City of Spades - By Colin MacInnes Page 0,38

do they!’

‘They do. All the boys say so.’

‘Not the nice girls, they don’t.’

‘Oh-ho!’ Johnny glared at her like a witch-doctor, and spoke in a throaty whisper. ‘If you touch them gently, they just scream. So what you do? You take them to some little room up in some empty house, far off from ears, and say to them, “Scream now, lady! Scream!”’

‘I wouldn’t come.’

‘You would. Oh, yes, you would!’

‘I mean you wouldn’t have to do that with me … If I love a boy, I love him. If I didn’t, I’d never be alone with him.’

‘So you are an African! Tell me, then, Africa woman! Truthfully, now, Muriel. Why do you love us so?’

‘I don’t love you all – I love you.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because of what you said: those lovely manners you all have. And because you’re all so beautiful to look at.’

‘You think our ugly faces are so beautiful?’

‘Not just your faces – it’s the way you move. When you walk, you walk from the top of your head right down to the very tip of your toes … You step out as if you owned the world …’

Fortune grew bored by this. Why praise a beauty that was evident to all?

‘And then,’ she went on, as he turned to gaze at the liquor bar and moistened his full lips, ‘you’re such fun to be with. If you say, “Let’s do this, or that,” to a coloured boy, his first answer isn’t, “No.” He’s ready to fall in with any bright idea.’ (Johnny was no longer listening.) ‘Of course, sometimes your boys get sad and gloomy, all of a sudden for no reason … And often those lovely smiles of yours don’t mean a thing …’

Johnny was looking at a merchant ship, sailing stern first towards them down the river to the open sea. ‘Come!’ he said. ‘Let us get ourselves some glass of lager beer.’

The little bar amidships smelt of heat, and airlessness, and stale ale. The boy serving was an undersized lad with a Tony Curtis hair-do, who slopped the lager in the glasses with amateur abandon. He eyed Johnny Fortune with enthusiasm.

‘And for you what?’ Johnny asked the boy. ‘Some orange juice or Coke?’

‘Ta, guv, I’ll have a Pepsi. You’re not a boxer, are you?’

‘Me? No. I box, though.’

‘Of course you do. But I thought you could maybe get me Sugar’s autograph.’

‘I know boys who visit at his camp. Give me your name, and I shall get you this signature of Mr Robinson.’

‘I’m Norman, the captain’s son. Care of the boat will find me. Good ’ealth. I drink beer for choice, but Dad won’t let me on his boat, I’m under age.’

The huge ship passed, and the craft rocked in its wash. Johnny looked through the port-hole, flattening his face. ‘Perhaps she sail out to Africa,’ he said.

‘She’s British,’ said Muriel, squeezing up beside him. ‘What a lot of ships we have.’

‘So many. So old and battered.’

‘We’re a rich country, Johnny.’

‘You? England is quite wasted, Muriel.’

‘Wasted? It’s not!’

‘I tell you. The lands of opportunity are America, and China, and Africa, ’specially Nigeria.’

‘Yes? Who cares, though!’ She kissed him as he was still talking. ‘It’s hot, Johnny. Can’t we get this port-hole open?’

‘Hot! You call this heat? Nigeria would melt you.’ He rubbed a sweaty nose against her own.

‘Wait till the cold comes. Then you’ll see something you don’t know about.’

‘Snowballs, you mean?’

‘Not snow – just cold. You’d better buy yourself a duffel.’

‘You, Muriel, will keep me warm.’

The boy came and wiped the table needlessly. He held Johnny by the arm, delicately feeling his biceps.

‘You coloured boys,’ he said, ‘are wonderful fighters. You’re the tops.’ The blue eyes in his pimply face gazed at Johnny’s own with rapture.

‘We also have intelligent citizens, you know. There are African students who fully understand atomic energy.’

‘Oh, so long as they can fight! You’re brave!’

Johnny smiled with condescension, rubbed the boy’s back, and pushed him gently off.

‘They all love you, Johnny,’ Muriel said.

‘So long as you do.’

‘I do. Oh yes, I do.’ She stared at him, and clutched as if she feared he’d disappear. ‘I’d do anything for you,’ she said.

‘Anything! Big words.’

‘If you want to stay with me, you can. If you wanted to get married ever, you just say. If you want a child, I’ll give you one – a boy: we’ll call it Johnny-number-two. I’d work for you, Johnny – any work. I’d go to jail for you – do anything.’

‘Muriel! Muriel! What sad thoughts you speak of.’

‘You mean