Free The Comedians by Graham Greene Page B

yes, he’s better.’
    â€˜Let’s go.’
    â€˜Luis doesn’t expect me as early as this. Nor Angel. I’m here. We may as well be hanged for a sheep.’
    I looked at the dial of my watch. It was nearly eighty-thirty. I said, ‘The Smiths . . .’
    â€˜They are busy with their luggage. What’s worrying you, darling?’
    I said feebly, ‘I’ve lost a paper-weight.’
    â€˜A very precious paper-weight?’
    â€˜No – but if a paper-weight’s gone, what else has gone?’
    Suddenly all around us the lights flashed on. I took her arm and wrenched her round and moved her up the path. Mr Smith came out on to his balcony and called to us, ‘Do you think Mrs Smith could have another blanket on the bed, just in case it turns chilly?’
    â€˜I’ll have one sent up, but it won’t turn chilly.’
    â€˜It certainly is a fine view from up here.’
    â€˜I’ll turn out the lights in the garden and then you’ll see better.’
    The controlling switch was in my office and we had almost reached it when Mr Smith’s voice came again. ‘Mr Brown, there’s someone asleep in your pool.’
    â€˜I expect it’s a beggar.’
    Mrs Smith must have joined him, for it was her voice I heard now. ‘Where, dear?’
    â€˜Down there.’
    â€˜The poor man. I’ve a good mind to take him down some money.’
    I was tempted to call up, ‘Take him your letter of introduction. It’s the Secretary for Social Welfare.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t do that, dear. You’ll only wake the poor fellow up.’
    â€˜It’s a funny place to choose.’
    â€˜I expect it’s for the sake of the coolness.’
    I reached the office door and turned out the lights in the garden. I heard Mr Smith say, ‘Look there, dear. That white house with the dome. That must be the palace.’
    Martha said, ‘A beggar asleep in the pool?’
    â€˜It does happen.’
    â€˜I never noticed him. What are you looking for?’
    â€˜My paper-weight. Why should anyone take my paper-weight?’
    â€˜What did it look like?’
    â€˜A little coffin with R . I . P . stamped on it. I used it for non-urgent mail.
    She laughed and held me still and kissed me. I responded as well as I could, but the corpse in the pool seemed to turn our preoccupations into comedy. The corpse of Doctor Philipot belonged to a more tragic theme; we were only a sub-plot affording a little light relief. I heard Joseph move in the bar and called to him, ‘What are you doing?’ Apparently Mrs Smith had explained their needs to him: two cups, two spoons, a bottle of hot water. ‘Add a blanket,’ I said, ‘and then get moving to the town.’
    â€˜When shall I see you again?’ Martha asked.
    â€˜The same place, the same time.’
    â€˜Nothing has changed, has it?’ she asked me with anxiety.
    â€˜No, nothing,’ but my tone had an edge to it, which she noticed.
    â€˜I’m sorry, but all the same you’ve come back.’
    When at last she drove away with Joseph I went back to the pool and sat on its edge in the dark. I was afraid the Smiths might come downstairs and make conversation, but I had been waiting only a few minutes by the pool when I saw the lights go out in the John Barrymore suite. They must have taken the Yeastrel and the Barmene and they had now lain down to their untroubled sleep. Last night the festivities had kept them up late, and it had been a long day. I wondered what had happened to Jones. He had expressed his intention of staying in the Trianon. I thought too of Mr Fernandez and his mysterious tears. Anything rather than think of the Secretary for Social Welfare coiled up under the diving-board.
    Far up in the mountains beyond Kenscoff a drum beat, marking the spot of a Voodoo tonnelle . It was not often one heard the drums now under Papa Doc’s rule.