Invitation to a Beheading by Vladimir Nabokov Page B

Marthe’s brothers; the dark one, in a tawny suit and open shirt collar, was holding music paper rolled into a tube and as yet bearing no music—he was one of the city’s foremost singers; his twin, in sky-blue plus-fours, a dandy and a wit, had brought a present for his brother-in-law—a bowl of bright fruit made of wax. He had also fixed a crepe arm band on his sleeve and kept indicating it with his finger as he tried to catch Cincinnatus’s eye.
    At the peak of his eloquence the father-in-law suddenly choked and gave his chair such a wrench that quiet little Pauline, who had been standing by him and looking at his mouth, toppled backwards behind the chair, where she lay still, hoping that nobody noticed. With a crackle the father-in-law began opening a cigarette box. Everyone was quiet.
    The various trampled sounds began to straighten up.Marthe’s brother, the brunet, cleared his throat and softly began to sing
“Mali é trono t’amesti.
…” He stopped short and looked at his brother, who made terrible eyes at him. The lawyer, smiling at something, again applied himself to his handkerchief. On the couch, Marthe was talking in a whisper with her escort, who was pleading with her to throw the shawl over herself—the prison air was a little damp. When they spoke they used the formal second person plural, but with what a cargo of tenderness this second person plural was laden as it sailed along the horizon of their barely audible conversation … The little old man, trembling awfully, got up from his chair, handed the portrait to his old woman and, shielding the flame that was trembling like himself, went up to Cincinnatus’s father-in-law, and was going to light his … But the flame went out, and the latter frowned angrily.
    “You have really become a nuisance with your stupid lighter,” said he glumly, but already without wrath; then the atmosphere really grew animated, and everybody began talking simultaneously.
“Mali é trono t’amesti!”
Marthe’s brother sang full voice; “Diomedon, leave the cat alone this instant,” said Marthe. “You already strangled one the other day, one every day is too much. Take it away from him, please, Victor, dear.” Availing herself of the general animation, Pauline crawled out from behind the chair and quietly got up. The lawyer walked over to Cincinnatus’s father-in-law and gave him a light.
    “Take the word ‘anxiety,’ ” Cincinnatus’s brother-in-law, the wit, was saying to him. “Now take away the word ‘tiny’, Eh? Comes out funny, doesn’t it? Yes, friend, you’ve reallygot yourself in a mess. In truth, what made you do such a thing?”
    Meanwhile the door opened imperceptibly. M’sieur Pierre and the director stood on the threshold, hands clasped identically behind their backs, and quietly, delicately moving only their eyeballs, were examining the assemblage. They stood and looked like this for more than a minute before leaving.
    “Listen to me,” the brother-in-law was saying, breathing hotly. “I’m your old pal. Do as I say. Repent, my little Cincinnatus. Come on, do me this favor. You don’t know, they might still let you off. Eh? Think how unpleasant it is to have your chump lopped off. What do you have to lose? Come on—don’t be a blockhead.”
    “Greetings, greetings, greetings,” said the lawyer, coming over to Cincinnatus. “Don’t embrace me, I still have a bad cold. What is the conversation about? How can I be of service?”
    “Let me pass,” murmured Cincinnatus, “I have to say a couple of words to my wife …”
    “Now, my dearest, let us discuss the question of property,” said the father-in-law, refreshed, and extended his cane in such a way that Cincinnatus stumbled over it. “Wait, wait a minute, I am speaking to you!”
    Cincinnatus kept going; he had to get around a large table, set for ten persons, and then squeeze between the screen and the wardrobe in order to reach Marthe, who reclined on the couch.