The Night of Wenceslas Read Free Page B

been clutching grimly. ‘Port type wine, for God’s sake. You City barons! Can’t let it alone, can you? Bung it in the bowl, there’s a good lad. It’ll help out with the cup. In the kitchen,’ he said as the door bell rang again.
    I did as he bade and returned to the drawing room as he was introducing the two newcomers. He stopped to call attention to me. ‘And this type slipped in while I wasn’t looking. Cheer up, Nicky. Boris Karloff will kick the bucket soon.’ He always called Uncle Bela by this name, and it was always good for a laugh. I had encouraged this, and did so now by crying in a cracked voice, ‘You’ll be glad you knew me yet.’
    I could see Maura frowning at the other end of the room – she did not care for jokes about Uncle Bela – and I kept out of her way. By judicious shifting of position I was able to do so for most of the evening, and when we at last stood in the hall making our farewells she seemed needled.
    Her lips were tight as I took her arm and cut through the dark squares to her digs.
    ‘So you didn’t get the rise?’ she said at last.
    ‘I’m seeing him again next week.’
    ‘That seems satisfactory to you, does it?’
    The dark seat under the tree where, all being well, I should make continued progress, was fifty yards away. I said sombrely, ‘He wants to consider it. He agrees I’m in a special position. You’ve got to admit the prospects are good.’
    ‘Did you mention about the profits?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said doggedly.
    The pale blur of her face turned to me in the dark, but she said nothing.
    We were at the seat now. ‘Like to take the weight off?’ I said heavily.
    ‘Do you mind if we don’t, Nicolas. I’m terribly tired tonight.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘I’ve had rather a headache all day – worrying about you. You don’t mind if I just go to bed?’
    ‘No. Yes,’ I said dully.
    Her hand touched my face for a moment. ‘I’ll sit and smoke a cigarette with you if you like.’
    ‘No, you’d better go off to bed. I thought you were looking a bit washed out,’ I said.
    ‘Well, I am,’ she said tartly.
    ‘Right. I’ll see you to the gate.’
    We walked the rest of the way in silence.
    ‘Good night, Nicolas,’ she said, when we got there.
    ‘Good night.’
    ‘On Sunday, then.’
    ‘Yes.’ If you’re lucky, I thought bravely, walking off right away. But I knew I’d be seeing her on Sunday.
    I shoved the covers over the car when I got back and let myself in and went up the three flights and undressed and crawled in, more inadequate than I’d felt for weeks. I tried to imagine myself at the wheel of the car, sun-dappled roads, sea glitter, free as a bird, but it seemed to be a different person I was watching.
    Uncle Bela , I mouthed silently at the ceiling. Why don’t you just quietly die? And presently he died on the ceiling in his big bed in Vancouver. The noisy asthmatic room grew silent, the smooth white sheets were still over the dome of his stomach. I bent over Uncle Bela and his pale jowl was slack in the moonlight, the mouth open like the fish on the draining board because it was Friday, and on Friday I had to see the Little Swine. The Little Swine’s face was calm on the pillow in the moonlight, but always dangerous and now pallid and rat-like as he said I couldn’t have it unless I paid half. So I paid him half, andthere were thousands more in the wallet because I’d filled it from the dome, and I sat in the seat and backed down the alley and turned in two cool and snappy movements and then I was there, there in long-breathing rhythmical movements, there on the sun-dappled road, caressing the wheel, so warm and smooth, so warm and smooth where the stocking ended.
    When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought of was how I’d willed Uncle Bela to die and I lay there, slightly sick. Not much lower now, I thought. I’d have to do something about myself; frittering away the weeks and the months and the years. I rolled out of bed and