Читать книгу Shanghai - Christopher New - Страница 14

HE TOOK THE LETTER from the rack with a slight churning feeling in the top of his stomach, and walked slowly into the lounge. He'd recognised Emily's long-anticipated handwriting from a distance, but now that her letter had come, he felt an apprehensive reluctance to open it, as if it might contain bad news. Through the open doors he could hear the soft clack of balls in the billiards room as, his pulse quickening faintly, he pushed his little finger under the envelope flap and tore it open. He drew the letter out.

Dear John,

It is only a fortnight since you left, but it seems an age already.

I am back at the college and you will be somewhere in the Mediterranean by now. This last week has been quite hard and I always get a headache in the tram coming home. But I expect I will get used to it. The weather has not been too bad, although I expect you are getting a lot more sunshine than we are.... When you have got this letter, I expect you will be quite used to your new life. Write and tell me all about it, and how your trip was and everything. I expect you stopped at a lot of interesting places. I wish it was not quite so far away though.

Is it very hot? Do the natives understand English? I always thought Chinese was a hard language to learn, but I suppose you can if you have to. There is going to be another lantern show about the missionaries' work in China next month. I expect I will go.

Mother and Father send their best wishes and ask to be remembered to you.

Love from Emily.

PS I am sending this to the address you gave me. Hope it is right.

As he finished reading, Denton became aware again of the quiet clacking of billiard balls, then of Mason's high piercing laughter. He read the letter through once more, this time painting images to accompany the words. He saw her wavy brown hair, her hazel eyes, the way she held her head a little on one side and forward when she listened.

Folding the letter slowly, he put it back into the torn envelope, smoothing the rough edges of the flap down as if he were trying to seal it again.

They hadn't done much spooning, only holding hands and walking to the Band of Hope together, sitting side by side at lectures in the college and on the tram there and back. But he felt how pure their love was, unsullied by the sordid lusts of such as Mason, whom he heard again laughing loudly and penetratingly in the billiards room. Their love was spiritual, he thought solemnly, spiritual and undefiled.

He stood up, sliding the letter into his tunic pocket, and walked towards the stairs. She would wait for him, he would be faithful to her. Eventually he would send for her....

Lighting the gaslight in his room, he took off his tunic and drew the letter out again. A strange, slightly greasy smell seemed to cling to it. He frowned, holding it closed to his nose. Surely she hadn't used scent or perfume - not Emily? Then he remembered the threads of opium Mason had stuffed into his pocket. He felt deep inside until he could pick up the twisted little strands between his fingers. Rolling them between his finger and thumb, he sniffed cautiously. Yes, it was the same smell. Perhaps it wasn't so unpleasant after all - just very, very rich. He dropped the opium into the waste paper basket and wiped his hands carefully with his handkerchief. Opium, he was sure, was wrong, just as intoxicating liquor was wrong - a danger to religion and morals. Yet, in its rich, heavy way, that clinging smell wasn't at all unpleasant really...