The Fugitive by Fish Robert L.;

Author:Fish, Robert L.; [FISH, ROBERT L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1963766
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2010-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Carnival was here; it was only the first afternoon of the insane, gay festival, but already all formality had gone by the board; a wild madness invaded the heavy air, a sense of complete relaxation and to-hell-with-it-allness. Ari sat wedged at a small table in the noisy hotel bar, enjoying an aperitif, completely at ease, smiling broadly at nothing at all, feeling himself to be a part of the twirling mob that engulfed him. Girls in little abbreviated skirts blew confetti in his face; young men with grotesquely painted mustaches and all manner of comic costumes sprayed ether from small pressurized bottles in all directions; from the street outside the open window came the sound of rhythmic syncopated bands, and the shuffling of people dancing, the cry of people singing. Ari sat there in pure enjoyment; what a wonderful people, what a wonderfully mad holiday!

A couple came lumbering happily through the crowded bar; the man was gigantic and dressed in a tight Tyrolean costume of patterned shirt, short breeches, stockings and a small feathered cap; the woman, large herself, was dressed in typical French peasant style, her tilted-eared cap rising high over her golden hair, her blouse pleasantly filled, her full skirts falling in ruffled folds to her sabots. She was pulling the man along behind her boisterously; they bumped through the tables, heading for the bar. They were squeezing past Ari’s table when the man suddenly pulled up short, causing the woman to stagger.

“Strauss!” she cried in a half-drunken giggle. “Come on! I want a drink!”

“Herr Busch!” Strauss cried, tightening his grip on the woman’s hand and dragging her back to the table. “What a pleasure!” His eyes were already bright with the effects of drink, and the effects of Carnival spirit. Ari attempted to pull himself to his feet, but the pressure of the crowd was too great. “Jeanne!” Strauss cried. “I want you to meet an old friend of mine!” He looked about. “Here. Take this chair; I will get another!”

The woman sat down at once, immediately reaching over for Ari’s aperitif and drinking it down in one gulp. Strauss swung a chair neatly from beneath the noses of the occupants of the next table and fell into it before they could complain. He enfolded Ari in a great bear hug, calling loudly to the waiter at the same time. Ari was overwhelmed.

“Carnival, Carnival!” Strauss cried in a gay voice. “It is wonderful, no? Yes?” He paused, considering which had been correct, then dismissed the whose thing, remembering his duty. “Herr Busch, this is Madame Richereau. Jeanne, an old friend, Herr Busch.” He spoke in French; they fell into the same tongue. In the cacophony of sound that arose like a wave from all sides, every language of the civilized world could be heard.

“I want a drink!” Madame Richereau’s sudden announcement was made in a belligerent tone. She stared at Ari archly. “You wonder, perhaps, where is M. Richereau? I will tell you; during Carnival, my sweet, we go our separate ways.

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