The Four-Chambered Heart Read Free

fire.)
    “Rango, when you kiss me the barge rocks.”
    The red lantern threw fitful shadows, feverish
red lights, over their faces. He named it the aphrodisiac lamp.
    He lighted a fire in the stove. He threw his
cigarette into the water. He kissed her feet, untied her shoes, he unrolled her
stockings.
    They heard something fall into the water.
    “It’s a flying fish,” said Djuna.
    He laughed: “There are no flying fish in the
river, except you. When you’re in my arms, I know you’re mine. But your feet
are so swift, so swift, they carry you as lightly as wings, I never know where,
too fast, too fast away from me.”
    He rubbed his face, not as everyone does, with
the palm of the hand. He rubbed it with his fists closed as children do, as
bears and cats do.
    He caressed her with such fervor that the
little red lantern fell on the floor, the red glass broke, the oil burst into
many small wild flames. She watched it without fear. Fire delighted her, and
she had always wanted to live near danger.
    After the oil was absorbed by the thick dry
wooden floor, the fire died out.
    They fell asleep.

    The drunken grandfather of the river,
ex-captain of a pleasure yacht, had lived alone on the barge for a long time.
He had been the sole guardian and owner of it. Rango’s big body, his dark
Indian skin, his wild black hair, his low and vehement voice frightened the old
man.
    When Rango lit the stove at night in their
bedroom, the old man in his cabin would begin to curse him for the noise he
made.
    Also he resented that Rango did not let him
wait on Djuna, and he would mutter against him when he was drunk, mutter
threats in apache language.
    One night Djuna arrived a little before
midnight. A windy night with dead leaves blowing in circles. She was always
afraid to walk alone down the stairs from the quays. There were no lights. She
stumbled on hobos asleep, on whores plying their trade behind the trees . She
tried to overcome her fear and would run down the steps along the edge of the
river.
    But finally they had agreed that she would
throw a stone from the street to the roof of the barge to warn Rango of her
arrival and that he would meet her at the top of the stairs.
    This night she tried to laugh at her fears and
to walk down alone. But when she reached the barge there was no light in the
bedroom, and no Rango to meet her, but the old watcan popped out of the trap
door, vacillating with drink, red-eyed and stuttering.
    Djuna said: “Has Monsieur arrived?”
    “Of course, he’s in there. Why don’t you come
down? Come down, come down.”
    But Djuna did not see any light in the room,
and she knew that if Rango were there, he would hear her voice and come out to
meet her.
    The old watchman kept the trap door open,
saying as he stamped his feet: “Why don’t you come down? What’s the matter with
you?” with more and more irritability.
    Djuna knew he was drunk. She feared him, and
she started to leave. As his rage grew, she felt more and more certain she
should leave.
    The old watchman’s imprecations followed her.
    Alone at the top of the stairs, in the silence,
in the dark, she was filled with fears. What was the old man doing there at the
trap door? Had he hurt Rango? Was Rango in the room? The old watchman had been
told he could no longer stay on the barge. Perhaps he had avenged himself. If
Rango were hurt, she would die of sorrow.
    Perhaps Rango had come by way of the other
bridge.
    It was one o’clock. She would throw another
stone on the roof and see if he responded.
    As she picked up the stone, Rango arrived.
    Returning to the barge together, they found the
old watchman still there, muttering to himself.
    Rango was quick to anger and violence. He said:
“You’ve been told to move out. You can leave immediately.”
    The old watchman locked himself in his cabin
and continued to hurl insults.
    “I won’t leave for eight days,” he shouted. “I
was captain once, and I can be a captain any time I choose again.