, opening his mouth and letting his pipe fall and fizzle out in the spittoon.

He came out with a forty-four-letter word and rubbed his hands together, delighted that he wouldn't have to suck that unspeakable horror any more.

‘I'd like to know …' insisted Chick.

His heart almost burst out of his body and began to beat loudly against his ribs with the wild rhythm of jungle drums.

‘Now, now, now …' said the bookseller, who couldn't stop laughing and was rolling on the floor. ‘You're a real jester! …'

‘Listen,' said Chick, beginning to feel very awkward, ‘what are you talking about? …'

‘When I think,' said the bookseller, ‘that to get that fingerprint I had to offer him my pipe of peace half-a-dozen times and learn the same number of conjuring tricks so that I could swop it for another edition when he wasn't looking.'

‘Skip it,' said Chick. ‘Since you know all about it, how much d'you want for it?'

‘It's not very expensive,' said the bookseller, ‘but I've got something much better. Wait a moment.'

He got up, disappeared behind a low partition that cut the bookshop in two, scrambled around in something and was back in a flash.

‘Here we are,' he said, flinging a pair of trousers on the counter.

‘What's this?' gasped Chick, almost afraid of what he might hear.

A delicious thrill ran through his whole body.

‘A pair of Heartre's trousers! …' announced the bookseller with pride.

‘How did you get them?' asked Chick, ecstatic.

‘It was while he was giving a lecture …' explained the bookseller. ‘Never even noticed. There are some holes burnt by his pipe, you know …'

‘I'll take them,' said Chick.

‘What?' asked the bookseller … ‘Because I've got something else …'

Chick put his hand on his chest. It was impossible for him to hold in his heartbeats any longer and he let them out to go crazy for a while.

‘Here we are …' said the bookseller again.

It was a pipe. On the stem Chick could easily recognize marks made by Heartre's teeth.

‘How much?' said Chick.

‘You know,' said the bookseller, ‘that he's working on an
Encyclopedia of Nausea
in twenty volumes at the moment. I'm going to get the manuscripts …'

‘But I'll never be able to …' said Chick, bumping down to earth again, crushed, dumbfounded and with a sinking heart.

‘I couldn't care less about that!' said the bookseller.

‘How much for these three?' asked Chick.

‘A thousand doublezoons,' said the bookseller, ‘and that's my last offer. I refused one thousand two hundred yesterday. I'm only doing this for you because you look as if you'll look after them …'

Chick pulled out his wallet. His face was horribly pale.

‘We've given up using a tablecloth,' said Colin, ‘as you can see.'

‘I'm not worried about that,' said Chick. ‘But I don't understand why the wood has grown all chipped and knotty like that …'

‘I don't know why it is,' said Colin, dreamily. ‘I don't think we know how to clean it properly. It comes from the inside.'

‘And wasn't this a woollen carpet before?' asked Chick. ‘This one looks as if it's made of cotton …'

‘It's still the same one,' said Colin. ‘I'm
sure
it's not different.'

‘It's funny,' said Chick. ‘It seems as if the whole world is closing in on you in here!'

Nicholas brought in some greasy soup with chunks of toast submerged in it. He gave them very large helpings.

‘What's this, Nicholas?' asked Chick.

‘Ockseau with chopped noodles,' replied Nicholas. ‘It's smashing!'

‘Ah!' said Chick, ‘did you get the recipe out of ffroydde?'

‘The hell I did!' said Nicholas. ‘It came from Joe's, ffroydde may be all right for the snobserver crowd … But just look at all the things he expects you to get hold of!'

‘But you've got everything you need,' said Chick.

‘What?' said Nicholas. ‘I've only got the gas and a fridgiplonk like everyone else. What d'you take us for?'

‘Oh … Forget it!' said Chick.

He wriggled on his chair. He didn't know how to continue a conversation of that kind.

‘Would you like some wine with it?' asked Colin. ‘This is all I've got left in the cellar. It's not too bad.'

Chick held out his glass.

‘Alyssum came to see Chloe a few days ago,' said Colin, ‘but I didn't see her. And yesterday Nicholas took Chloe up into the mountains.'

‘Yes,' said Chick. ‘Alyssum told me.'

‘I had a letter from Professor Gnawknuckle,' said Colin. ‘He's asking for loads of money. But I think he's a very good man.'

Colin's head was aching. He had hoped that Chick was going to do all the talking, tell him stories, entertain him. But Chick seemed to be concentrating on something farther away, outside the window. Suddenly he got up and, taking a tape measure from his pocket, went to measure the window-frame.

‘I've got a feeling this is changing too,' he said.

‘How can it be?' said Colin scornfully.

‘It's getting smaller,' said Chick. ‘And so is the room …'

‘What are you talking about?' said Colin. ‘That's absolute nonsense …'