Black humor; City and town life -- Fiction; Intellectuals -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Satire
As soon as he got to the ganglia, Gumbril stopped writing. He put down
the block, sheathed his pen, and abandoned himself to the pleasures of
pure idleness. He sat, he smoked his cigar. In the basement, two floors
down, the cook and the house-parlourmaid were reading—one the _Daily
Mirror_, the other the _Daily Sketch_. For them, Her Majesty the Queen
spoke kindly words to crippled female orphans; the jockeys tumbled at
the jumps; Cupid was busy in Society, and the murderers who had
disembowelled their mistresses were at large. Above him was the city of
models, was a bedroom, a servant’s bedroom, an attic of tanks and
ancient dirt, the roof and, after that, two or three hundred light-years
away, a star of the fourth magnitude. On the other side of the
party-wall on his right, a teeming family of Jews led their dark,
compact, Jewish lives with a prodigious intensity. At this moment they
were all passionately quarrelling. Beyond the wall on the left lived the
young journalist and his wife. To-night it was he who had cooked the
supper. The young wife lay on the sofa, feeling horribly sick; she was
going to have a baby, there could be no doubt about it now. They had
meant not to have one; it was horrible. And, outside, the birds were
sleeping in the trees, the invading children from the slum tumbled and
squealed. Ships meanwhile were walloping across the Atlantic freighted
with more cigars. Rosie at this moment was probably mending Shearwater’s
socks. Gumbril sat and smoked, and the universe arranged itself in a
pattern about him, like iron filings round a magnet.
The door opened, and the house-parlourmaid intruded Shearwater upon his
lazy felicity, abruptly, in her unceremonious old way, and hurried back
to the _Daily Sketch_.
“Shearwater! This is very agreeable,” said Gumbril. “Come and sit down.”
He pointed to a chair.
Clumsily, filling the space that two ordinary men would occupy,
Shearwater came zigzagging and lurching across the room, bumped against
the work-table and the sofa as he passed, and finally sat down in the
indicated chair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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