XLII

MR VIRGIL JONES no longer needed his trouser-belt. He was not wearing any trousers.

He wore a towel around his waist, a necklace of beads around his neck, and a bowler hat upon his head. In his right hand was a pitcher of wine. In his left hand was a quantity of the bottom of Kamala Sutra. On his lap was a bowl of fruit. A thin line of red dribbled from his tongue into the newly-shaven cleft of his chin. He sat upon a low bed; Kamala Sutra lay beside him and Madame Jocasta’s head was on his knee. He was drunk as a lord.

Flapping Eagle stood in the doorway, speechless at the spectacle. Virgil Jones removed his left hand from Mile Kamala, doffed his hat and replaced the hand. —Ah, he said, my old friend, my old bucko, so eager, so enthusiastic. Flapping Eager, I presume. Greetings, salutations, felicitations, immigrations to you. Have a drink. Take your clothes off. Relax. Don’t you think I look smart? In the pink, you follow, in the proverbial pink. The pink djinn is what I am. Small pleasantry.

Flapping Eagle took a step forward, and stopped again. Kamala Sutra leapt up from the bed. She put her left foot on his right foot and wound her right leg around his waist. Then she put her right arm on his left shoulder and her left arm around his neck. Then she inclined her face up towards his and made cooing noises.

Virgil Jones spluttered gleefully, thumping his thigh with his emptied left hand, the rolls of his stomach oscillating happily.

—Look at that, he said. The climbing-up-the-mountain position! How singularly apposite, or appositely singular. Do you see, do you see, Flapping Eagle? You are the mountain and she is climbing up the mountain to beg for a kiss. Cooing noises and all. A genuine no-nonsense Kama Sutra technique.

—Cucucucucu, said Kamala Sutra.

Madame Jocasta pouted. —He seems not to like the offer much, she said. Shall we send for Gilles? Kamala Sutra detached herself and returned to the bed.

—O, do, said Virgil Jones, redoubling his laughter, drinking from the pitcher and choking. A fine spray of wine spread over the bedsheet. And over Madame Jocasta.

Madame Jocasta got up and walked by Flapping Eagle to the door, where she pulled a sash. On her way back to Virgil, she said dryly:

—How nice to see what you look like at last,

Flapping Eagle said: —I came to … to apologize…

Madame Jocasta interrupted: —To Virgil? Why, how perfectly sweet of you. She smiled stunningly and hit him as hard as she could in the face. —You took your time, she said, and the smile did not waver as she unleashed her other hand upon his other cheek. —There, that’s better, she said.

The door burst open behind them. There entered the most beautiful man Flapping Eagle had ever seen. Gilles Priape sidled in languidly stroking the preternaturally generous tool of his trade. It rose equally casually to a reasonably erect angle as he sized up Flapping Eagle.

—This one? he asked Madame Jocasta, pointing.

—That one, said Madame Jocasta, returning to Virgil’s knee.

—Here? asked Gilles Priape, making a superb professional moue at Flapping Eagle.

—Here, instructed Madame Jocasta.

—Would you like me to undress you? Gilles Priape asked Flapping Eagle. From his exhausted tone, it was evidently a question expecting the answer No.

—Don’t be so goddam lazy, said Jocasta. Do it. To Flapping Eagle she added apologetically: —He’s only slow until he begins.

Flapping Eagle shook off Gilles Priape’s resigned, limp hands and spoke to Virgil Jones, attempting to ignore the rest of the whole unexpected scene.

—Virgil, he said, and his voice faltered slightly, betraying his lack of success, I am very sorry about what happened at the Elbaroom. I should not have let them treat you like that. May I speak to you alone?

—O, my, flounced Jocasta, aren’t we starchy? Aren’t we severe? What right do you suppose you have to ask anything at all of Mr Jones?

Virgil hiccuped and then giggled. Flapping Eagle thought he looked totally pathetic, and anger mingled with his shame and disgust, making restraint impossible.

—Very well, he said. I don’t really know why I came here at all. From a sense of friendship, I suppose, a sense of obligation and, I admit it, of guilt. I had also thought you could help me … I wanted to ask you things, to ask your guidance … I see now there’s no point in any of that. Don’t you find it sad, Virgil, that you of all people should have sunk so low? You, who told me how you valued your dignity. “One tries by one’s life and actions to bring a little sense into an inane universe” … is this what you meant … this … this rag-bag of lascivious impotence? Have they persuaded you to wallow so completely in self-pity? Have they persuaded you to forget why you left Dolores? I wanted to ask you why, a dozen times, but I waited until you were ready. Now it seems I’ve missed my chance. You are ruined and I am settled. You’re more than ruined … you’re being embalmed, here. With a brothel for a pyramid. With…

Madame Jocasta said: —Shut up.

Flapping Eagle, the pent-up frustrations and guilt released, stammered to a halt and stood foolishly in the musky room as Virgil giggled, Gilles Priape looked unconcerned, Kamala Sutra kissed Virgil’s feet and Madame Jocasta blazed with fury, not realizing how much that fury had done to widen the rift between the two travellers.

—You, she said with stinging scorn, are a completely selfish man. You could see that Mr Jones was a good, giving person, so you extracted service from him like a tooth. Never mind the pain it brought him; never mind what he left behind; never mind what he returned to. You still want help, advice, guidance. Because you want these things, you resent the fact that he has at last found comfort. What does he owe you, Mr Eagle? It is you who owe him everything. There is no honour in a man who returns treachery for love. Virgil has come to his place of sanctuary; let him be.

—He owes me an explanation, said Flapping Eagle dully. An explanation of his motives in bringing me here.

—But my dear, exclaimed Virgil Jones, it was you who brought me here.

—But why? cried Flapping Eagle, helplessly. Why?

—Mr Eagle is leaving, Gilles, said Madame Jocasta. Will you show him the way?

Gilles Priape, showing an unprecedented burst of speed, grasped Flapping Eagle’s right arm and twisted it behind his back.

—No, said Virgil Jones in his old, sober voice. I’ll tell him.

—Nicholas Deggle was expelled from Calf Island by myself and Grimus, said Virgil Jones, because he believed that the power in Grimus’ possession should be destroyed. At the time I agreed with Grimus that the new knowledge was precious, that the forces of reaction that Deggle represented should be fought. Now, I don’t. The effect grows in strength… I’m not sure Grimus can control it any more. I wanted the source of the effect destroyed.

—So you were using me, said Flapping Eagle. So much for Madame’s righteousness.

—If you like, I was using you, said Virgil Jones. I no longer have the ability to approach Grimus. You have, since you conquered the inner dimensions so well. I also believed you had the will, the drive, because of your urge to find your sister.

—She is with him? asked Flapping Eagle.

—Of course she is, said Virgil tiredly. Where else could she be?

—I’ve seen her, said Flapping Eagle, here. In K.

—So, said Virgil Jones, and his eyes gleamed for a moment, then faded once more. So now you know what poor Dolores meant by a Spectre of the Stone Rose.

—What is the stone rose? asked Flapping Eagle. And where is Grimus to be found? Higher up the mountain, presumably?

—It doesn’t matter now, said Virgil Jones. You have made your decision and I mine. So the road ends here. For both of us. Goodbye, Mr Eagle.

Flapping Eagle had experienced so many emotions since entering this room that he had been forced to take refuge in anger.

—Tin glad, he said brusquely, that I haven’t ended exactly here, surrounded by whores and madness.

—Haven’t you? asked Virgil Jones.

—No, shouted Flapping Eagle. I damn well haven’t. I may not be sure of much but I am sure of that. I’ve done better than you.

—I disapprove of certainties, said Virgil Jones. They limit one’s range of vision. Doubt is one aspect of width.

Flapping Eagle left the room without the assistance of Gilles Priape, who was, to him, a grotesque nightmare of his own past… and in doing so, performed his most K-like act so far. He resolved to close his mind to the past, to close it to any guilt or humiliation, to close it to any pangs of truth he may have experienced under Madame Jocasta’s fierce, despising stare. Virgil was right: the decision was made.

He also decided that he disliked Virgil Jones.

All of which helped him to render his choice supportable.

He passed two people on his way out. The first was a beautiful, dark-haired and naked woman—Media hated wearing clothes within the walls of the House. She stopped dead, staring as he passed, immobilized. He went down the stairs without really having seen her; his eyes were looking far away. She went upstairs, into the room where Jocasta and Kamala were looking serious, though Virgil was laughing quite a lot. Gilles Priape had left, seeking a place to lounge in private.

—Mr Jones, she said, was that your friend?

—No, said Madame Jocasta sharply.

—Yes, said Virgil Jones. He was.

—You must tell me all about him, said Media.

Madame Jocasta felt impotence replacing her fury. It seemed Flapping Eagle was now to come between her and her favourite. Life could be very unfair sometimes.

The second person he met was Flann O’Toole, on his way from a session with Boom-Boom de Sade to the Elbaroom. They met at the door.

—Oho, boomed O’Toole. So there you are. I hear ’tis a great success you’ve had with the Cherkassovs and the Gribbs. Shouldn’t you be drinking to celebrate your arrival amongst us? Sort of a welcome to the fold, eh?

—Lead me to it, said Flapping Eagle.

They left together; and it was only when they arrived at the Elbaroom that Flapping Eagle remembered the message he should have given Virgil Jones—the message from Liv.