Doctor Fischer of Geneva Or The Bomb Party by Graham Greene Read Free Book Online Page B

words of Christ they take very literally. “Given” not “earned”, you notice. The presents I hand out when the dinner is over they could easily afford to give themselves, but then they would have earned them if only by signing a cheque. The rich hate signing cheques. Hence the success of credit cards. One card takes the place of a hundred cheques. They’ll do anything to get their presents for nothing. This is one of the hardest tests I’ve submitted them to yet, and look how quickly they are eating up their cold porridge, so that the time for the presents will arrive. You, I am afraid, will get nothing, if you don’t eat.’
    â€˜I have something of more value than your present waiting for me at home.’
    â€˜Very gallantly put,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘but don’t be too confident. Women don’t always wait. I doubt if a missing hand aids romance. Albert, Mr Deane is ready for a second helping.’
    â€˜Oh no,’ Mrs Montgomery said, ‘no, not second helpings.’
    â€˜It’s for the sake of Mr Deane. I want to fatten him so that he can play Falstaff.’
    Deane gave him a furious look, but he accepted the second helping.
    â€˜I’m joking, of course. Deane could no more play Falstaff than Britt Ekland could play Cleopatra. Deane is not an actor: he is a sex object. Teenage girls worship him, Jones. How disappointed they would be if they could see him without his clothes. I have reason to believe that he suffers from premature ejaculation. Perhaps the porridge will slow you down, Deane, my poor fellow. Albert, another plate for Mr Kips and I see Mrs Montgomery is nearly ready. Hurry up, Divisionnaire, hurry up, Belmont. No presents before everyone has finished.’ I was reminded of a huntsman controlling his pack with a crack of the whip.
    â€˜Watch them, Jones. They are so anxious to be finished that they even forget to drink.’
    â€˜I don’t suppose Yvorne goes well with porridge.’
    â€˜Have a good laugh at them, Jones. They won’t take it amiss.’
    â€˜I don’t find them funny.’
    â€˜Of course I agree that a party like this has a serious side, but all the same . . . Aren’t you reminded a little of pigs eating out of a trough? You would almost think they enjoy it. Mr Kips has spilt some porridge over his shirt. Clean him up, Albert.’
    â€˜You revolt me, Doctor Fischer.’
    He turned his eyes towards me: they were like the polished chips of a pale blue stone. Some grey beads of caviare had lodged in his red moustache.
    â€˜Yes, I can understand how you feel. I sometimes feel that way myself, but my research must go on to its end. I won’t give up now. Bravo, Divisionnaire. You are catching them up. You ply a good spoon, Deane, my boy, I wish your female admirers could see you at this moment, guzzling away.’
    â€˜Why do you do it?’ I asked.
    â€˜Why should I tell you? You are not one of us. You never will be. Don’t count on your expectations from me.’
    â€˜I don’t.’
    â€˜You have a poor man’s pride, I see. After all, why shouldn’t I tell you. You are a sort of son. I want to discover, Jones, if the greed of our rich friends has any limit. If there’s a “Thus far and no further.” If a day will come when they’ll refuse to earn their presents. Their greed certainly isn’t limited by pride. You can see that for yourself tonight. Mr Kips, like Herr Krupp, would have sat down happily to eat with Hitler in expectation of favours, whatever was placed before him. The Divisionnaire has spilled porridge down his bib. Give him a clean one, Albert. I think that tonight will mark the end of one experiment. I am playing with another idea.’
    â€˜You are a rich man yourself. Are there limits to your greed?’
    â€˜Perhaps I shall find out one day. But my greed is of a different kind to theirs. I’m not