This Scorching Earth (25 page)

Actually she wasn't too strong for horses. Dogs were her strong point. She always felt slightly ill when she realized that hundreds of big, virile but gentle-eyed dogs were being starved, beaten, and maimed every day of the week around her. To be sure, she had never seen any of this, but she knew it occurred with frightening regularity. Dogs, after all—unlike people—were the same the world over. She remembered those fine, upstanding, military-looking Australian dogs and, as always, felt a little tug at her heartstrings. Randolph—that was Lord Briton—liked dogs too, and that helped.

To be sure, even the dog kingdom had its slackers—like those utterly nasty little beasts which had bitten Mrs. Colonel Butternut on the thigh when she was being the head of John the Baptist during charades. But then—and this was telling—they had
not
been Australian animals. They were some mongrel Japanese variety. ... But her audience was waiting.

"Well, the reason this poor animal was being punished was because he had stopped in the middle of the road, and the reason he had stopped was obvious to everyone but the little man who owned him. He was overburdened. Dreadfully so. That little cart was piled to the skies, and that little man was standing there using a long, cruel switch on the animal. Just in the manner of these appalling night-soil collectors—how do you call them? Honey carts? Yes, that's it—most amusing—honey carts it is!"

She continued: "Naturally, it made my blood simply boil. We stopped the car. The chauffeur's native too, of course, so you'd expect him to side with his countryman, which is just what he did. And I walked over to that little man, all dressed up in his own fashion—a rag here, a rag there, actually rather picturesque, but filthy, of course. Well, I told the little blighter to stop. He didn't; he merely took off a rag from his bead, as though it were a fedora, and went right on beating the animal with the other hand. So, with a self-possession which I must say Randolph later admired—dear Randolph—I stepped right up to him and took his switch away. Then I deliberately broke it over one knee." She glanced down at her beaded cocktail dress. "And it wasn't too easy in this dress which, after all, is just about as comfortable as a straightjacket."

"No, no, Lady Briton, it is lovely," came several voices at once. "So smart. So chic. Just a dream."

She held up a hand. "But I was successful. The whip broke!"

She paused to reap her reward of compliments and smiles, and then went on: "So, using our native as interpreter, we discovered that this fellow thought it was important for him to get somewhere or other with a funny name before nightfall. I asked, through the native, if it were important at the expense of the horse's life. And, after a great show of thought and much smiling, the little beggar said that yes, he thought it was."

In the general consternation that followed, Lady Briton had to use both hands to reestablish her authority. "Well, infuriated, and with jolly good reason, I—with these two hands, and at the risk of this silly little gown I have on, which came, by the way from Melbourne, so you can see we 'Aussies' aren't quite so far behind you 'Yanks' as some would like to think—well, so at its risk (though, as a matter of fact, it didn't hurt it at all) I began unloading that despicable little cart, while Mrs. General Hughes tried to comfort the poor animal. To be sure, it is a bit unfortunate that the good woman doesn't know much about horses. She put her fingers in his nostrils, and, naturally, he bit her."

Wasting no time over the plight of Mrs. General Hughes, she went on immediately she had taken breath: "Well, when the load was down to a decent weight, we told the man to go on. But the beggar wouldn't. He just kept pointing to his stuff on the road and the rest of it in the cart, and finally he started crying. Well, that
was
too much. These people never show much grit and determination as it is—but tears! Well, as I say, it was just utterly too much. One can only tolerate so much, and I picked up that broken switch, and I swung it back with such purpose that that little blighter was only too happy to pull the horse away and start off down the road."

There was general laughter and some scattered applause, but she silenced it again with a held-up hand and an impassive face. "Well, we naturally all enjoyed a merry laugh, and Randolph, I must say, who is not usually particularly emotional, rather surprised me by putting his arm around the back of my seat—that is, the seat in which I was sitting. And so, all in all, as they say, it ended happily ever after and was responsible for my seeing that, indeed, Tokyo is not the only place in Japan that has need of our Society. Now, I think that traveling stations of workers, visiting farms and the like, could ..."

But the majority of her audience had melted away. She always put in a plug for her organization. Only Mrs. Swenson, Miss Gramboult, and a few other ladies remained faithful and looked up at her, their eyes shining. They had known of Joan on the walls of Orleans—or was it Arc?—the queen of Naples defending her ramparts, Barbara Fritchie and her old gray head, and Queen Elizabeth, or somebody, with her arm through the door sockets. But the spectacle of Lady Briton at bay in the Japanese countryside surpassed them all.

"My god," said Gloria to herself, "she makes Major Calloway look like Albert Schweitzer."

"Talking about me?" said the Major, unexpectedly circling around with another drink in his hand. "Say, you're right up there."

"Up where?"

"You know what I mean—up there with the VIP's. Lady Briton, Swenson of the
Tribune
—just had him pointed out to me. I didn't know you knew
him."

"He was Papa's best friend—stood at his wedding and became my very own godfather at my christening. I wore the most adorable little white—"

"Well, what do you know? Say, suppose you introduce me. They say he's a good man to know."

"What man isn't? But, no, you'd have to ask Mrs. Swenson about that.... No, on second thought, don't."

"Liquor's running out. Liquor's running out," cried Miss Gramboult, running from one guest to the other.

"Go get another," said Gloria, and the Major slowly moved in the direction of the bar. Sipping her drink, she again looked from the window. It had begun to rain, and now the streets and sidewalks were spotted with large, yellow, oiled-paper umbrellas.

Two women were talking behind her. "Well, I'm Berle's roommate, and I should know. Listen. She gets up every morning and walks around the room stark naked, and believe you me, that's no treat. Scares the poor room girls half to death—big naked American, all hair, parading around. Then she starts washing. Says she's too shy to use the big bathroom. Shy, my foot! And so she has this poor girl—Sococoa or Sonoco or something like that—get her a big pan of hot water right in the middle of our only table. Then she washes her armpits and her crotch—believe me, this is quite true. Then, since she never takes off her make-up, she just dabs her face here and there—afterwards, mind you. Then she brushes her teeth—she's so proud of them—and slobbers in the big pan. She must brush those teeth of hers five minutes, dipping her toothbrush back in the water and everything. Then—and only then—she combs her hair. That hideous upsweep, you know—never wears anything else. And—would you believe it—she dips her comb in the same water, all gummy with toothpaste and god knows what else, and puts up her upsweep—literally sticks it there. Then she dips her little fingers in the mess and smooths her eyebrows. Then, still naked as a jaybird, she looks at herself in the big mirror and hollers for the girl to come and take away the pan. Every day—it's simply revolting!"

"I didn't know Berle was that way," said the other.

"Listen, you should live with her," said the first. "I can hardly eat breakfast after that exhibition. Hair! I never saw a woman with so much—like a fur coat—and that's not all—"

"Here she comes!"

"And that's not all," continued the first. "She has the most divine shoes. And as for taste—well, just no one has the really good taste our Berle does in clothes. Now, that wonderful black—Oh, Berle darling, I didn't know you were there. My, I bet your ears were burning. But, after all, they should have burned nice."

"Nice," said Miss Gramboult, who, at this point, would not have noticed had her ears been burned entirely off her head. "So—nice. Such a nice party. Such lovely people. My friends." And she began to weep. But soon she forgot about that too and wheeled slowly among the guests, saying: "Sorry the drinks are all gone. Awful sorry." She paused from time to time, delivering a smile of exceptional whiteness, one hand smoothing her upsweep.

Unable to find another drink, the Major returned to Gloria. "We'd better go," he said. "They just wheeled the bar out."

"Go?" said Gloria. "Go where?"

"What you need is some fresh air," said the Major heartily. "Let's you and me go for a little spin, huh?"

"Why, it's perfectly lovely here. More room now." She looked around the smoke and the furniture. "Look—all those drinks going to waste. We could just finish them—every one." She motioned vaguely toward a large brown tumbler before her.

The Major was called away by more departing friends, and Gloria, still enjoying the doubtless quite accurate description of Berle she had overheard, reached for the drink—then stopped. The same two were still talking.

"... but take some of the others. They just hog the whole field."

"I know just who you mean."

"Sure, little Miss High-and-Mighty herself, Queen of the Naka. And the killing thing is that, to see her at meals for example, so modest, so sure of herself, you'd think she believed she was getting away with it."

"Don't they always though?"

"At least, being fast is a private affair, but being nympho is about as private as carrying on in Grand Central. And I must say that nothing turns my stomach quite so quickly as an out-and-out bug-eyed nympho like our Gloria."

"So public too. Why, a girl with her rep gets her dates for just one reason."

"That kind never cares about her reputation—you can always count on it."

"And she's absolutely brazen too."

"Well, that type always gets her due—and alway in the same good old-fashioned way. So, just watch out Queenie Wilson."

They both laughed.

Gloria reached for the drink and downed it all. It had been left by Lady Briton and was almost straight Southern Comfort.

"Think I'd gone and left you?" It was the Major, back again.

"No, nothing like that," said Gloria.

"Hey, you look pale."

"It's the alcohol."

"And you sound sober."

"It's the alcohol." She stood up. "Shall we go?"

"Boy, you sure can hold it!" said the Major, admiringly.

She held it halfway across the room, and then was suddenly hit by the Southern Comfort. By the time she had reached the door everything, including herself, was hysterically funny.

Gloria stumbled and steadied herself against Miss Gramboult, who said thickly to both Gloria and the Major: "It was lovely having you. Do come back." She in turn steadied herself against Gloria, whom the Major was pulling from the room.

"Good-by, you old bear rug," shouted Gloria to her hostess, as the Major finally drew her out the door.

At that moment the Major collided with a soldier and shouted: "Who you Iookin' for, Mac?"

The soldier was rather old. "Nobody, sir. I was just walkin' around. I just been on this here ole town, and I thought I'd—"

"Don't you know this club is off-limits for enlisted men?"

"No, sir, I didn't. I just walked in, to sit down, you know. I been walking most of the day, sir. Then I thought I'd just look around, and I saw a party was goin' on here, sir, and—"

"Well, you know it now. Get out."

"But, sir, I didn't—"

"You want -an MP, soldier?"

"No, sir, I don't."

Gloria was surprised to see that the soldier had tears in his eyes, caused either by emotion or alcohol, or both. It was touching but would have been considerably more so had the soldier, one, been young, and two, not possessed such a nose. It fascinated her. It was long, and pitted like a raspberry.

"I just wanted to have a good time, that's all. I'm having a real good time today, sir. I just—"

"Get out of here, soldier, or you're going to the Provost Marshal's."

The soldier saluted, his nose quivering, then turned and ran down the marble staircase.

"This place isn't off-limits to enlisted men," said Gloria, "not if a member invites them."

"Well, it should be," said the Major.

"Stop pulling me!"

The Major decided to placate her as he drew her toward the elevators. "My, it certainly hit you in a hurry, didn't it, Miss Wilson? Just like a knock on the old bean. Well, that's Scotch for you. Never you mind though. What you need is a nice little ride in the open air. Yes, sir!" He pulled on Gloria's wrist.

"I don't want to go with you, Major Cowhand."

"Oh, you don't, eh? Who will you go with then?"

"With whom will you go," corrected Gloria.

"What?" said the Major with some irritation.