Vivian Connell - The Chinese Room

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Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.

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THE CHINESE ROOM

VIVIAN CONNELL

The Chinese Room was originally published in 1942 by The Citadel Press, New York.

Contents

Nicholas Bude signed his name at the bottom of a page of notepaper that was plain, dignified, and solemn as the Bude Bank. He looked at Mr. Elder and spoke. Black and white, Mr. Elder, plain black and white. Thats how I like notepaper, banking, and life to beclear and plain in black and white.

Yes, sir. Mr. Elder paused. And death, sir. I like funeral cards to have dignity.

Nicholas looked up at the gray stones of Mr. Elders eyes, at the face blank as a white page. It was seldom Mr. Elder spoke at all. Nicholas indicated the letters.

Thats all, Mr. Elder. Nicholas paused. Another week done. He looked out at the sunlight over London. Now for a pleasant week end in the country. Mr. Elder took up the letters, made a slight bow, said good evening, and went to the door. As he opened it, Miss Coleman came in. Mr. Elder held the door for her, closed it in a noiseless way.

Face like a tombstone! said Nicholas.

Miss Coleman did not smile. Oh, he was an old man long before he was a boy.

Nicholas always saw Miss Coleman for the first time. Now her face painted itself on his eye again. She took him outside his world of black and white for a moment, and then Mr. Elder came back into his mind. You know, he shut that door like a Chinaman.

You dont like him?

Im sorry. I shouldnt have said that. It was something he said annoyed me. He paused. Everything done, Miss Coleman?

Yes, Mr. Bude.

She laid down some papers; he nodded without looking at them, and she took them over and locked them in the cabinet. She stood by the window, and Nicholas looked down and saw her on the white blotting pad. He could feel the actual touch of her beauty on his eye. She had green eyes, white skin, a red mouth, and gold hair. Miss Coleman turned the key in the cabinet and the Rossetti lady had gone off the white blotting pad. Miss Coleman came back and bent over the desk, and he saw the gold rope of hair coiled on her neck over her black frock. Nicholas took his hands off the desk, and she looked at the desk with nothing in her eyes, and he felt that she could see his hands underneath strangling his thought. He spoke calmly. Oh, have those roses come yet?

Yes. The page is bringing them up. Your car is not here yet.

Damn him! Nicholas got up and looked at the clock.

Blake wont be late. He never is. Oh... The page came in with an enormous basket of roses, smiled. Put them down. The page bowed and the smile closed on his face and he shut the door behind him with a tiny snap. She walked over and looked at the roses. Why didnt you get lilies?

Nicholas put his hands behind his back.

Lilies?

Yes. Just an idea of mine.

Nicholas thought her face was cold and white as a lily on a tombstone and felt she knew his thought. He pulled out a smile.

I suppose it does look a bit silly to take roses down to the country. Just a habit. Just a habit.

Exactly.

She waited, and he knew that he had to say it.

Would you like them?

I dont like roses. She paused. But 111 take them.

There was something in his eyes that he could not work out of them with his hands. He went to the door, said good evening sharply, and went out. When he had gone a minute, Miss Coleman looked at the clock that pointed the hour and then looked out the window and saw that Blake had come in time. She picked up the telephone.

Page, please.

When the boy came in she nodded at the roses.

Take these down, call me a taxi, and put them in it.

What the page was going to say perished on her cold face.

Yes, miss.

On the white marble stairway Mr. Elder paused as she came down. They exhale, but do not inhale, he said.

Miss Colemans eye followed the page. You do not like Bude?

Do you?

Miss Coleman looked coldly at him. Did you mean anything about the roses?

No. It simply occurred to methey exhale, but do not inhale.

Chinese wisdom!

Alas, no. All wisdom.

She went down and got into the taxi, and the page closed the door and copied her silence. He turned to the man with a blue coat and gold buttons who was closing the iron gate of the bank.

I guess Im too young to get the hang of her.

Methuselah, said the man in blue and gold as he clicked the key, was too young to understand a woman like her.

Nicholas took up the speaking tube and said into the horn: Go to Snoods.

Blake nodded in front of the glass window and glided in his clutch. Nicholas dropped the tube and thought it hung like a dead snake, a beautiful green snake with a golden head. His hands working on his lap reminded him that he was thinking of somebody with a golden head and he put them in his pockets to stop his thinking. He tried to relax into the yellow plush and wondered if it was because of his formal blue suit that he could not be comfortable in this car that was like a lounge. He did not notice London passing by and was quite surprised when Blake opened the door and said: Snoods, sir.

Nicholas, as he went into the flower shop, wished that Blake had not such a smooth voice.

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon, Mr. Bude. I hope you liked the roses.

Yes, thank you, but... Nicholas realized there was no need to explain. They were very nice. Could I have some carnations?

Nicholas watched her supple hands using the gold wire in such a way that it did not argue with her fingers. Ohdo you do embroidery, or something like that?

There was no surprise in her calm gray eyes as she looked up. Oh, I can use a needle. She paused. Why did you ask, Mr. Bude?

Oh, nothing, onlywell, I noticed you had persuading fingers. I like people who can get their way with their hands.

Then she realized that Mr. Bude had his hands in his pockets and was faintly annoyed. She did not like men who stood with their hands in their pockets as if waiting for a porter to bring their suitcases. They always seemed to be on the point of moving somewhere and had no time to spend.

When she had done, Nicholas picked up the basket and said: Now, make up another basket exactly the same.

As he seemed to be going she asked, To be sent somewhere, Mr. Bude?

No. They are for you.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Bude. When the door had closed behind him she said to the astringent blonde in the office: Oh, Ive got a present!

Not a present, said the blonde, an apology.

You remember me, my lord?

Nicholas looked at the shabby cadger who haunted the Ritz arcade. I do not.

Times is hard, mlord.

I am not my lord.