House of All Nations by Christina Stead Page B

fighting for civilization in China,’ he said sadly, shaking his head.
    The dark-browed Parisienne bridled at this, blew smoke from her cigarette. She had turned her back towards the whore who sat next to her.
    â€˜I would spill my last drop of blood against the damned Reds,’ said she. ‘There is civilization, the family, honor, self-respect over here. What must it be like over there? I pity the women when those bandits pass over.’
    Léon laughed. ‘You are a great fighting woman!’ He broke off, and looked serious. An improper idea had occurred to him and he was a decent man: he disliked obscenity. He shook his head and looked round. ‘Lady, lady! Come over here. There is a friend of mine,’ he announced shamelessly to them, ‘what a woman! Why, I met her when Kratz and I were over last March.’ He frowned. Kratz had played a lot of dirty tricks since then.
    They were presently twelve sitting at the table. Then the ogress said, ‘Now, we are sufficiently fabulous, Monsieur: let us go somewhere else.’
    â€˜The bill!’
    One of the girls began cadging for cigarettes. Another took her place by Aristide’s side and began coaxing him to come in ‘their’ taxi. The two women who had begun the evening with Léon, Marianne and Margaret, now stood huddled aside, ruffled and astonished, trying to look dignified.
    Léon suddenly noticed hovering with curiosity in the distance the cigarette girl he had previously courted. This reminded him that he would never have time at this rate to return and take her home in a taxi. So he suddenly bundled them all out to the sidewalk and as the girl passed near him on his way to the cloakroom, he said, ‘Tomorrow evening, sweetie. I met so many friends tonight!’
    She laughed at this. ‘All right. At eleven.’
    He went out, extremely pleased with his new appointment. He was losing interest in the bevy of girls. He thrust them into two taxis, taking Margaret and the prettiest with him, and left Aristide with Marianne and the others to the other taxi. Aristide and his wife felt shoddy when they found themselves, by Léon’s generalship, in this position.
    Léon made Margaret talk and when the hetaerae found out that she lived in Hollywood and knew intimately all the great stars, they were wild with enthusiasm: they really fell in love with Margaret, flattered her, and drew her out in long silken threads with questions. She began to have a better time and Léon decided that, positively, he loved her and perhaps she would be the Great Romance of his middle age.
    â€˜Margaret,’ he cried, ‘will you come with me to Russia? To the Ukraine? I will buy grain for the people of Russia. What do you say to that? I will have a function: I will do some good. By James, if I can’t do that, don’t you see, I’ll have to do something, create a scandal, set the town hall on fire, kill Mussolini.’
    â€˜Could you keep your fingers out of the plum tart yourself?’ joked Margaret. ‘I am sure you couldn’t.’
    â€˜I could, I could: you don’t know me. If it was for the people—’
    The female merchandise cackled hollowly at this and the slow, ugly Russian—doubtless she was Russian, after all—said in her deep cracked voice, ‘Why, you don’t understand anything about that country; they don’t believe in private property! Women are even common property: not cattle like us, but all women: good women, pure women, mothers.’
    There was a bizarre silence.
    â€˜Who would you be without private property?’ laughed Margaret.
    â€˜Who? Well, tell me who I am with it.’ He laughed, himself again.
    â€˜Let’s forget it. I have money on me tonight. I’ll throw it away: spread it round thickly a bit. Driver, don’t go first to the Scheherazade: stop at the first bazaar—night club, I mean.’
    They began the round of the