The Sheltering Sky

“May I come in?” he asked.

She was staring at him.

“Well, obviously. What’s the matter with you?”

He still stood there.

“What in God’s name’s wrong with you?” she said impatiently.

“Nothing.” His voice rasped. He strode to the center of the room and pointed to the closed co

“Tu

“What the hell goes on here?”

Kit flushed and turned away vehemently. “Nothing. Nothing,” she said quickly. “Don’t be crazy. What do you think goes on, anyway?”

He did not lower his voice. “I don’t know. I’m asking you.”

She pushed him in the chest with her outspread hands and walked toward the door to open it, but he caught her arm and pulled her around.

“Please stop it!” she whispered furiously.

“All right, all right. I’ll open the door myself,” he said, as if by allowing her to do it he might be ru

He went into his room. Tu

Port was staring at the bed. “What is this? What’s the matter with your room that you have to be in here?” he demanded.

But Tu

“I want some black coffee,” he grumbled. “And I want to go down and get a shave.” Now he raised his voice. “And I wish to hell you’d both get out of here and take your walk.” He pushed the wall button savagely.

Tu

Port glared at him as he went out, and sat down on the bed when he had gone. A large ship had just steamed into the harbor; its deep whistle sounded below the street noises. He lay back on the bed, gasping a little. When the knocking came at the door, he never heard it. The servant stuck his head in, said: “Monsieur,” waited a few seconds, quietly shut the door and went away.

VII

He slept all day. Kit came back at lunch time; she went in softly, and having coughed once to see if he would wake, went to eat without him. Before twilight he awoke, feeling greatly cleansed. He rose and undressed slowly. In the bathroom he drew a hot tub, bathed at length, shaved, and searched for his white bathrobe. He found it in Kit’s room, but she was not there. On her table was a variety of groceries she had bought to take on the trip. Most of the items were black-market goods from England, and according to the labels they had been manufactured by appointment to H.M. King George VI. He opened a package of biscuits and began to eat one after another, voraciously. Framed by the window, the town below was growing dim. It was that moment of twilight when light objects seem u

They had made a point of not patronizing the hotel bar because it was always empty. Now, going into the gloomy little room, Port was mildly surprised to see sitting alone at the bar a heavy-looking youth with a formless face which was saved from complete non-existence by an undefined brown beard. As he installed himself at the other end, the young man said with a heavy English accent: “Otro Tio Pepe,” and pushed his glass toward the barman.

Port thought of the cool subterranean bodegas at Jerez where Tio Pepe of 1842 had been tendered him, and ordered the same. The young man looked at him with a certain curiosity in his eyes, but said nothing. Presently a large, sallow-ski

“Hello, Mother. Come in and sit down.”

The woman moved to the youth’s side but did not sit. In her excitement and indignation she seemed not to have noticed Port. Her voice was very high. “Eric, you filthy toad!” she cried. “Do you realize I’ve been looking for you everywhere? I’ve never seen such behavior! And what are you drinking? What do you mean by drinking, after what Doctor Levy told you? You wretched, boy!”

The young man did not look at her. “Don’t scream so, Mother.”

She glanced in Port’s direction, saw him. “What is that you’re drinking, Eric?” she demanded again, her voice slightly more subdued, but no less intense.

“It’s just sherry, and it’s quite delightful. I wish you wouldn’t get so upset.”

“And who do you think’s going to pay for your caprices?” She seated herself on the stool beside him and began to fumble in her bag. “Oh, blast! I’ve come off without my key,” she said. “Thanks to your thoughtlessness. You’ll have to let me in through your room. I’ve discovered the sweetest mosque, but it’s covered with brats all shrieking like demons. Filthy little beasts, they are! I’ll show it to you tomorrow. Order a glass of sherry for me, if it’s dry. I think it might help me. I’ve felt wretched all day. I’m positive it’s the malaria coming back. It’s about time for it, you know.”

“Otro Tio Pepe,” said the youth imperturbably.

Port watched, fascinated as always by the sight of a human being brought down to the importance of an automaton or a caricature. By whatever circumstances and in whatever ma

The dining room was unfriendly and formal to a degree which is acceptable only when the service is impeccable; this was not the case here. The waiters were impassive and moved slowly. They seemed to have difficulty in understanding the wants even of the French; certainly they showed no sign of interest in pleasing anyone. The two English people were given a table near the corner where Port and Kit were eating; Tu

“Here they are,” whispered Port. “Keep an ear open. But try and keep a straight face.”

“He looks like a young Vacher,” said Kit, leaning far over the table, “the one who wandered across France slicing children into pieces, you remember?”

They were silent a few minutes, hoping to be diverted by the other table, but mother and son appeared to have nothing to say to each other. Finally Port turned to Kit and said: “Oh, while I think of it, what was all that this morning?”

“Do we have to go into it now?”

“No, but I was just asking. I thought maybe you could answer.”

“You saw all there was to see.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I thought so.”

“Oh, can’t you see—” Kit began in a tone of exasperation; then she stopped. She was about to say: “Can’t you see that I didn’t want Tu