The Gobi Desert (19 page)

‘Yes, I remember. And . . . Is that all you have to tell me?'

‘Yes, for today at least. Good heavens, I think that's enough, don't you? Besides, as I said, I would be very surprised if you don't get some news from her soon. She must read the newspapers like everyone else. It won't take her long to find out how much an animal like your Kublai is worth.'

Just at that moment there was a knock at the cabin door.

‘Come in!'

‘What did I tell you!' said Streep. It was his turn to snigger.

A man in a cap stood at the door, one of the employees of the wireless postal service on board the ship. He held out a tray on which there was a telegram.

‘It's for me, I think' I said. ‘Thank you.'

‘Well?' said Streep after I had read it. ‘It's from her, isn't it? Was I right?'

I was happy, I was so happy! I didn't have any reservation, any regrets, in answering.

‘Yes, it's from her!'

The little green islets, dark and blurred in the fading light, and bathed in the still waters of the sea roads, looked like upturned bowls of spinach. Night was falling rapidly.

‘So then?' I asked Streep. ‘You're adamant you still don't want to see her?'

It was really to put my mind at rest that I asked him this question for the last time. But deep down I thought he was absolutely right. A meeting between him and Alzire seemed to me to be the last thing anyone would want.

‘You've thought about it carefully then?'

‘Well I've told you so, haven't I?' he said. ‘It's better for the two of you. It's even better for the three of us.'

‘All right!' I said. ‘I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't meet each other. For your part you should watch out as well. For example if she gets it into her head that she wants to see the tiger . . . ‘

‘That's OK! You can be sure she will want to do that.'

‘Well, try to make sure . . . ‘

‘Not to get in your way? Of course I won't! Perhaps I shall see you here or there, but in any case, you won't see me, that I promise.'

I was going to give him a last word of advice, but he had already gone. I was left alone, leaning on the railings, chain smoking, and watching the lights of the port and the town lighting up one after the other. A large warship was tied up a few hundred yards away. It stood out white against the gathering darkness. The air smelt of cooking oil and fuel.

*

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. To my surprise I saw two figures with their faces covered in masks of black satin.

‘Won't you come with us?' they asked.

It was the captain and the chief steward of the
Paul-Lecat.
There was a big fancy-dress ball being held that evening at the famous Raffles Hotel, in honour of the officers from the
Endymion,
the cruiser I just mentioned.

‘No, Captain. You are too kind. But I am not invited, and besides . . . . ‘

‘That is a poor reason. When the governor invited me, he specifically said that he would like me to bring any of my passengers who I would like. So therefore . . . ‘

‘I really would prefer to spend the evening on board the
Paul-Lecat'
I replied. ‘But may I say how touched I am . . . ‘

‘Not at all! Not at all! The pleasure is mine, I assure you. I wish you a good evening. Tomorrow you will have lunch at my table. You promise? Don't forget!'

*

We had arrived in Singapore at about five o'clock in the afternoon, too late in any case to organise the unloading of a crate such as the one which contained the cage with my tiger inside it. But the
Paul-Lecat
wasn't due to depart until the day after next, so there was no need for us to hurry. I didn't even have to request the permission of the captain for Otto Streep and myself to spend an extra night on his ship. He himself suggested it to me. The
Narkhunda,
the steamship which was going to take us to Batavia and then on to Sydney, had left Colombo that same morning. So I had five days to wait in Singapore, five days which I would like to have known in advance what they might have in store, as if the matter had nothing to do with my own decision.

I had replied to the telegram from Alzire. How could I do otherwise? It was a question of politeness, of courtesy. Besides, Otto Streep approved. In response I received three more telegrams from her, in which she told me how happy she was at the thought of seeing me again soon.

As soon as the
Paul-Lecat
had tied up, an odd character in an orange turban, with all the mannerisms of a manservant in a big house, had come on board and made a great fuss asking for me. He was carrying a letter from Alzire. In it she explained, very simply, that out of consideration for her friend the governor, she could not avoid making an appearance at the ball that evening at the Raffles, but at about eleven o'clock she would excuse herself and come and find me, wherever I wished, on board the ship if necessary. In the event that I had already planned my evening, she would fully understand, and she would be at my disposal for the whole of the next day, either here or wherever suited me.

I felt I had to show this letter to Otto Streep.

‘I never said that she was stupid,' was all he replied, while giving a long, lingering look at the beautiful, voluptuous, and elongated handwriting, a look in which it was impossible not to feel some emotion.

‘And if I may be indiscreet, what have you replied?'

‘That she can come when she wants. I won't leave the
Paul-Lecat
this evening.'

‘She will be here at the time which she has stated. She has always been precision itself,' he said.

I knew that, and I thought it was a little bit childish of him that he should want to inform me of it.

*

Apart from one or two little things like that, I had no occasion during the voyage to reproach Otto Streep. He carried out his duties as a subordinate impeccably, albeit with a certain affectation, and he never came to pester me in first class, or tried to steer the conversation to the subject which one can guess, except when I expressly invited him to do so. One detail surprised me, and almost made me a bit jealous. It had nothing to do with Alzire, but rather it was the extraordinary authority which he exerted over Kublai. One could truly say that Streep was very close to him. On several occasions I saw him, I mean I actually saw him, manage the astonishing feat of caressing Kublai, or bullying him, as the need arose, and addressing him in an offhand, casual manner at which the monstrous creature seemed to shrink. Kublai neither ate nor drank except when Streep gave him express permission. On a simple command from Streep he took refuge in one half of the cage, when it was divided in two by the operation of the sliding partition in the middle, to allow for the other half to be cleaned.

‘Perhaps I'll see you walking him on a lead,' I said to Streep one day, with a hint of envy.

He smiled. ‘We're not at that stage yet, chief!'

Chief! That was what we used to call Sanders! I wasn't absolutely convinced that Otto Streep was very happy, or very sincere, in calling me the same.

*

Ten o'clock at night! Still one hour to wait, my God! I went back down to my cabin. This was the fourth or fifth time since nightfall that I had performed this little exercise. I say my
cabin
, but what ingratitude on my part! To do it justice, this was a genuine, exquisite, apartment. When I thought of our two bunk beds, mine and Sanders', on the deadly roads of the Gobi, in our dreary and shaky old lorry! And now, this bathroom and toilet, this bedroom covered in wood panelling, this lounge with soft, discreet lighting! Even if I tried hard, I could not have found fault with the mute and smiling maitre d'hotel, to whom I had just given my orders. One fan out of two was working, one light out of three, and some magnificent, tall orchids seemed almost as tormented as my soul. In the corner, hardly visible, in case my beloved visitor should want them, were some of the fruits of France, some champagne, a bottle of old Bordeaux, and a fresh partridge.

Once again I opened a drawer. I took out an envelope which I half-opened. In it was the piece of lipstick, the sheets of good-quality, half-burnt paper, the two or three hairpins, which I had gathered up in our sad little room at the Pension Domestici five months ago, after Alzire had left. Now in a few moments when she would be here, I would not say anything, but simply confine myself to placing these dear mementoes in her hands. From now on I understood that it would not be me who would have to ask her for explanations, and that I had only one thing to do, which was to excuse myself and seek her forgiveness, if she wanted to grant it to me.

Twenty past ten! . . . . What if she was going to be early, if she managed to get away from the ball a bit earlier! There would always be somebody to escort her here. But what if she didn't find me on the gangway waiting for her! Hastily I ran back up on deck.

Twenty-five past ten! . . . . . In the glow of an electric lamp, around which there was a swarm of enormous butterflies and miniscule bats, I re-read her letter once again. Her style and tone were perfect. And it was on nice paper too! With a telephone number, the name of a villa, and even a Latin motto: ‘
Hodie tibi, cras mihi!'
This was no longer irony, was it? No doubt it was the notepaper of her old lover. And why not, what's surprising about that, after all? She was trying to prove to me that she was still resourceful and had her wits about her! Even so, from the tips she earned at the casino in Khabarovsk, and the house in Vladivostock, what a journey she had made! When you realised the class prejudices of the English, and that she had managed to get herself invited this evening, good heavens, mixing with the blushing young misses of the
gentry!
But so what? What good was I doing tormenting myself like this? This success, this elevation, however considerable they may be, she didn't hesitate for one moment to abandon them and come and find me here!

Would she be able to slip away at least? She would have certain obligations of course. I would never be party to making things difficult for her in any way, the poor child! Ten to eleven! . . Five to eleven! . . . . . From that moment on, I can say that I was no longer alive. Eleven o'clock! Now she was going to be late. Seven minutes past eleven! What was that soft noise, that unsteady light in the darkness? A car, a taxi, my God! It stopped just in front of the gangway. A slight figure, wrapped in silk, emerged. Such happiness, it was her! Promptly she paid and dismissed the driver.

‘Is it you my darling? Is it you at last?'

‘It's me!'

*

We looked at each other, neither daring to say a word. One can change a lot in six months, of course. There is always something in each of us which can seem different to the other. But of course that would not prevent a smile, would not prevent us from being happy . . . . .

‘You are so beautiful!' I whispered.

‘And you,' she said, clapping her hands and looking delightedly all around her, ‘how happy I am to see you again, and so nicely set up here as well. I congratulate you!'

Not one of the details around her had escaped her attention, from the moment when she slipped off her cloak, and threw it onto the bed.

Beautiful, yes, of course she was beautiful! But then she had always adored dressing up like this. This evening she was dressed as a Manchurian princess: golden brown shoes with exceptionally high heels which seemed to have the sole purpose of raising her sweet head to my lips; trousers made of blue-tinted satin; a piece of jade in her hair; a crimson silk tunic with a high neck, lined down the left-hand side with beautiful little crystal flowers; and that wonderful, almost dull, golden embroidery, which I could feel pressing deliciously into my skin, as I held her closer to me.

‘We have the whole day tomorrow to talk,' she said, thereby making it impossible for me to ask any inopportune question, in the unlikely case that I would have had the poor taste to do so. ‘Tonight, I am all yours. You saw that I sent the taxi away.'

Simultaneously, with her long, thin fingers on which two enormous rubies sparkled, she began to unfasten the pearl necklace from around her neck, a necklace the like of which I had never seen. Ah! You couldn't say she had wasted her time over the past six months! She also had been hunting big game as well!

‘Are you a little bit happy at least?' I murmured with a sort of sob in my voice.

As a reply she took my head in her hands and kissed me.

‘You are kind!' she said. ‘I'll explain. But I already know that you will understand. I was sure that you would not blame me for trying to escape from what was just a vulgar house of prostitution. Alas! I must admit that you told me so in Fouzan. You were right!'

She went back to unfastening her necklace. And then suddenly, she stopped.

‘Oh!' she said.

Without another word she stared, with a look suddenly full of surprise, of covetousness, of understanding.

‘It's him, isn't it?'

‘Yes, it's him!'

Standing on a pedestal table was a large photograph of Kublai, the best of all the photographs which had been taken of him on the journey from Tsing-Tao to Hong Kong.

She put her hand on my arm, and I felt her hand trembling.

‘We'll go and see him tomorrow morning if you want,' I stammered, disconcerted and nervous for some reason which I couldn't quite understand.

‘Tomorrow! Why tomorrow? Why not right now?' she said.

‘Right now? At this hour?'

‘Why not?'

There was nothing more to say! I felt that she would not come back to me until I had granted her this satisfaction.

‘All right then, if you insist. Let's go!'

*

‘Perhaps I shall see you here or there,' Otto Streep had said some hours earlier. I was sure of it now, I was absolutely sure. He was watching us; he could see us.

‘This way' I whispered.

It was unpleasantly warm, and the air was heavy with humidity. Pale sheets of sulphurous green lightning suddenly lit up the sea all around. We felt our way along the deck, stepping over piles of rope and sleeping natives.

At last we reached the gigantic cage. I knew where to find the switches which at any hour of the night would light it all up. I turned on one, then a second, then a third. I wanted to do the best for Alzire! She just kept her hands together.

Kublai appeared, wonderful in his whiteness under the light which was almost blue. He stretched lazily, yawned, and growled softly.

‘My God!' said Alzire.

I noticed that she was smiling ecstatically as she looked at Kublai.

‘What are you doing?' I cried. ‘Are you mad?'

I tried to hold her back by the arm. Had she forgotten what had happened with the Mikado in Fouzan?

‘Alzire!'

‘Leave me alone!' she said sharply.