North Read Free Page B

. . . to fart like Kroukroutchev or Picasso! . . . to be wretched like them! . . . not so easy! . . . style, traditions, thick wall-to-wall carpeting, soundless platters! . . . Peasants, desist!
    "Would you care for some of this consommé with asparagus tips? . . . Smoother . . ."
    "Many thanks, Your Highness."
    Perfect! . . . same for the turbot . . . No need to ask twice.
    Naturally the Bibici,° Brazzaville, and Chaux-de-Fonds ° were informed before we were, of the slightest fluctuation in humor, the most infinitesimal gurglings of the bidets . . . hour after hour you could hear the loudspeakers in the corridors blaring out news of the Simplon from every radio station in the world. . . by way of Trebizond you found out what was going on in the next room . . . all the arrivals and departures . . . Hell! Nobody cared . . . that enormous phony, so dapper, the plenipotentiary Legationsrat Hans Schulze, had thoughts only for his own troubles . . . All he could think of was security . . . his estates, his family in East Bavaria . . . the rest of us, naturally, could end in the slaughterhouse! . . . he had his "network" all right . . . the flunkeys, kitchens, corridors, and head-waiters told him absolutely everything . . . hour by hour . . . everything that happened in the rooms, baccarat, daisy chains, snow . . . my job was if anybody got sick . . . report due every morning . . . it's a fact, nobody can claim there were any secrets at the Simplon Hotel . . . I've told you in the preceding book about Sigmaringen . . . as long as the "intelligence" reports keep pouring in, as long as they pile up, and get nicely tangled . . . everything's okay! . . . it can go on this way for centuries! take Borne, Nineveh, Byzantium, Babylon . . . and closer to home the Soviets . . . you'll see we can go on for two . . . three thousand years, the Soviets and us . . . with spy trials, ballets roses ,° brawls between rival police forces, blood purges . . . and more speeches and more elections! Hurrah! pithecanthropus coming up hard! . . . didn't come out of hiscave for nothing! . . . palavers, cloak-and-dagger work, microfilms and dolce vita! refinements of cock play and fork play! . . . our friend Legationsrat Schulze asked for nothing more . . . plenty of "intelligence" and the life of a prince . . . I tended him and his family . . . with his offices, his governesses, and children he occupied the whole "sunny wing" of the hotel . . . could he have asked for more? . . . well, yes! . . . matter ofcuisine . . . he wasn't satisfied . . . not at all! . . . they ruinedhis bouillabaisse! . . . not for lack of care . . . no . . . they did it on purpose! . . . that's right! Schulze, the connoisseur, forten years consul in Marseilles! imagine sending him such slop! sabotage!
    "Doctor! Doctor! Taste this sludge . . . fit for the Salvation Army!"
    He, for ten years consul in Marseilles, sent for the chef . . . the chef was from Marseilles too! and they talked it over, with the accent! the whole German Army in retreat, losing Europe, abandoning twenty armies, but what really had the Simplon Hotel worried was Schulze's bouillabaisse . . . sent in by "special delivery"! rascasse , garlic, saffron, little fishes from the Côte des Maures, twenty varieties, parachuted into the kitchens in specially cooled tanks at prearranged hours . . . war or no war, nobody was going to claim later on that there had been negligence at the Simplon Hotel . . . but all the same, that bouillabaisse inspired comments. . . and worse, suspicions!. . .
    Naturally, down there in their basement kitchens they may have been shaken up a bit . . . Marauders , no manners, pretended to be heading for the hotel . . . pretended . . . that's all . . . loop-the-loop, pirouette and good-bye! . . . off to bomb the countryside! . . . but down there in the basement kitchens they had good reason to think their number was up . . . the earth trembled . . . and the kettles . . . and the grated