I'm Dying Laughing

by Christina Stead

Emily was beginning to laugh, ‘To think that we imported a water filter from the USA in case we wouldn’t even get good water, here! Haw-haw! The master race. We’ve got food packets coming from three points in the States by every boat. And we thought we’d have to fill in between the cans with boiled grass and soyabean powder, and perhaps surreptitiously catch pigeons on the public squares.’

  Someone belched, but who? She hiccuped. Stephen gasped.

  ‘Most of them do live on that sort of trash,’ said the Belgian girl.

  Stephen said, ‘I know another funny story. I knew a man knew a man who used to go to the Café Royal. Here he met a man named James P. Hudwant or something, originally a Viennese, who wrote operettas and had an immense fortune in Europe, where his music was a hit. When he came to the USA to make his fifth fortune on Broadway, no one knew him or wanted to know him. I used to lend him a dollar or two. He had a story. He had an inheritance in Vienna and it was coming through any time now and then he’d pay back and eat in good restaurants. He had lawyers’ papers, letters which he showed. I didn’t bother to read them, didn’t believe him. He got into the papers because he died of food poisoning. He’d been getting a living picking food out of garbage cans. Three days later the inheritance came through. Three hundred thousand dollars or so. We all used to laugh like hell at him behind his back. America, land of opportunity. Funny, isn’t it?’

  Said Emily, hiccuping, ‘It is funny. You’d die laughing at the poor shnook. Why didn’t he either go back or get heard on Broadway?’

  ‘God, answer that one,’ said Stephen.

  When they dropped the girl at the hotel where her parents were staying, Emily exclaimed, ‘Oh, Jee-hosaphat! What a wonderful evening! We’re going to love Europe, Stephen.’

  When they got in, the lights were on and Mrs Fortescue, the babysitter, waiting for them. Giles was pretending that people couldn’t hear him and he wasn’t going to speak any more. He hid under the bed and said he was going to stay there. Olivia and Christy had fought over a cushion! Giles was in bed now but Mrs Fortescue had had to spank him to get him there. ‘Spank him!’ Silent with anger, but anxious, they tiptoed in and saw Giles’s flushed face in sleep. They paid Mrs Fortescue and sent her away.

  13 SETTLING IN

  NEXT DAY THEY FELT ill. Stephen had sinus and rheumatism, and Emily had sinus, rheumatism and headache; but they spent the day trailing Giles round town looking for agents and answering advertisements.

  On the second day they left Giles at home with Olivia (Christy was out on his own looking at Paris) with lunch ordered for the two children, to be served in their rooms; while they went to have lunch with a fellow American, named Harrap, in some way connected with the Embassy. He took them to a restaurant near the Embassy for lunch, where Stephen, who was feeling better, ordered an omelette and cherry tart. Emily and Harrap had little river-trout, taken from the tank and plunged alive into boiling water, head joined to tail, poached and served with butter sauce, then roast pigeons and peas. Mr Harrap then had French salad, but Emily, whose appetite had been wide awake ever since the French dinner party, ate also veal and ham pie, a salad, strawberries and Chantilly cream. They gave up their bread tickets and received in exchange, not the ordinary black or yellow bread (the famous friandise) but small white rolls. These, the butter for sauce, their fresh table butter, the cream and a good many other things were of course black-market items; but compensated for by extra charges, which they gladly paid.

  Emily, after eating, said, I feel rather low at eating so much and in the black market, when in fact people outside are starving partly or totally.’

  Harrap said, ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. They’d still have the Boche if not for us.’

  Stephen said, ‘One of these days we three will get shot along with the other aristocrats and you’ll give up worrying.’

  Stephen did not feel well and was sad, downhearted, despairing.

  Harrap said, ‘That’s old stuff. The Germans beat it out of them. They’ll never have the guts for that again.’

  ‘I guess you’re right and after I’ve eaten all that, it’s too late to worry: they’ve probably got photographs of me stuffing, taken through the swing-door,’ said Emily. She cheerfully filled her glass with wine again.

  ‘I know a good steak place, I heard of it from some Belgians,’ said Mr Harrap.

  ‘Yes, me too. It seems Belgians dote on steak. Isn’t that staggering,’ said Emily. She took down the name of the steak place; and that evening after passing another depressing afternoon looking at addresses which either they had mistaken or were non-existent, or at places which would not suit them (seven rooms, walk-up, bad-smelling, furnished, as Emily said, like the waiting-room of a pre-Pasteur doctor, or four rooms with bath) Stephen said he was going home to drink some milk and go to bed.

  Emily said that in spite of their sorrows which were heavy and manifold, she had to eat. She took Christy along to the steak place. She said, ‘Thank goodness he is too young yet, or looks too young, for them to think I’m the queen who loved the page; and then, I’m getting so old and fat and ugly, they’ll probably think I’m the Ugly Duchess with a secretary, or else I’m his great-aunt.’

  They took a taxi for which Christy gallantly paid. Christy recited Shakespeare in the taxi, to Emily’s delight, and behaved like a pretty boy of wealth and elegance.

  ‘Mademoiselle Valais on the boat told me that mussels are the speciality of Brussels and we must go there just to taste them—107 ways of making them! Let’s take the train, muscle in on Brussels,’ said he.

  ‘Oh, how clever of you, darling!’ exclaimed Emily, genuinely surprised.

  The restaurant was a small room with shaded lights and delicate flowers, where almost everyone sat on the plush benches. Emily and her son were not noticed till Emily began to call out in her unabashed sonorous French, aided by Christy, who had more accent but less confidence. Nevertheless, a well-dressed captain, a wine waiter and a sourlooking but correct waiter, all spoke to them in sufficient Anglo-French for them to order sole with white wine, rare steak with sweet butter melting on it to compose the sauce which tasted of chives, cauliflower, sauce Mornay, french salad and then profiteroles with which Emily once more had crème Chantilly.

  Said Emily to Christy, who was paying, ‘Oh, my goodness Christy, and what is the price of this after all, in dollars? To think of the time we ate with Anna at The Bell-Glass, just before we left, ten dollars a crack, and nothing to eat, just a whisper born on the air, a hint of what was going on in the kitchen; how to serve a thousand New Yorkers on two loaves and five fishes; and The Racecourse, a beggarly midtown coffee-pot for office-lunchers where you can’t get out under four-fifty a head, with cocktails, wine, champagne, coffee, bread, butter, cream all extra. I’m going to live in Europe forever! Garr-song! Savez-vous that it’s not dear here at all. Amériqueis much dearer. You couldn’t get a jambong sandwich in New York for the price of this superb feast! Banquet superb!’

  After, she wanted to take Christy to a café but the cafés closed early in those days of shortages, took in their chairs and tables, closed their shutters. So they took a taxi and went back to the hotel. Stephen was wretched and disagreeable. Giles had been unhappy. ‘He’s turning into a neurotic! He thinks we’ll have no roof over our heads and I won’t get a job and we’ll have no money. That’s the upshot of all this.’ He seized Emily’s large handbag, which as usual was open with its contents showing, handkerchiefs, letters, wads of bills, rings, in the pink satin pouches.

  ‘How much did you spend this evening?’ She told him. He was angry.

  ‘I can’t help it. The more trouble I have, the more I eat. I’ll take off ten kilos as soon as we get a home. My eating keeps the family together; it keeps me cheerful.’

  The following day they started out again. Said Stephen, ‘Everything’s hideous beyond belief. I wish we’d never started out on this wild-goose chase! Where is it getting us? Do you know how much we’ve spent the last week? Entert
aining, being entertained, running about celebrating to get relief from our miseries. And not counting the hotel, we’ve already run through as much as would last a month at home. We came here to save money.’

  ‘We will; and besides we’ve got to find a place soon, for I’ve got to settle down and make money. We’ve simply got to get this place on the avenue President-Wilson. I’ll pay more than he’s asking just to get a home. If only we didn’t have this hideous business of our three wretched, sad darlings. Hotel life is not for babies. And Jeehosaphat, I feel so fat and ugly and Giles thinks people can’t hear him; and Olivia is getting neurotic because she doesn’t know if they’re complimenting her in this foreign lingo. I don’t want her to turn into a sour, suspicious coquette and a bitter flirt. Oh, lor, children! I’m morose as well as you, Stephen. Of course, it’s a healthy, enjoyable, wonderful neurosis, the one I have; it’s not like taking to drink or drugs, which get you hangovers and bad moods and suicidal impulses and make you betray your best friends and fawn on the police, so that you become a social problem. But, oh my, though it’s enjoyable, I daren’t run for the bus because people laugh and God knows the others, the hungry ones, probably want to stick a knife into my ribs to see whether truffles, sausages and paté de foie gras will run out; as surely they will. The food’s superb—the situation’s terrible—and look at me!’

  In the evening they heard from their two agents that apartments they had hoped for were out of reach. This created domestic disorder, real trouble in the Howard family. Giles wept, under the impression that they would never get a home and be too poor to pay the rent in the hotel. While Emily and Stephen took it in turns to calm him, Olivia and Christy began to quarrel again, with shrieks, scuffling and hard words. ‘Is this our serene, sweet little princess?’ said Emily, sadly, to Stephen; ‘and look at Christy drooling insults! In the taxi the other day he was a genuine scion. I was so proud of him. Stephen, the family’s breaking under the strain.’

  Stephen separated the two, found them at it again in a moment, sat down dismally, ran his fingers through his hair and, dragging off his tie and shoes, threw them into corners of the room. He whined, ‘And if that house, that little den, had come through—what about the ton or so of cargo that’s coming by the next boat? Eh? Store them with the concierge? The water-filter, the record-player, the records, Christy’s piano? We’re crazy. If I could, I’d go back to the USA tonight. All right, let the bogyman get me.’

  Immediately after this, Mr Harrap, who thought of the Howards as very rich and distinguished persons, rang from downstairs, waiting to take Stephen to see a small house to let. Stephen beat his hands on the table.

  ‘I won’t, I won’t go about the world taking houses.’

  ‘What about the children? What about the furniture? What about me getting to work? Let’s take anything, provided there’s a flush toilet and a kitchen. By gosh, I’ll buy a rubber bath, I’ll install plumbing, if there’s a toilet or two, for the first couple of nights.’

  Giles stopped wailing and asked if they had a house. Olivia came in looking wicked, but she said gently, ‘A house! Oh, let’s take a house!’ Christy came in and looked with melancholy sweetness at them.

  ‘I’ll go, all right, all right, don’t scream at me,’ said Stephen.

  Emily asked, ‘Because how are we going to fit in everything without a house? Maybe we could go to the Cote d’Azur). We’d have a garden too; and I could be quiet.’

  Stephen flew into a rage, ‘And what would I do in a garden? You want to keep me for a pet? Of all the damnfool adventures I let myself be persuaded into—OK, OK, I know we’re political refugees; but maybe we could simply have bought our way out of it with less money than this. Just bowed out and said nothing.’

  ‘And Florence? What would she think—?’

  Stephen seized his hat and made for the door,

  ‘Don’t say another word or I’ll fly back to the USA tomorrow. Oh, God, if only I could. I can’t see the kids suffering in grandeur at these towering prices. You don’t count; I have to. We’ll soon be kaput at this rate. Pieces of eight wouldn’t keep us alive with this band of kids, a week. There’s my nephew, a relative of the Federal Reserve Bank in my sight, and I have to buy cellar to attic to keep up with him, and my daughter, a dainty midget, relative of the Rothschilds and Rockefellers, you might say, and I must get a sixteenth-century china-closet to put the Meissen beauty in. Shut up, Olivia. Papa’s mad. You moneybag kids ought to be ashamed of yourselves seeing Papa suffer.’

  He began to laugh. Emily dimpled. ‘Oh, Stephen, you should be ashamed.’

  He was presently back, telephoning from below saying he had a car. Their friend had a little house in Auteuil, which seemed just right for them. Off they went, after cautioning the children, and found a house with three floors and basement, completely furnished with Persian carpets, silk damask and lace curtains, Louis-Quinze and Empire furniture, engravings, candelabras with crystals, linen, silver, central heating and even a stock of coals and wood. The price was very high, but it was to let for a year and possibly renewable. At first they were rejoiced. A rather large guarantee had been asked by the owner, a Spanish nobleman for the moment in the Argentine; and they had to sign an extensive inventory and pay for wear and tear. The owner had been anxious when he heard Americans might tenant it. ‘They throw wild parties.’

  ‘And where is the room for our own furniture and goods?’ asked Emily sadly.

  ‘But look at the coal! It needs a strong man as well as a butler,’ said Stephen.

  Emily said wearily, ‘Oh, what stupid harassments! No, we can’t take it.’

  On the way home, Emily declared she could not go home to the battling and disappointed children. They could telephone Christy and tell him to look after his brother and sister. The hotel would send up food and drink if they wanted it. Stephen said, ‘I’m in despair. Why the devil couldn’t we have got something before we came? What was Uncle Maurice doing to let us come here like this with all these children? Damn his eyes.’

  He raged, beat his knees, loosened his tie. ‘I’m ill, I’m really ill, Emily. I’m not joking. I can’t stand any more of this. It will kill me. I’ve suffered too much for the only decent thing I ever did, giving up my country for my family. Why didn’t I remain at home, a quiet little louse, like the rest of my family, except Florence; but she has moneybags and the demon rum to console her.’

  ‘This is an occasion to celebrate, how we turned down our last palace and I’m too nervous to go home,’ said Emily. She opened the taxi window and told the driver to drive to the Ritz.

  Stephen said, ‘I won’t. It’s vulgar and we haven’t the money. Ask him where’s a decent, modest, quiet place.’

  ‘Take us anywhere that’s decent, modest and quiet and don’t spare the expense,’ said Emily, to the driver, a gaunt, ragged man with dry hair and a harsh foreign accent.

  He took them to an American night-club, where Stephen sat nursing his stomach and looking miserable and Emily got very drunk and jolly and made a few friends.

  The next morning early they went shopping to get some extra clothes for the children, berets for the boys, ribbons for Olivia. The Printemps, the Galeries Lafayette, the Trois Quartiers and other shops up and down the Madeleine and Opéra quarter were even at this moment well-filled with household and luxury goods.

  Emily, and Stephen too, kept saying, ‘Oh, for a colour photograph to send to the old folks at home!’

  For many days they lived this life. They were robustly, angrily but gloriously employed in inspecting empty houses, even small palaces, attending auctions and visiting shops for antiques. They bought books on fine furniture, pictures and old silver, they ate here and there, drank aperitifs, wine and brandy; and all the time hurried, argued, spent, but with the serious feeling that what they were looking for was a place for a quiet, well-organized life, tranquil rooms for themselves and the children tucked away with tutors and schools, so that Stephen and Emily could attend to their re
al business in life, writing. At last, said Emily, in so inspiring a city, where artists and writers were respected, not for the money they made but in proportion to their achievement, at last they would settle down and, after tossing off a few things to make their bread and pay their rent, she would turn to her serious aim, write good books, make an honest fame, become a master of her craft. At last. And Stephen too. Now he would have the leisure and atmosphere to indulge his learned bent; and he too might try his hand at something lighter. He was very amusing when he wanted to be, a real sour wit, but laced and decorated with fruits and cherubs like the old ceilings they saw; the mark of what she called ‘his scionage’.

  Emily said to him enthusiastically at a breakfast, ‘This is not wander-lusting. It’s our future life, our work. We’re preparing for it as you prepare for a family; the work’s in the making!’

  The children however, were getting spoiled. They had only to ring a bell to get any kind of service; their parents kept buying them novelties to pass the time; they went out a good deal; they looked after themselves. They developed perhaps, but they needed a home and a more modest life. Christy worried about the amount of money they spent. They found a long record of accounts in the back of his diary. Olivia, reticent and clever, passed primly before the expensive novelties she coveted, as a desirous woman passes before Molyneux, Worth, Cartier, not revealing her great needs and her small purse. But she became more irritable because they did not spend enough. Stephen kept them occupied for a few days by telling Christy he must make his sister understand how the rich kept accounts and watched their money, compared prices and avoided waste. The rich ‘brother and sister’ travelled round Paris for a few days, looked in shops, visited other rich children in the afternoons and Olivia had a chance to see how girls her age behaved and dressed. She at once behaved like them and wished to dress like them, in the simple and expensive clothes they wore.

  The Howards, meanwhile, took Giles with them to view small houses at Fontainebleau; Fontenay-aux-Roses, a suburb; a villa at St-Germain-en-Laye. They considered villas on the Cote d’Azur, near Menton and Cap d’Antibes, Juan-les-Pins (‘we would save the expense of holidays’), they thought of buying a house near Montparnasse: and near the War Ministry and elsewhere. At Fontainebleau was a complete house for a million francs, suitable, but cold, dark, furnished in a style fifty years old, and with a bleak garden back and front, not yet awake to spring, perhaps never awakening to spring. Yet it was near the magnificent forest and the frozen ponds, trees blue and grey and green rising slowly in the distance. Near the Arc de Triomphe they found a large six-room apartment kept by the concierge for an American tenant who had not come back; and in Neuilly, a little house in a garden belonging to a woman who had got it from a lover and who had gone to live in the south forever, disgusted, frightened; a woman who had been a Pétainiste and collaborator and now feared the people of Paris.