Page 117 - BraveNewWorld

IDPH 117

self-confidence was leaking from a thousand wounds. Pale, distraught, abject
and agitated, he moved among his guests, stammering incoherent apologies,
assuring them that next time the Savage would certainly be there, begging them
to sit down and take a carotene sandwich, a slice of vitamin A pâté, a glass of
champagne-surrogate. They duly ate, but ignored him; drank and were either
rude to his face or talked to one another about him, loudly and offensively, as
though he had not been there.
“And now, my friends,” said the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury, in
that beautiful ringing voice with which he led the proceedings at Ford’s Day
Celebrations, “Now, my friends, I think perhaps the time has come .” He rose,
put down his glass, brushed from his purple viscose waistcoat the crumbs of a
considerable collation, and walked towards the door.
Bernard darted forward to intercept him.

“Must you really, Arch-Songster?. It’s very early still. I’d hoped you would .”
Yes, what hadn’t he hoped, when Lenina confidentially told him that the Arch-
Community-Songster would accept an invitation if it were sent. “He’s really
rather sweet, you know.” And she had shown Bernard the little golden zipper-
fastening in the form of a T which the Arch-Songster had given her as a memen-
to of the week-end she had spent at Lambeth. To meet the Arch- Community-
Songster of Canterbury and Mr. Savage. Bernard had proclaimed his triumph
on every invitation card. But the Savage had chosen this evening of all eve-
nings to lock himself up in his room, to shout “Háni!” and even (it was lucky
that Bernard didn’t understand Zuñi) “Sons éso tse-ná!” What should have be-
en the crowning moment of Bernard’s whole career had turned out to be the
moment of his greatest humiliation.
“I’d so much hoped .” he stammeringly repeated, looking up at the great dig-
nitary with pleading and distracted eyes.
“My young friend,” said the Arch-Community-Songster in a tone of loud and
solemn severity; there was a general silence. “Let me give you a word of ad-
vice.” He wagged his finger at Bernard. “Before it’s too late. A word of good
advice.” (His voice became sepulchral.) “Mend your ways, my young friend,
mend your ways.” He made the sign of the T over him and turned away. “Le-
nina, my dear,” he called in another tone. “Come with me.”
Obediently, but unsmiling and (wholly insensible of the honour done to her)
without elation, Lenina walked after him, out of the room. The other guests
followed at a respectful interval. The last of them slammed the door. Bernard
was all alone.
Punctured, utterly deflated, he dropped into a chair and, covering his face with
his hands, began to weep. A few minutes later, however, he thought better of it

http://www.idph.net