The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles Read Free Book Online

you.”
    Kit clicked her tongue with exasperation. “Oh, Tunner! Stop trying to be interesting.” Immediately she blamed herself for showing her impatience, and added, smiling: “On you it looks terrible.”
    His hurt expression quickly changed into a grin. “No, I mean it. You’re a fascinating case.”
    She pursed her lips angrily; she was furious, not so much because of what he was saying, although she considered it all idiotic, but because the idea of having to converse with him at all right now seemed almost more than she could bear. “Probably,” she said.
    Breakfast arrived. He sat with her while she drank her coffee and ate her croissant. Her eyes had assumed a dreamy expression, and he had the feeling that she had completely forgotten his presence. When she had nearly finished her breakfast, she turned to him and said politely: “Will you excuse me if I eat?”
    He began to laugh. She looked startled.
    “Hurry up!” he said. “I want to take you out for a walk before it gets too hot. You had a lot of stuff on your list anyway.”
    “Oh!” she moaned. “I don’t feel—” But he cut her short. “Come on, come on. You dress. I’ll wait in Port’s room. I’ll even shut the door.”
    She could think of nothing to say. Port never gave her orders; he hung back, hoping thereby to discover what she really wanted. He made it more difficult for her, since she seldom acted on her own desires, behaving instead according to her complex system of balancing those omens to be observed against those to be disregarded.
    Tunner had already gone into the adjacent room and closed the door. It gratified Kit to think that he would see the disheveled bedclothes. As she dressed she heard him whistling. “A bore, a bore, a bore!” she said under her breath. At that moment the other door opened; Port stood there in the hall, running his left hand through his hair.
    “May I come in?” he asked.
    She was staring at him.
    “Well, obviously. What’s the matter with you?”
    He still stood there.
    “What in God’s name’s wrong with you?” she said impatiently.
    “Nothing.” His voice rasped. He strode to the center of the room and pointed to the closed connecting door. “Who’s in there?”
    “Tunner,” she said with unfeigned innocence, as if it were a most natural occurrence. “He’s waiting for me while I get dressed.”
    “What the hell goes on here?”
    Kit flushed and turned away vehemently. “Nothing. Nothing,” she said quickly. “Don’t be crazy. What do you think goes on, anyway?”
    He did not lower his voice. “I don’t know. I’m asking you.”
    She pushed him in the chest with her outspread hands and walked toward the door to open it, but he caught her arm and pulled her around.
    “Please stop it!” she whispered furiously.
    “All right, all right. I’ll open the door myself,” he said, as if by allowing her to do it he might be running too great a risk.
    He went into his room. Tunner was leaning out the window looking down. He swung around, smiling broadly. “Well, well!” he began.
    Port was staring at the bed. “What is this? What’s the matter with your room that you have to be in here?” he demanded.
    But Tunner appeared not to take in the situation at all, or else he refused to admit that there was any. “So! Back from the wars!” he cried. “And do you look it! Kit and I are going for a walk. You probably want some sleep.” He dragged Port over in front of the mirror. “Look at yourself!” he commanded. At the sight of his smeared face and red-rimmed eyes, Port wilted.
    “I want some black coffee,” he grumbled. “And I want to go down and get a shave.” Now he raised his voice. “And I wish to hell you’d both get out of here and take your walk.” He pushed the wall button savagely.
    Tunner gave him a fraternal pat on the back. “See you later, old man. Get some sleep.”
    Port glared at him as he went out, and sat down on the bed when he had gone. A large