Grimus - By Salman Rushdie Page 0,85

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