The Memorial by Christopher Isherwood

Author:Christopher Isherwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

BOOK THREE

1925

I

“YES,” said Gerald Ramsbotham, “to-morrow I’m going to get her flat out on the straight.”

He lolled back nearly prone, his powerful thighs stuck forward like buttresses, clothed in aggressive check plus fours. His gold wrist-watch looked tiny and over-elegant on his beefy red wrist.

“The timing’s all to pot,” said Farncombe, knocking out his pipe on the fender.

“She’s beastly stiff on the controls,” said Moody.

“Did you ever know an American car that wasn’t?” said Hughes.

Maurice looked down on them from the fender-rail on which he stood, twirling at the end of a wire what had once been the throttle-control of a motor bike.

“Teddy’s Moon isn’t,” he said.

“That’s a damn fine bus,” said Farncombe earnestly. “My Christ, Gerald, you should see the way she picks up.”

“I don’t know why,” said Hughes, “but I don’t like Yankee cars.”

Gerald Ramsbotham yawned and stretched himself:

“Did you see the new Brough on the corner by Trinity yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Farncombe, “with the Webb forks.”

“A Brough hasn’t got Webb forks,” said Hughes.

“The new ones have.”

“Bet you they haven’t.”

“How much?”

“Nothing,” said Hughes, yawning; “what’s the time?”

Gerald looked at his gold watch. “A quarter to twelve.”

“Goddy!” said Maurice, “I’ve got to see the Tutor at twelve.”

“And I’ve got a lecture,” said Farncombe, “unless I cut.”

“You’re going to give me that essay to copy, aren’t you, lovey?” asked Maurice anxiously.

“It’s in my digs, if you want it,” said Farncombe briefly.

“Thanks most frightfully.”

They rose slowly, yawning.

“What does Jimmy want to see you about?” asked Hughes.

“About Saturday.” Maurice made a face.

“How much do you think he knows?”

“That’s the point. I don’t know.”

“That girl may have said something.”

“Not she. She’d lose her job.”

“It must have been the old bitch, then.”

“She didn’t see us in the hen-house.”

“No, but she saw the hen-house after we’d been in it.”

“You were a madman,” said Farncombe.

Maurice giggled. “They looked so damn funny with their little heads tied up.”

“I don’t suppose she thought so.”

“Well, it didn’t do them any harm.”

“It did harm to the sitting-room, though.”

“She’s got to prove it,” said Gerald.

“I’m afraid Jimmy won’t want much proving,” said Hughes. “He’ll accept circumstantial evidence.”

“There’s no justice in this College,” said Maurice.

“You thank your God there isn’t, my boy. If there was justice, you’d have been sent down your first term.”

Maurice giggled, flattered. Going across to the cupboard, he hooked his square and gown off the peg. His square had had all its stuffing long since removed. It hung floppy like a cap.

“Jimmy eats out of my hand,” Maurice boasted. “Good-bye, you chaps. Don’t go away. I’ll be back soon.”

All the same, he felt a little uncomfortable as he hurried downstairs and out into Silver Street—not forgetting to put his head into his landlady’s sitting - room and say: “Good morning, Mrs. Brown. How’s the kitten?”—for it was most important to keep on the right side of Mrs. Brown, who’d even once or twice risked saying nothing about the times they came home from London in the early hours, without late leave. He wondered, hurrying towards his College, how much Jimmy really did know—and how much he’d believe.

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