Anatomy of Restlessness by Bruce Chatwin Read Free Book Online Page A

several Africans in European dress and an ex-legionnaire, a small, heat-wrinkled man with grey hair en brosse .
    The whore who lived in the campement heard the noise and came out to join the party.
    â€˜Mamzelle Dela,’ the legionnaire greeted her. ‘La Belle de la Brousse!’
    She was a Peul. She had a Peul woman’s wonderful high cheekbones and chiselled lips, and long straight gleaming legs and a short body flexible as a hinge. She wore a tight pink dress in one piece. She put her elbows on the table and gazed in Jeb’s direction. He felt her huge black eyes undressing him.
    The men sang a song with a refrain ending ‘Annie et son whisky!’ and Annie began a discussion on whether Adam forced the apple on Eve or Eve prostituted herself for the apple.
    â€˜Why don’t you drink?’ the legionnaire called across. ‘What are you, some kind of Englishman?’
    â€˜I’m an American.’
    â€˜Ha! Ha! L‘Équipe CIA! Boom! Boom! Come and drink some whisky. Annie, give this young spy some whisky.’
    â€˜I don’t drink whisky,’ Jeb said.
    â€˜You must drink whisky,’ Annie said. ‘For the bacterias. Whisky massacres bacterias. Osman.’
    â€˜Madame. ’
    â€˜Whisky for the young man.’
    â€˜A very small one,’ said Jeb.
    â€˜You pour what you like. Osman does not like to pour whisky. He is a Mussulman and he hates the drink. One day I give him pastis for his throat and he is drunk. I do not think he forgives me.’
    Osman fetched the bottle, holding it gingerly as a bomb. He passed it to Jeb, who poured out half an inch.
    â€˜More,’ said Annie. ‘More.’
    She took the bottle and filled the glass over half. She kept her own Johnny Walker beside her on the table. She gave herself another and marked the level with a pencil.
    â€˜I cannot live without whisky,’ she said.
    â€˜It’s tea,’ whispered Mamzelle Dela darkly. Jeb was troubled and excited when she looked at him.
    â€˜This hotel is not my métier,’ said Madame Annie. ‘Soon I shall retire to the bush. I shall take a pretty black boy. I shall build a hut and sell my jewels to pay for the whisky. Some people die in a convent and I shall die in the bush.’
    Jeb agreed it was better than a convent.
    â€˜I have seen many jungles,’ she said, ‘and the worst jungle is a convent. Very unhealthy place. In a convent people hate each other all the time. In the jungle they hate each other sometimes but not always.’
    â€˜Mon Dieu, que ce garçon est beau,’ said Mamzelle Dela.
    â€˜She says you are a beautiful boy.’
    â€˜She’s pretty nice herself.’
    â€˜Et il est américain?’
    â€˜American.’
    â€˜Je l’adore.’
    â€˜She says she loves you.’
    â€˜I love her too.’
    â€˜You never say you was American,’ said Annie.
    â€˜I thought you knew.’
    â€˜I think you was English. Very hypocrite people, English. I was many times in England, in the war, after the war. Terrible! Once I was in English city. The name of this place is Hull. I am coming from Germany with my German lover. We go to a boarding house and the woman is so nice and polite and say how much she likes the Germans, which is not at all true because English hate Germans. She thinks we are Germans both, and she shows the room. Nice room. All flowers à la manière anglaise. Then she says with a charming, really a charming smile, “Of course you are married?” And I say, “Mais non, Madame. Certainement pas!” and this woman, which is smiling, is now smiling not, but screaming, “Out of my house. This is a nice house. You have not business here. Go to the bordel where you belong.”’
    â€˜I never went to England,’ Jeb said.
    â€˜I tell you, my God, they are very hypocrite.’
    â€˜I heard that.’
    â€˜They are dirty and they think they are