Part 11 (2/2)

And blow up a xen.o.bathite.

Oh, I've pondered the nuclear thermals And every conceivable ray.

I've mugged up on technical journals, And now I'm just starting to pray.

What I'd like is the germ of the know-how To live at five tons per square inch, Then to bash at the bathies below now Would verge on the fringe of a cinch.

I've scouted above ultra-violet, I've burrowed around infrared, And the-

”Poor Leslie, ”I said. ”You see what happens in a climate like this, Phyl. We are being warned. Backroom-crackboom!-For heaven's sake! Softening sets in without the victim being aware of it. We must give Bocker a time limit a week from now to produce his phenomena. If not, he'll have had it, as far as we are concerned. Any longer, and real deterioration will get us. We, too, shall start composing songs in outdated rhythms. Our moral fibres will rot so that we shall find ourselves going around doing dreadful things like rhyming ”thermals” with ”journals”. What do you say, one week's grace?”

”Well-” Phyllis began, doubtfully.

A step sounded behind us as Leslie came out of the hotel door.

”Hullo, you two,” he said, cheerfully. ”Time for a quick one before el almuerzo? Hear the new song? A smasher, isn't it? Phyllis called it 'The Boffin's Lament', but I suggest 'The Lay of the Baffled Boffin!' Three gin-slings? Okay.” And he departed to fetch them.

Phyllis was studying the view.

”So?” I remarked grimly. ”Well, I said a week, and I'll stand by it-though it'll very likely be fatal.”

Which was truer than I knew.

Less than a week nearly was fatal.

”Darling, stop worrying that moon now, and come to bed.”

”No soul-that's the trouble. I often wonder why I married you.”

”It's by no means impossible to have too much soul. Look at Laurence Hope.”

”Pig! I hate you!”

”Darling, it's late. Nearly one o'clock.”

”On Escondida, life laughs at clocksmiths.”

”Wasted, darling. You mislaid your notebook this afternoon. Remember?”

”Oh, I do hate you. Sweet, sweet Diana, take me from this man!”

I got up and joined her at the window.

”See?” she said. ” 'A s.h.i.+p, an isle, a sickle moon...' So fragile, so eternal.... Isn't it lovely?”

We gazed out, across the empty Plaza, past the sleeping houses, over the silvered sea.

”I want it. It's one of the things I'm putting away to remember,” she said.

Faintly from behind the opposite houses, down by the waterfront, came the tinkling of a guitar.

”El amor tonto-y dulce,” she sighed. ”Why don't you see and hear what I see and hear, Mike? You don't, you know.”

”Mightn't it be a little dull for us if I did-both of us crying upon Diana, for instance? I have my own G.o.ds.”

She turned to look at me. ”I suppose you have. But they are rather obscure ones, aren't they?”

”You think so? I don't find them difficult. I'll quote Flecker back to you. ”And some to Mecca turn to pray, and I toward thy bed, Yasmin. ”

”Oh!” she said. ”Oh, Mike!”

And then, suddenly, the distant player dropped his guitar, with a clang.

Down by the waterfront a voice called out, unintelligible, but alarming. Then other voices. A woman screamed. We turned to look at the houses that screened the little harbour.

”Listen!” said Phyllis. ”Mike, do you think?”

She broke off at the sound of a couple of shots.

”It must be! Mike, they must be coming!”

There was an increasing hubbub in the distance. In the Square itself windows were opening, people calling questions from one to another. A man ran out of a door, round the corner, and disappeared down the short street that led to the water. There was more shouting now, more screaming, too. Among it the crack of three or four more shots. I turned from the window and thumped on the, wall which separated us from the next room.

”Hey, Ted!” I shouted. ”Turn up your lights! Down by the waterfront, man. Lights!”

I heard his faint okay. He must have been out of bed already, for almost as I turned back to the window the lights began to go on in batches.

There was nothing unusual to be seen except a dozen or more men pelting across the Square towards the harbour.

Quite abruptly the noise which had been rising in crescendo was cut off. Ted's door slammed. His boots thudded along the corridor past our room. Beyond the houses the yelling and screaming broke out again, louder than before, as if it had gained force from being briefly dammed.

”I must-” I began, and then stopped when I found that Phyllis was no longer beside me.

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