The clerk, without looking up or relaxing his harassed expression, replied to this lengthy statement with a balloon of his own. In point of fact, this balloon was discharged simultaneously with the manager’s, so that a curious impression was given of their rudely talking in competition with each other, without hearing what the other said or caring to hear it. From the nature of the clerk’s reply, however, I was led to believe that there was some tricky Moribundian time-factor—which my earthly wits were not quick enough to follow—and that the clerk must have heard all that the manager had said before launching upon a statement of his own point of view. This is what came pouring from his mouth:
These two balloons remained in the air for about as long a time as it would take an educated person to read them both conveniently—then they faded, and the objects which they had obscured were again visible. The manager, having delivered his warning effectively enough, withdrew through the door by which he had entered without any more words—or I suppose I should say balloons—while the clerk went on with his work.
I hoped now to get some attention. I was just about, in fact, to raise my voice to make my presence known, when, taking me completely by surprise, there was another bright flash, and yet another balloon hung in the air. This came from the clerk again, but was different from the one that preceded it, in that, instead of flowing out of his mouth as before, it burst, as though from some astounding inner explosion, from the very brain of the man—piercing the thickness of his skull, and coming out through his hair, to hang in the air with the utmost brightness and legibility.
That this balloon represented what the clerk was thinking, as opposed to the other balloon, which had represented what he was saying, was made doubly evident. Not only did it issue from his brain, which in my opinion made the difference perfectly clear without any further emphasis, there was also additional aid given to the ‘reader,’ if I may call him so, in the form of an explanatory heading, or caption, placed at the top of the balloon itself, and leaving no room for misunderstanding even in the slowest-witted mind.
This is the clerk’s second balloon as I read it:13
In due course this faded away, but the clerk did not look up; finally I was compelled to rap upon the counter to make him aware of my presence.
He heard me, and as he rose and came towards me with his harassed and subdued expression intensified by his recent clash with the manager, it occurred to me that I was in a position to adopt a high-handed tone, and that this, in fact, would be my best strategy.
Imagine my surprise when just as I was framing the words in my own mind the words were literally taken out of my own mouth, and I found myself making a balloon of my own!
In Moribundia it isn’t altogether a simple matter to read one’s own balloon, as they are primarily meant for other people’s consumption, and one can only get a sort of sideways, squinting, elongated view of one’s own. The thing can be done, however, and this is what I saw myself ballooning:
It may be observed that a d, a dash, and an l, quite involuntarily on my part, were substituted for the word ‘devil’ at the top of this balloon. An automatic and vigilant censorship of this sort takes care of all balloons in Moribundia, which, in certain departments of life, is extraordinarily squeamish with regard even to the mildest forms of profanity—while in others—in the case, for instance, of retired colonels, elderly people whose corns or bunions have been trodden upon, or the owners of barges or small craft—it countenances swearing of the most violent kind. Indeed, to question the habitual use of bad language by such members of the community as these, would be to incur the same sort of displeasure as one would bring upon one’s head in questioning the ‘unfailing good humour’ of the Yenkcoc.
The clerk now replied with a brief, miserable, apologizing balloon, and after that we resumed normal speech. I asked for a single room, and the man was so distraught by his own worries that he completely failed to notice that I had no luggage, and, having asked me to sign the register, simply told a page-boy standing near to direct me to my room.
‘Here’s a bit of luck for me!’ I thought, and looked quickly and nervously into the air around my head to see that the thought had not broken into the air to betray me. Happily, it had not. I entered the lift, and a few minutes later was in a luxurious bedroom on the third floor.
Notes
13. This ‘balloon’ clearly identifies those once well-known advertisements in magazines for restorative bedtime drinks like ‘Horlicks’ and ‘Bournvita’.
CHAPTER VI
Having sent out a page to buy me a toothbrush, razor, and other immediate necessities, the first thing I did was to have a bath and wash off the dust of travel through some billions of miles of space! I could hardly speak too extravagantly of the sense of relaxed joy and comfort I extracted from lying back at last in the hot water, and gazing at the green-tiled and beautifully-appointed bathroom.
The boy returned as I was drying myself. I told him that the expenses he had incurred were to go down to my account, and I cunningly led him to believe that he would be getting his tip at a later date. Then, deliciously refreshed by the bath, and exhilarated by the success of my tactics, I began to shave and dress and to look forward to my dinner.
It was now after seven o’clock, and quite dark outside. I made myself look as smart as possible, being thankful for the fact that I was wearing a dark and comparatively new suit, and when I had done I looked in the mirror and thought I would pass.
Though a timid spirit prompted me to sneak pryingly down the stairs, and so avoid any too close contact with any more hotel employees or officials in the lift, I took myself in hand and rang the lift bell with the firmness of a guest with nothing to hide, and meaning to make full use of the amenities of the hotel. I was awarded by the lift-man looking at me in the most satisfactory way possible—that is, apathetically and without seeing me—and I was whizzed smoothly downwards to the ground floor.
It is in keeping with the general character of Moribundia, which, as I have said, is the land of ideals made concrete, that its hotels are everything that they proclaim themselves to be. Up there, if a hotel calls itself the ‘Grand,’ the ‘Splendid,’ the ‘Royal’ or the ‘Palace,’ it is because it is, in cold fact, really grand, really splendid, or really furnishes an appropriate setting for kings and queens. The ‘Moribundian’ seemed to be all three. I do not think I can give the reader any adequate idea of the magnificence, the breadth, and the height of the public rooms, nor the splendour and richness of the fittings, the hangings, the chairs, the sofas, the chandeliers, the carpets. All had the quality of something seen in a dream.
Before going to dinner I went and sat in a great drawing-room leading out of the main lobby, boldly ordered myself a cocktail, and had my first look at the other guests. That these all belonged to the upper classes was shown not only by the way in which they were dressed, but by their mere physical outlines, which were all of that slim, elongated, willowy character I had observed in the parents at the school cricket match. Normally, as I have said, this is the great distinguishing feature of the Moribundian ‘gentle’ class, whilst lack of inches and an uncouth squatness distinguish the ‘lower’ orders: but in a first-class Moribundian hotel of this kind even the servants are tall and willowy like their betters, and fit in with the scenery. The waiters, particularly, have the most elegant figures and can be seen standing about in the distance in the most graceful attitudes.
My attention was soon diverted by a strange scratching noise coming from the other end of the room. I turned my head in that direction, and saw that the noise was made by a large but extremely beautiful and luscious girl in evening dress, who was writing a letter. I was surprised that I should have heard the noise of her pen so clearly from so great a distance—but this was nothing to my amazement when I discovered the cause—for the piece of notepaper on which she was writing was almost as large as the whole upper part of her body! Her handwriting was gigantic in proportion to this stupendous sheet
(more like a poster than anything else), and how she had contrived to form the characters with the pen of normal size which she held in her lovely hand, I do not know.
She had now stopped writing, and was holding up a finished sheet; running her eyes over it before she went on to the next. A vivid idea of the size of the notepaper and her handwriting may be gathered from the fact that, although I was some twenty yards distance from her, I could read what she had written without the slightest difficulty.
This is what I read, and roughly how it looked:
There was something so extraordinarily fascinating in the sight of a beautiful young married woman exposing her correspondence and private affairs in this way, that I could not take my eyes off her, and eagerly awaited the moment when she would hold out the next page for inspection. To be perfectly frank, I had a base hope that even more intimate and possibly lascivious details might be exposed to my view; but I waited in vain. Though she continued to write, she did not lift another sheet in that convenient way, and I soon became aware that a singularly handsome, large, and virile young man in evening clothes, sitting a little apart from her, was looking at me resentfully. This, it dawned upon me, was ‘Bill’ himself, and it did not take me long to decide that if I went on staring at his wife there would be serious trouble. I hastily drank up my cocktail and went into the dining-room.
This was built on the same magnificent scale as the other rooms, was brilliantly lit, and crowded with brilliant people. I was, in fact, at first quite bewildered by the dazzling quality of the illumination, which was derived, I soon realized, not only from the liberal use of electricity, but from the constant flaring up and subsidence of word-balloons and thought-balloons from the mouths and heads of nearly all the people sitting at the table.
I should here state a curious fact about the Moribundian practice of ballooning. Although the Moribundians are liable to give vent to their feelings and thoughts in this way in almost any circumstances, it is noticeable that in the vicinity of food, or seated around any sort of table at which another person or people are seated, and at which a meal is being served, their innate tendency to ballooning seems to receive some kind of abnormal or additional stimulation. Children, old people, young people, aunts, uncles, servants, friends, all are stirred in the same way in the presence of a white table-cloth—whether it be laid for breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner or supper, and pop off their balloons with the prodigality and inconsequence of schoolboys with Chinese crackers.
Imagine then, the effect, as of some harmless yet dazzling indoor pyrotechnic display, of a room in which there were, instead of merely one, at least fifty tables and table-cloths, all surrounded by people. I do not mean to suggest that these people were communicating with each other solely by means of balloons; there was as much conversation and hubbub as you might hear in any crowded hotel dining-room; and I myself, at the small table for one which I was lucky enough to find vacant, communicated my wishes through the medium of the spoken word alone to the waiter, who replied to me verbally throughout.
While I was in Moribundia I made a fairly exhaustive study of this fascinating subject of ballooning—devoting to the task the same qualities of patience and care as would be given to any other form of research. I even went so far as to try to discover some general law lying behind these weird manifestations, and some explanation of the mystery which causes the Moribundian to speak in balloons at certain times and on certain subjects, whilst at other times, and on other subjects, he is satisfied with ordinary speech. Without complacence, I think I may say that my labours were crowned with no small measure of success. Were I to give these results in full, of course, I should be compelled to write a separate treatise on the subject, which I may decide to do at a later date: but in the present work, where my principal aim is to portray the main sociological and psychological aspects of another world, my best plan will be to make do with one or two general observations upon a topic which cannot be said to be of major importance.
I found, then, that balloons could be divided into three or four great families, or categories, all of which are indirectly related to each other. The most prominent of these is undoubtedly the simple ‘Fatigue’ balloon, a fine example of which was given by the clerk in the lobby. Next, I think, comes the ‘Washing’ balloon, which takes its source in the persistent use, by Moribundian housewives, of old-fashioned methods of scrubbing their linen, and which is for that reason quite closely akin to the ‘Fatigue’ balloon. There is then the ‘Complexion’ balloon, very much in evidence, and also frequently, though by no means necessarily, the result of fatigue. Finally, amongst these major balloon families, is what I can only call the balloon of ‘Inexplicable Repulsiveness,’ which I shall try to explain later.
Rough and ready as this classification is, it may give the reader some idea of the type of ailment or inconvenience which is almost certain to bring a balloon from the mouth or head of the average Moribundian. I suggest that they feel so strongly on certain matters that, just as a man at the point of death (some people say) is able to make himself visible to his distant friends, so they, under the stress of their emotions, can produce these extraordinary projections in the air.
I have mentioned only the major balloon families; there are hundreds of minor ones, naturally; and there is no limit to the amount and multitudinous variety of balloons to be met with in any given family.
I now propose to conclude this chapter by presenting to the reader, with appropriate comments, a number of balloons, or rather balloon-situations, or balloon-dramas, selected from the hundreds I witnessed that night as I ate my beautifully-cooked dinner in silence. I do this at the risk of holding up the flow of my narrative, but no mental picture of the Moribundian scene can be adequately formed without some knowledge of the contents and style of these ubiquitous pieces of printed gas, and if I introduce them to the reader now, at the moment when they were first introduced to myself in full force, I shall be saved the trouble of explanations and comments later.
Though balloons for the most part deal with matters of serious or critical moment in the balloonist’s personal life, there is a certain amount of light, amusing, even frivolous ballooning, and an example of this was provided by a young couple sitting a few tables away from me. Before I had finished my hors-d’œuvre I had come to the conclusion that they were deeply in love with each other, the man, perhaps, being a little more smitten by the girl, than the girl by the man. He was enraptured with her. I noticed, however, that instead of gazing into her face, like the ordinary lover, he was incapable of lifting his eyes from her hands, which seemed to rivet his fascinated attention to the exclusion of all her other charms. At last he could contain himself no longer, and, taking her slender finger-tips in his own, he ballooned in the following manner:
To which, with a pleased tolerance towards this minor sexual perversion, or fixation on his part, and dealing in the correct order with the points he had raised, she ballooned back:
At the same time a balloon burst from her head, thus:
As I read these balloons off, I was quite infected by the happy and idyllic feeling imbuing them. No sooner had they faded, however, than the girl turned away from her lover, and, as though addressing an audience in my direction and seeming to grow somewhat larger in size as she did so, introduced a firmer and more serious, almost a bluestocking note, in the following balloon from her mouth:
My next selection furnishes a good example of what I would call a ‘transitional’ balloon in the category of ‘Inexplicable Repulsiveness.’ This was originated by two young men, in flawless evening clothes, talking over their dinner. The first threw out a casual balloon as follows:
To which the second replied:
These rather offhand and conceited young men were too careless to trouble whether or not they could be overheard and actually the lady they were talking about was sitting at the very next table. She bore every trace of being a beautiful woman, but her woebegone and horrified expression at the moment did not sh
ow her off to the best advantage. Two balloons burst from her. One of these was interesting, as it contained no words, but was filled merely with a colossal note of exclamation, thus:
while the other was a brief mouth-balloon:
This is called ‘transitional’ ballooning because the problem of the subject’s mysterious repulsiveness to men is in the process of being solved.
I can do no better than to follow this by some specimens of the pure ‘Washing’ balloon in its ultimate stage. These were thrown off by four people sitting at a large table some distance away—a fat, elderly, prosperous-looking man, his wife, also stout and prosperous-looking, but with a kindly and capable appearance, and a young couple, well dressed, but bearing the slightly subdued and deferent demeanour of people who have yet to make their way in the world. I may say that only an experienced balloon-reader would be able to see at once that this was ‘Washing’ ballooning.
All four had balloons going at the same time, and I will begin with that of the older man, which was directed towards the younger man, next to whom he was sitting:
To this the young man replied, or rather was simultaneously replying:
The reader, by the way, will by now have had time to observe what I was beginning to observe—that in any given balloon-drama, all the participants, however their sentiments may differ, belch forth their opinions in exactly the same handwriting, and in approximate conformation to an established shape and manner.
Impromptu in Moribundia Page 7
