The Acrobats Read Free

I mean.”
    “Thanks. It’s something to think about,” André said, grinning foolishly.
    Another street urchin appeared and presented another dirty palm to Barney. He dug hastily into his pocket and pressed three pesetas into the boy’s hand. “It’s all a racket, André. But you’ve got to hand it to them. Take our hotel bill for instance. The damn thing is double because we come …”
    “Can’t you ever stop thinking about money?” Jessie asked.
    Barney flushed angrily.
    The sun was going down. The buildings seemed taller and fiercer and reached heavenwards pleadingly. The afternoon grin on the
falla
of the plump
Valenciano
had swollen into a diabolical leer. The clamour of a lost band shot through the air above the uproar of the crowds. Music came in waves. André looked at his watch and pretended to be amazed at the hour. “I really have to go now,” he said. “Sorry. Thanks for the drink.”
    Jessie giggled. “You know why he brought me to Europe? I was sleeping with a boxer and he thinks if he shows me a good time I’ll forget about it. Isn’t that right, honey-bu … Oh, I forgot. Mr. Lazarus.”
    “She’s drunk,” Barney said.
    “Where are you staying?” André hesitated. “I’ll look you up later tonight.”
    “You’re a liar!” Derek said.
    André paused awkwardly.
    Derek’s face slipped badly. The unknown quality – that which gives unity and is called character – was absent. There was only the choking appeal in the eyes, the lips with a tendency to quiver, and the pain all over.
    I could tell him, Derek thought. About Fox. About the mud. The songs. How the ammunition didn’t fit and the guns jammed. “I’m not what you think. I – look, I fought here. I … Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
    André felt the futility of the moment sorely.
    “I know,” he said suddenly. “Your name is Raymond.”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you wrote
The Edge
, didn’t you?”
    Derek averted his eyes. “That was a long time ago,” he said.
    Barney laughed uneasily. “Don’t forget,” he said. “At the Reina Victoria. We’re staying at the Reina Victoria.”
II
    Chaim chewed on an unlit cigar.
    Suddenly, his thoughts turned to André. It had been so long since they had had one of those endless talks. He hoped that André was in his room painting. I should have had him over this afternoon, he thought. I shouldn’t have put him oV.
    His mind began to wander again.
    He thought about the Warsaw ghetto where those who were not burnt now walked the cold desert land, tugging at their beards, mourning murdered sons and murdered daughters, wondering if it was truly hot in the Promised Land. Chaim’s teacher, Rab Moishe, had insisted that for two sins only did the common people perish. They spoke of the Holy Ark as a box and the synagogue as a resort for the ignorant vulgar.
    Chaim plucked the wet cigar from his lips, uncorking his ever-handy bottle of muscatel. And after all, he thought, isn’t it written in the Zohar that the pleasure of cohabitation is a religious one, giving joy also to the divine presence. He watched Carmen roll her nylons, which were part of his bribe of love, up her plump legs. How much butter and eggs go into the making of such glorious thighs, he thought? She caught his lewd grin and with a bound left the couch and settled down on his lap. But she failed to understand the disappointment in his eyes when her kiss was only friendly. “Carmen,” he said, “really I wasn’t so old once.” He gazed at her with longing. “Now
vamos
. I’m expecting a visitor.”
    “I love you,” Carmen said passionately.
    “You’re goddam right you do,” Chaim said in English. “Me, and my cabaret, and my nylons. But it doesn’t matter.” Still his gaze lingered on her childish stupid face. He flung his pudgy hands up in the air in a gesture of lamentation. “What’s going to happen to our
yiddish
children?” he asked.
    There was a knock at the door. Carmen climbed