.. Hail to the monarchs! Liven up the subjects! make them jig all in time! What a scramble!.. Crazy to give yourself to the Ephemeral!.. A thousand times better to perish nicely carrying off the flute!.. But still you need the moment of high ecstasy! Not all who want to can go off to music! The chosen moment!.. You have to last while waiting.. That’s what I always say! Pros and cons! Jump here!.. Bounce there!.. get hold of the daily bread.. A flea’s life!. They spy on you!.. What torture!. I gave you a violent picture of the kind at Tackett’s. Running off with the flute is another matter! You’ll see. No time for a jerk-off!..
Since the blowup at the Dingby what a scramble! What exercise! From waiting-rooms to shady hotels, from basements to attics, from rats to rats, what drops! what climbs! from Salvation Army joints to tuppenny landladies at night, what a runaround! Cascade had scared me stiff with his stories about the Consulate’s being after me.. My nerves weren’t too steady any more. I went off my nut easily.. I’d dash from one neighborhood to another. Never twice in the same room because of the suspicious questions… I was being sensible… I hadn’t seen any of the others!.. followed to a T the careful advice… I avoided Leicester and Bedford, the beat, the sidewalks with the women, where I might have learned something.. Still I was on pins and needles!.. And there was a good reason!.. Not a line in the papers. Cascade must have forked over!.. We weren’t to see one another until he got in touch with me!
.. I’d kept my word. The critical stage had passed!.. the cops were sniffing elsewhere.. after other riffraff.. Only I was getting low in cash!.. Before the blowup I’d borrowed about ten pounds from Cascade. I hadn’t been extravagant, all the same the end was in sight… I couldn’t sleep on the bare ground, it gave me howling cramps on account of my arm!.. I was forced to take a bed.. That’s always expensive.. even in the most modest places. I spent my time at the movies.. I still remember the programs.. They were mostly Pearl White in The Mysteries of New York.. In spite of the hours I spent there, I still had a lot of time on my hands.. I’d take the little streets in Soho, the bustling busy ones. where the people kept going.. where it's a perpetual little fair.. they swarm around the shops from Shaftesbury to Wig-more Street, the windows full, in the doorways, all teeming with crowds, it covers you up, reassures you, at the same time it’s lively, it distracts you.. still and all after ten or twelve days like that, of coming and going in the streets, it began to be enough. I’d had my bellyful of penance! After all, hell! I hadn’t done anything!.. I didn’t quite dare look up Cascade but I wanted to see Boro again!.. One Sunday morning I made up my mind… I said to myself, "My boy, let’s go! ” I was around Barbeley Dock, the Ferry was waiting, the little boat was inviting, it took ten minutes along the river… As soon as I see water, I’m tempted.. Ready to go at the drop of a hat!.. I’d sail around the pond in the Tuileries at the slightest pretext! in a watchglass if I were a tiny little fly.. Anything just to sail! I walk across bridges for no reason at all.. I wish all roads were rivers.. It’s the spell… the bewitchment.. it’s the movement of the water… Just so, without wanting to, an idea in my head, right at the lapping of the Thames.. I stood there having visions.. The charm was too much for me, especially with the big ships.. everything gliding around.. twisting in and out, foaming. the dinghies. the south landing of the docks.. cutters and brigantines tacking.. coming in. drifting.. skimming the bank. Floating lazily!. It’s magical!.. no denying it!.. A ballet!.. It’s hallucinating!
.. It’s hard to drag yourself away!. You got into the swing of things a bit with the little ferry, the Dolphin.. two little trips.. from shore to shore.. I’ve done it five or six times! like a holiday!.. round trip!.. Barbeley-Greenwich… almost touching the big cargoes. the colossal potbellies going upstream, the propellers buzzing away like mad.. drifting in the eddies.. roaring, grunting in alarm.. scared of the landings. What beauty!. gulls flying! glide to heaven! enough dreaming! down to earth, boy! Not a penny left in my pocket! Get going! Greenwich. it’s sad! Let’s go now! enough dawdling! mooning!.. I’ve got to find that son-of-a-bitch! It was understood, definite! at The Horror’s place.
He’d told me.. Greenwich Alley.. Greenwich Park… Van Claben Junior, his real moniker. he’d explained it carefully. not far from the south wharf. What would they say when they saw me?. They’d surely spot me from outside.. Maybe they wouldn’t open the door?… Ah! my mind was made up! But no undue confidence! I was going and that was all…
i look around a bit… to see if I don’t smell cops.. The name of the place?. “Titus Van Claben”. If there’re any suspicious characters around.. It’s all quiet.. all reassuring.. Three or four people on the steps just chatting.. probably clients.. they were waiting their turn… In the park kids running around, dashing all over, racing through the lanes.. In short, everything pretty normal. Besides the weather’s fine.. bright sun, almost warm.. That’s rare in London in early May.. From the open windows on the first floor I hear Boro pounding it out.. same as usual.. that’s fine.. It’s his touch all right, his music, I don’t think I’m wrong.. He’s there, the tramp!.. I say to myself, “I’m in luck!.. He’s at the piano… he might have been in jail! ”… I was beginning to get dopey walking from one neighborhood to another.. day and night! A nasty kind of fatigue!. Still, not completely shot!
.. but almost.. well, just about pooped.. and besides, a pain in my arm from sleeping any old place. from snoring on bumpy beds!.. and besides, buzzings in my ears so shrill and painful they’d make me close my eyes… A cripple’s life is lousy. and it’s bad to be broke… it gives you nasty, vicious ideas. But anything was better than the army! What if they ever made me go back? It was God-damned possible according to that windbag!.. What if they were looking for me at the Consulate?.. Suppose they were scraping the bottom of the barrel… It was a chance I was taking, all the same, still and all. It was that much to the good as a matter of fact. One chance in a thousand being there in London. I’ll tell you how. Downright luck!. A real treat!. A reversal of fate!
.. What a break!.. And Cascade, no denying it, what a windfall!. All of it through Raoul. There was a poor guy for you! What tough luck!.. I’ll tell about that, too!.. Mustn’t sulk about destiny!. I was lucky, and how!. All the others like me were cooked! They were digging their foxholes in the Artois. or elsewhere!. in the 16th Heavy!. in the armored division.. Some of them had switched… to the hungry infantry.. splattered, piled up in the lime.. shelled ten, twelve hours at a time! Here’s to their health! It was better here! Got to realize!. Roses! Even in delicate moments!.. Ah! no getting soft!.. Grab everything!.. Always on the lookout! I pulled myself together! I held on! My pals weren’t too respectable, of course, I agree, but a wonderful family for me, knew all the ropes.. Since I was well recommended, coming from poor Raoul, a fine welcome right off!.. Till then.. just a couple of little slips!.. and then the blowup at the Dingby!. They’d dropped me a little. It was inevitable!
.. Now had to make a comeback… I’d find them all right through Boro!. So there I was in front of the door, "Van Claben Titus”… It was the moment for decision… I ring.. I knock. Nobody answers. I bang again. I insist..
"Boro!. It’s me! ” I yell out right from the park.
Finally Monsieur is so good as to appear… He leans out the window.. There he is!.. He’s amazed to see me… He motions to me..