The Sheltering Sky

They were silent a few minutes, hoping to be diverted by the other table, but mother and son appeared to have nothing to say to each other. Finally Port turned to Kit and said: “Oh, while I think of it, what was all that this morning?”

“Do we have to go into it now?”

“No, but I was just asking. I thought maybe you could answer.”

“You saw all there was to see.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I thought so.”

“Oh, can’t you see—” Kit began in a tone of exasperation; then she stopped. She was about to say: “Can’t you see that I didn’t want Tunner to know you hadn’t come back last night? Can’t you see he’d be interested to know that? Can’t you see it would give him just the wedge he’s looking for?” Instead she said: “Do we have to discuss it? I told you the whole story when you came in. He came while I was having breakfast and I sent him into your room to wait while I got dressed. Isn’t that perfectly proper?”

“It depends on your conception of propriety, baby.”

“It certainly does,” she said acidly. “You notice I haven’t mentioned what you did last night.”

Port smiled and said smoothly: “You couldn’t very well, since you don’t know.”

“And I don’t want to.” She was letting her anger show in spite of herself. “You can think whatever you want to think. I don’t give a damn.” She glanced over at the other table and noticed that the large bright eyed woman was following what she could of their conversation with acute interest. When that lady saw that Kit was aware of her attention, she turned back to the youth and began a loud monologue of her own.

“This hotel has the most extraordinary plumbing system; the water taps do nothing but sigh and gurgle constantly, no matter how tightly one shuts them off. The stupidity of the French! It’s unbelievable! They’re all mental defectives. Madame Gautier herself told me they have the lowest national intelligence quotient in the world. Of course, their blood is thin; they’ve gone to seed. They’re all part Jewish or Negro. Look at them!” She made a wide gesture which included the whole room.

“Oh, here, perhaps,” said the young man, holding his g lass of water up to the light and studying it carefully.

“In France!” the woman cried excitedly. “Madame Gautier told me herself, and I’ve read it in ever so many books and papers.”

“What revolting water,” he murmured. He set the glass on the table. “I don’t think I shall drink it.”

“What a fearful sissy you are! Stop complaining! I don’t want to hear about it! I can’t bear to hear any more of your talk about dirt and worms. Don’t drink it. No one cares whether you do or not. It’s frightful for you, anyway, washing everything down with liquids the way you do. Try to grow up. Have you got the paraffin for the Primus, or did you forget that as well as the Vittel?”

The young man smiled with poisonous mock benevolence, and spoke slowly, as if to a backward child: “No, I did not forget the paraffin as well as the Vittel. The tin is in the back of the car. Now, if I may, I think I shall take a little walk.” He rose, still smiling most unpleasantly, and moved away from the table.

“Why, you rude puppy! I’ll box your ears!” the woman called after him. He did not turn around.

“Aren’t they something?” whispered Port.

“Very amusing,” said Kit. She was still angry. “Why don’t you ask them to join us on our great trek? It’s all we’d need.”

They ate their fruit,in silence.