Out of sight of the Gribb house, trees obscuring it from view.
Irina Cherkassova said: -Are we still friends, Flapping Eagle?
– Yes, he replied. If you like.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
– Then that cements our friendship, she said, and walked away from him without looking back.
There were too many fluctuations within him-between his feelings for Virgil and his feelings for the new life to which Elfrida had introduced him; and now an emotional wavering between Elfrida and Irina, brought on by that kiss. He had to start settling things irrevocably, he told himself, and walked purposefully towards the House of the Rising Son.
XLI Black Rider
THE HOUSE OF THE RISING SON rose gleaming from the roadside. Outside it, stationary on the cobbled way, a figure on a donkey. As he drew closer, Flapping Eagle saw that the figure wore a flowing black garment, covering it from head to toe, with a kind of grill arrangement at eye-level, criss-cross woven bars across this one window. He could not tell whether it was male or female and felt a shiver of fear as he commanded it silently to be anything other than a third vision of Bird-Dog. Then it spoke to him and he relaxed slightly; the voice was a woman’s, low and toneless, and certainly not his sister’s.
– Who are you? it asked.
He introduced himself, seeing no reason not to; the hidden woman did not return the compliment. So he spoke more curtly when he said:
– Are you from the House?
– Yes, after a fashion, said the voice; and now it seemed amused.
– Then tell me, please, if Virgil Jones is here.
The figure nodded slowly, continuing to stare at the brothel as it had done all the while.
– Where else? it said tonelessly.
– Good, said Flapping Eagle shortly and walked up to the door.
– Flapping Eagle, the figure said.
– What? He stopped at the door and turned; the woman remained impassive.
– Nothing, she said. I was just accustoming myself to your name. But since you’re going to see Virgil, you can tell him I called.
– Who shall I say? said Flapping Eagle, curious now. The figure contemplated for a moment, then pointed with her right arm.
– I live there, she said.
The black house sat on the outcrop of rock above the town and beneath the wall of cloud, black as the concealing garments of its owner.
– I expect to see you soon, she said and kicked her donkey into motion.
– What is your name? said Flapping Eagle.
The donkey was moving away at a sedate walk.
– Mrs Virgil Jones, said Liv, and scornful amusement had once again replaced tonelessness in her voice.
XLII Madame Jocasta
MR VIRGIL JONES no longer needed his trouser-belt. He was not wearing any trousers.
He wore a towel around his waist, a necklace of beads around his neck, and a bowler hat upon his head. In his right hand was a pitcher of wine. In his left hand was a quantity of the bottom of Kamala Sutra. On his lap was a bowl of fruit. A thin line of red dribbled from his tongue into the newly-shaven cleft of his chin. He sat upon a low bed; Kamala Sutra lay beside him and Madame Jocasta’s head was on his knee. He was drunk as a lord.
Flapping Eagle stood in the doorway, speechless at the spectacle. Virgil Jones removed his left hand from Mile Kamala, doffed his hat and replaced the hand. -Ah, he said, my old friend, my old bucko, so eager, so enthusiastic. Flapping Eager, I presume. Greetings, salutations, felicitations, immigrations to you. Have a drink. Take your clothes off. Relax. Don’t you think I look smart? In the pink, you follow, in the proverbial pink. The pink djinn is what I am. Small pleasantry.
Flapping Eagle took a step forward, and stopped again. Kamala Sutra leapt up from the bed. She put her left foot on his right foot and wound her right leg around his waist. Then she put her right arm on his left shoulder and her left arm around his neck. Then she inclined her face up towards his and made cooing noises.
Virgil Jones spluttered gleefully, thumping his thigh with his emptied left hand, the rolls of his stomach oscillating happily.
– Look at that, he said. The climbing-up-the-mountain position! How singularly apposite, or appositely singular. Do you see, do you see, Flapping Eagle? You are the mountain and she is climbing up the mountain to beg for a kiss. Cooing noises and all. A genuine no-nonsense Kama Sutra technique.
– Cucucucucu, said Kamala Sutra.
Madame Jocasta pouted. -He seems not to like the offer much, she said. Shall we send for Gilles? Kamala Sutra detached herself and returned to the bed.
– O, do, said Virgil Jones, redoubling his laughter, drinking from the pitcher and choking. A fine spray of wine spread over the bedsheet. And over Madame Jocasta.
Madame Jocasta got up and walked by Flapping Eagle to the door, where she pulled a sash. On her way back to Virgil, she said dryly:
– How nice to see what you look like at last,
Flapping Eagle said: -I came to… to apologize…
Madame Jocasta interrupted: -To Virgil? Why, how perfectly sweet of you. She smiled stunningly and hit him as hard as she could in the face. -You took your time, she said, and the smile did not waver as she unleashed her other hand upon his other cheek. -There, that’s better, she said.
The door burst open behind them. There entered the most beautiful man Flapping Eagle had ever seen. Gilles Priape sidled in languidly stroking the preternaturally generous tool of his trade. It rose equally casually to a reasonably erect angle as he sized up Flapping Eagle.
– This one? he asked Madame Jocasta, pointing.
– That one, said Madame Jocasta, returning to Virgil’s knee.
– Here? asked Gilles Priape, making a superb professional moue at Flapping Eagle.
– Here, instructed Madame Jocasta.
– Would you like me to undress you? Gilles Priape asked Flapping Eagle. From his exhausted tone, it was evidently a question expecting the answer No.
– Don’t be so goddam lazy, said Jocasta. Do it. To Flapping Eagle she added apologetically: -He’s only slow until he begins.
Flapping Eagle shook off Gilles Priape’s resigned, limp hands and spoke to Virgil Jones, attempting to ignore the rest of the whole unexpected scene.
– Virgil, he said, and his voice faltered slightly, betraying his lack of success, I am very sorry about what happened at the Elbaroom. I should not have let them treat you like that. May I speak to you alone?
– O, my, flounced Jocasta, aren’t we starchy? Aren’t we severe? What right do you suppose you have to ask anything at all of Mr Jones?
Virgil hiccuped and then giggled. Flapping Eagle thought he looked totally pathetic, and anger mingled with his shame and disgust, making restraint impossible.
– Very well, he said. I don’t really know why I came here at all. From a sense of friendship, I suppose, a sense of obligation and, I admit it, of guilt. I had also thought you could help me… I wanted to ask you things, to ask your guidance… I see now there’s no point in any of that. Don’t you find it sad, Virgil, that you of all people should have sunk so low? You, who told me how you valued your dignity. “One tries by one’s life and actions to bring a little sense into an inane universe”… is this what you meant… this… this rag-bag of lascivious impotence? Have they persuaded you to wallow so completely in self-pity? Have they persuaded you to forget why you left Dolores? I wanted to ask you why, a dozen times, but I waited until you were ready. Now it seems I’ve missed my chance. You are ruined and I am settled. You’re more than ruined… you’re being embalmed, here. With a brothel for a pyramid. With…
Madame Jocasta said: -Shut up.
Flapping Eagle, the pent-up frustrations and guilt released, stammered to a halt and stood foolishly in the musky room as Virgil giggled, Gilles Priape looked unconcerned, Kamala Sutra kissed Virgil’s feet and Madame Jocasta blazed with fury, not realizing how much that fury had done to widen the rift between the two travellers.