Good Morning, Midnight by Rhys Jean

Author:Rhys, Jean [Rhys, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780141183930
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 1939-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

When he has finished pictures are propped up on the floor round three sides of the room.

'Now you can see them,' he says.

'Yes, now I can see them.'

I am surrounded by the pictures. It is astonishing how vivid they are in this dim light....Now the room expands and the iron band round my heart loosens. The miracle has happened. I am happy.

Looking at the pictures, I go of into a vague dream. Perhaps one day I'll live again round the corner in a room as empty as this. Nothing in it but a bed and a looking glass. Getting the stove lit at about two in the afternoon - the cold and the stove fighting each other. Lying near the stove in complete peace, having some bread with pate spread on it, and then having a drink and lying all the afternoon in that empty room - nothing in it but the bed, the stove and the looking glass and outside Paris. And the dreams that you have, alone in an empty room, waiting for the door that will open, the thing that is bound to happen

It is after seven when Serge comes back. He rushes in, panting: 'I'm sorry I'm late.' He talks to Delmar in Russian. Is he saying: 'Well, was she any good?' or is he saying: 'Will she buy a picture and is she going to pay up?' The last, I think - the tone was businesslike.

'I want very much to buy one of your pictures - this one.'

It is an old Jew with a red nose, playing the banjo.

'The price of that is six hundred francs,' he says. 'If you think it's too much we'll arrange some other price.'

All his charm and ease of manner have gone. He looks anxious and surly, I say awkwardly: 'I don't think it at all too much. But I haven't got the money'

Before I can get any further he bursts into a shout of laughter. 'What did I tell you?' he says to Delmar.

'But have it, take it, all the same. I like you. I'll give it you as a present.'

'No, no. All I meant was that I can't pay you now.'

'Oh, that's all right. You can send me the money from London. I'll tell you what you can do for me - you can find some other idiots who'll buy my pictures.' When he says this, he smiles at me so gently, so disarmingly. The touch of the human hand....I'd forgotten what it was like, the touch of the human hand.

'I'm serious. I mean that. Take the picture and send me the money when you can.'

'I can let you have it tonight.'

We argue for some time as to where we shall meet.

'I can't stand Montparnasse now,' he says. "Those faces, those gueules! They make me sick. Somewhere in the Quartier Latin.'

We decide on the Capoulade at half past ten. He rolls up the picture in tissue paper, ties it round with a bit of sting and I take it under my arm.

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