– Glad? said Flapping Eagle. Glad, when it killed the man who loved you?
– You love me, said Elfrida, attacking his clothes. Show me.
– It’s impossible, said Flapping Eagle. We’ve just buried him.
– I love you, now, said Elfrida. Now. This minute. This second.
– Not now, said Flapping Eagle.
She broke away from his embrace; and her love increased the burden of his guilt.
XLIX Retreat
FLAPPING EAGLE WENT into K the next day, to collect food and a few other things from Moonshy’s stores. From the moment he entered the town, he knew that Peckenpaw had not been making empty threats. People stopped and stared as he passed, as though aghast at his temerity. The flavour of those old films seen in the fleapit at Phoenix filled the streets; K had become Peckenpaw-land, a small town of the Old West; and Flapping Eagle was, after all, a Red Indian. He half-expected a sheriff to emerge through swing-doors and gun him down then and there.
P. S. Moonshy was busy behind a counter, weighing things on scales. There was only one other customer in the room, but Moonshy ignored Flapping Eagle completely. When the woman left, Flapping Eagle said: -It’s my turn, I think.
– Think again, said P. S. Moonshy.
– Look, just give me the food and I’ll go, said Flapping Eagle, offering his list.
– No food, said P. S. Moonshy.
One-Track Peckenpaw was in the street when Flapping Eagle emerged empty-handed. -Wal, he said, if it ain’t the Indian. He placed himself between Flapping Eagle and his donkey.
Flapping Eagle resolved on a policy of polite firmness. -If You’ll excuse me, he said, I’d like to get back to Mrs Gribb and tell her we’re to be starved out of town.
– Sure, said Peckenpaw. Wouldn’t dream of standing in your way. He didn’t move. Flapping Eagle tried to get round him to the waiting donkey; but Peckenpaw shot out one huge, clawing hand and grabbed Flapping Eagle by the neck. It was useless to struggle, so Flapping Eagle went limp. Peckenpaw glared at him.
– Now don’t get me wrong, he said. I ain’t prejudiced. But if you’re still around tomorrow, I’ll be coming looking.
With his free hand, he delivered a devastating rabbit-punch. Flapping Eagle was sick on the cobbles. Peckenpaw threw him down into the mess and walked away.
Flapping Eagle crawled on to the donkey and made his way home.
– We’ve got to leave here, he said to Elfrida.
– Why? she asked. It’s my house now. Our house.
– Look, they won’t feed us if we stay and they’ll probably try and force us out anyway. You can’t resist a whole town.
– If you go, my love, she said, I shall of course accompany you. Her face was reposed and calm, her manner collected if Subservient.
– We’ll go, then, he said.
– Where will you take me? she asked.
Where, indeed. She had the strength of obsession to survive the journey down the mountain again-if she could survive the effect in K, she could certainly do so where it was less strong. But Elfrida Gribb had not been made for rough journeys; and Dolores O’Toole would scarcely welcome the “Spectre of Grimus” back into her home. Besides, it smacked of deserting the scene of the crime. His crime. They could not go back. There was no going back for him. And if he was to go on, up the mountain, into the unknown clouds, what would he do there? Even worse, what would she do there? He shook his head. He needed guidance.
Guidance. Virgil Jones sweating at the graveside. Flapping Eagle had thought Virgil had winked at him, once, during the ceremony. Was it possible he bore no grudge? Virgil, whom he had slighted so callously?
– We’ll have to go to Madame Jocasta’s, he said, thinking aloud. I can’t think of anywhere else.
– I scarcely think she will welcome me, said Elfrida.
– We’ll both have to, um, eat a quantity of crow, said Flapping Eagle. I didn’t go down too well with her either.
– She probably didn’t like your face, said Elfrida enigmatically.
– There’s nothing for it, said Flapping Eagle. I must talk to Virgil again. And I don’t think they’ll come for us there, somehow.
– The brothel, murmured Elfrida. Why not, why not.
He had on his old, worn, travelling clothes. Ignatius Gribb, tidy as Elfrida until his last rage, had even preserved his headscarf and feather. Smiling wryly, he put those on as well. If he was to be in a bad Western, he might as well wear the full uniform.
He had to see Irina Cherkassova, since he had to return the late Count’s clothes. She took them from him in the doorway, making no move to invite him in.
– Don’t think I didn’t see through you, she said. Even in his clothes.
– What do you mean? asked Flapping Eagle. You made me your friend.
– I told the Count, she said. I saw it in your face. The evil.
She shut the door, and he never saw her again.
Exactly on the seventh knock, the door was opened. Madame Jocasta looked at the pair of them in amazement. Elfrida returned her gaze calmly, twirling her parasol. She was dressed entirely in white lace.
– Is there something you want? asked Jocasta, discouragingly.
– Yes, said Flapping Eagle. This was no time to stand upon one’s pride. We seek sanctuary.
Jocasta smiled without humour. -No, she said and began to close the door.
– What do you want me to say? cried Flapping Eagle. That I’ve seen the error of my ways? I have. That I was an inhumanly selfish bastard? I was. That I treated Virgil badly, and with every reason for treating him well? It’s true. I accept all of it. Will you not accept a genuine admission of guilt? How do you think it feels to be even indirectly responsible for four deaths?
– Murderous, I expect, said Jocasta, unrelenting.
– If you don’t let us in, said Flapping Eagle, You’ll be responsible for two more. They won’t let us have any food.
– O hello, said a voice. Media was looking over Jocasta’s shoulder in open pleasure.
– Media, go and fetch Virgil, said Jocasta. It’s up to him.
Virgil Jones came downstairs looking delighted.
– My dear Flapping Eagle, he said. My dear Mrs Gribb. How very nice.
– Virgil, said Flapping Eagle. You may think I’m only saying this because I’m in trouble, because I made a choice that didn’t work out, but it’s not so. I was very wrong. My behaviour towards you was morally indefensible. I can only say I know it, and I am sorry.
Virgil listened to this speech solemnly, but his eyes were not serious.
– Rubbish, he cried gaily when Flapping Eagle had finished. We all have to make our mistakes. Welcome to the fold.
– You want me to let him in? asked Jocasta, dubiously.
– Of course, said Virgil. He’s a friend of mine.
– What about her? asked Jocasta. Saint Elfrida, wearing white on the day after her husband’s funeral. I haven’t heard any note of contrition from her.
Elfrida said: -I am no better than you, and no worse.
– Please, Virgil, said Flapping Eagle. She’s not herself.
– That’s an improvement, said Madame Jocasta, giving in. Well, come in then, you two wretches, don’t just stand there.
Media’s smile of welcome more than compensated for Jocasta’s reluctant tone.
The room faced the rising mountain, whose occluded peak glowered through its one window. It was not a beautiful room; it would probably have seemed entirely nondescript but for the carvings.
The carvings were hideous.
It was not that they were grotesque, for the grotesque, expertly depicted, becomes beautiful. It was not that their subjects were hideous; even ugly heads can be moving, given the right treatment. The carvings were simply and without any question extremely ugly, seemingly lacking any purpose or aesthetic drive except that of making the world seem vile and hateful. Even that was pitching it too high. The carver had possessed less skill than even Flapping Eagle, who was no artist.