Mood Indigo by Boris Vian Read Free Book Online Page A

too.’
    â€˜I’m sure that if we drink enough,’ said Colin, ‘Chloe will walk in at any moment.’
    â€˜There’s no proof!’ said Chick.
    â€˜Are you daring me?’ said Colin, holding out his glass.
    Chick filled them both.
    â€˜Wait a moment!’ said Colin.
    He put out both the centre light and the little lamp on the table. The only light left in the room came from the green lamp shimmering over the Scottish ikon where Colin usually carried out his meditations.
    â€˜Oh …’ gasped Chick.
    In the crystal goblets the wine shone with a trembling phosphorescent glow which seemed to emanate from a myriad luminous spots of every colour beyond the rainbow.
    â€˜Drink up!’ said Colin.
    They drank. The sparkle stayed on their lips. Colin put on the lights again. He seemed to hesitate for a moment.
    â€˜We aren’t going to make a habit of it,’ he said, ‘so let’s finish the bottle.’
    â€˜How about cutting the cake?’ said Chick.
    Colin seized a silver knife and began to carve a spiral into the shiny white icing. He suddenly stopped and looked in surprise at what he had done.
    â€˜I’m going to try something,’ he said.
    He took a holly leaf from the sprig on the table. Holding the cake in one hand he began spinning it round quickly on the tip of his finger, and with the other hand he put one of the spikes of the holly into the groove.
    â€˜Listen! …’he said.
    Chick listened. It was ‘Chloe’, in an arrangement by Duke Ellington.
    Chick looked at Colin. He had turned very pale.
    Chick took the knife from his hands and plunged it firmly into the cake. It split into two, and inside it there was a new article by Heartre for Chick, and a date with Chloe for Colin.

13
    Colin stood on the corner of the square, waiting for Chloe. The square was perfectly round, with a circular church in the middle surrounded by pigeons, single flower-beds, double benches and, all round the edge, a stream of cars and buses. The sun too was waiting for Chloe, but it was passing the time while waiting in making shadows, germinating the seeds of wild oats in inconvenient cracks, flinging open shutters, pushing up blinds and making a lamppost, that was still alight because an elebeast had forgotten it, hang its head in shame.
    Colin rolled back the tops of his gloves and rehearsed his first sentence. This grew quickly shorter and shorter as the moment drew nearer. He had no idea what he and Chloe were going to do. Maybe he could take her to a tea-shop, although he wasn’t very fond of them. Middle-aged ladies gobbling cream cakes by the dozen with their little fingers sticking out always made him feel sad. He could only visualize stuffing as an honourable pastime for men as it took none of their natural dignity away from them. He couldn’t take Chloe to the pictures – she would never agree to that. Nor to the Parliadium – she’d be bored. Nor to the human races – she’d be scared. Nor to the Cobblered Vic or the Old Witch – there’s Noh playing there. Nor to the Mittish Bruiseum – there are wolves in their Assyrian folds. Nor to Whiskeyloo – there’s not a single train there … only Pullman hearses.
    â€˜Hallo! …’
    Chloe came up behind him. He quickly pulled off his glove, got tangled up with it inside out, punched himself on the nose, yelled ‘Yowl’ … and took her hand. She gave a tremendous smile.
    â€˜You’re very clumsy! …’
    A long-haired fur coat the same colour as her hair, a little fur hat, and Alice boots with fur tops.
    She took Colin’s arm.
    â€˜Let me take your arm. You seem a bit clueless today! …’
    â€˜Things did go better last time,’ admitted Colin.
    She laughed again, looked at him, and laughed even louder.
    â€˜You’re laughing at me,’ said Colin, crestfallen and feeling sorry for himself.