And here it is, its heaviness lying in his palm, his hand closing over the alternating smoothness and lininess of it.
What a hotel! He’ll recommend it to everyone.
He goes to sleep with the feeling that things are going to go right for him in this town.
And enjoys a perfect night’s sleep — deep, clear, and refreshing, like gliding down through sunlit water on a hot day; such a perfect night’s sleep that he is entirely unconscious of how much he is enjoying it, or of its depth, clarity, and refreshingness, or its resemblance to gliding through sunlit water on a hot day; so perfect that from time to time he half wakes, just enough to become conscious of how unconscious of everything he is.
~ ~ ~
He wakes early next morning, and goes out at once, anxious to get to grips with the city. The air is still cool when he comes out onto the street, and the sunlight has that soft, early-morning freshness which makes even the cars and buses seem alert and hopeful. People wearing light suits and crisp dresses are walking to work, glancing at newspapers as they go. Howard walks with them, his eyes moving from person to person, from object to object, trying to take everything in. What kind of place is this? What sort of feel does it have? Where does it remind him of? He forms a new general conclusion at every third step. Focusing on a plump man with dark hair at a bus stop he decides the people are Latin. But — as he takes in two girls with long fair hair — there is a North European element as well. A black street-sweeper; they have a racial situation. An elegant fire-hydrant, an acceptable litter-bin, a well-thought-out pedestrian-barrier; the standards of design are high. He stops to look in a shop window. It’s an electric shop, with a shining chrome display of toasters, coffee-pots, and electric carving-knives. The prices range from 47.25 to 5,040.80. Some of the apparatus is made by Philips and Westinghouse, some by manufacturers he has never heard of. It all looks slightly unfamiliar. But good. He likes the general impression it makes.
He stops at a kiosk and buys all the better-class local papers he can find, together with an airmail edition of the Times, a street map, and a green Michelin guide to the city. He takes them to a cafe terrace in the sun, orders coffee and croissants, and starts on the papers. He finds them very difficult to follow. The CS have walked out of the annual conference of the CDF, he reads. The CCU-CLC is split down the centre over the CGTC dispute. Thierry has declared his support for Dallapiccola; but there are signs that Pugachev may be about to break off his “Long Courtship” of Guizot. Thierry … Guizot … CDF … the names are all faintly familiar, and have a serious look about them. There is quite a lot about God, though, of whom even Howard has heard. 100,000 VOIENT DIEU A L’OUVERTURE DE L’EXPO “TECHNOLOGIE PUBLICITAIRE.” “Gott: Ohne Vertrauensvotum much’ ich nicht welter!” “Dieu serait contrarie par la hausse des produits laitiers.” The domestic politics in the Times look embarrassingly homely by comparison. “An incomes policy” — “the Foreign Secretary” — “Labour backbenchers cheered” … how shabbily comprehensible it all seems!
He licks butter and flakes of croissant off his finger, and turns to the Michelin, impatient to get started on actually looking at things. His eyes run quickly down the page. “Centre administratif de l’univers. . Capitale des Capitales … une cite fourmillante d’idées … ses splendeurs inepuisables… sa beauté ‘morale’… ses mille et un plaisirs. .
“UN PEU D’HISTOIRE: C’est id qu ’est arrive, vers l’an 67, selon la legende, St. Jean le Theologien…. legerement entrâiné par son enthousiasme, sans doute, il a decrit une ville ’d’un or pur, semblable à du verre clair,’ qui était longue, large, et haute de ’douze mille stades’ (240 km.)…. Quoi qu’il en soit, les archeologues ont découvert, sous le parking du Café Apocalypse actuel, les restes d ’une porte magniflque en or et en pierres precieuses…. (Pour la visite, s’addresser au gardien. Fermé le dimanche) …”
The list of things to be seen goes on for several pages, and most of them have three stars. It’s suggested that you should linger on the great avenues and squares in the morning and afternoon, to see the swarms of officials and experts who administer the universe hurrying to and from their offices; or sit for a while in the shady walks of the various public gardens, and watch these same officials’ wives proudly taking the baby out for an airing. There are certain bars where artists and writers are always to be seen, talking animatedly as they set the world to rights. The pageantry surrounding the court is a feast of spectacle and venerable tradition.
The museums are going to take quite a lot of time. They contain all the world’s originals. Howard never realized — up to now he has seen only copies of the Night Watch and the Birth of Venus; indeed of everything, from electron microscopes and tin openers to the muddle of plasticine, string, and electric cord in the toy-drawer at home. It’s a real metropolis.
He pays the bill and sets out briskly, Michelin under his arm, passing newsbills for the popular papers which say:
DIEU ET MARGARET: SE SERAIENT-ILS
BROUILLES?
He walks along a broad, straight avenue lined with luxury shops. Chauffeurs wait at the kerb beside long, illegally parked cars. Women with large dark glasses and small hats go by, leading dogs. Howard looks into the shop windows as he passes and sees himself walking eagerly along. He disappears briefly into revolving doors and uniformed doormen, then reappears among discreet silk ties, or cashmere sweaters and handmade brogues. He notices an odd thing about himself: he looks right. He is still himself — still rather short and tubby, with a high forehead, and dry hair that turns upwards and back in the wind of his passage. He still leans forward slightly as he walks, as if he is just about to shake hands with an old friend, and he still has a slight benevolent smile about his lips. But in these surroundings the whole effect seems somehow natural. This is partly because — as he realizes with a shock — he is remarkably well dressed. His light summer suit and pale striped silk tie are for once exactly like the light summer suits and pale striped silk ties that everybody else is wearing. And yet, at the same time, they are entirely different. He has at last achieved his ambition to look both indistinguishable and distinctive.
Also, as he discovers after a little experiment, the windows of the shops here are constructed so that you don’t have to keep looking sideways to see yourself in them. You can catch sight of yourself looking at other things than your own reflection, wearing unself-conscious expressions of interest and curiosity. He sees himself crossing the road — deftly, like a native, knowing exactly which way to look for the traffic. His shoulders are broader than he had supposed, he notices as he walks away from himself; his bottom sticks out less. He watches his expression carefully as he goes up to a beggar and puts a coin in his tin. He has always feared that he looks embarrassed or patronizing on these occasions. But not at all. He finds that he looks at the beggar intensely, as if he would like to know his life story, and smiles quite naturally.