The Comedians by Graham Greene Page A

you?’
    â€˜He was quite right to trust me, my dear. But he was wrong in trying to drive a Mercedes sports car on the roads that we have here. It was a lucky chance he killed only himself.’
    â€˜And so you took over?’
    â€˜He would have been very happy to know of it. My dear, you can’t imagine how much he detested his wife. A big fat negress without education. She could never have run the place properly. Of course after his death I had to alter my will – your father, if he is still alive, might have been next of kin. By the way, I have left the fathers of the Visitation my rosary and my missal. I was never quite happy about the manner in which I treated them, but I was very pressed for money at the time. Your father was a bit of a swine, God rest his soul.’
    â€˜Then he is dead?’
    â€˜I have every reason to believe it, but no proof. People live so long nowadays. Poor man.’
    â€˜I’ve been talking to your doctor.’
    â€˜Doctor Magiot? I wish I had met him when he was younger. He’s quite a man, isn’t he?’
    â€˜He says if you keep quiet . . .’
    â€˜Here I am lying flat in bed,’ she exclaimed with a knowing and pleading smile. ‘I can do no more to please him, can I? Do you know the dear man asked me if I would like to see a priest? I said to him, “But surely, doctor, a long confession would be a little too exciting for me now – with such memories to recall?” Would you mind going to the door, dear, and opening it a little way?’
    I obeyed her. The passage was empty. From below came a chink of cutlery and a voice saying, ‘Oh, Chick, do you really think I could ?’
    â€˜Thank you, dear. I just wanted to be quite certain . . . While you are up, would you give me my brush? Thank you again. So much. How nice it is for an old woman to have a son around . . .’ She paused. I think she expected me courteously, like a gigolo, to contradict the fact of her age. ‘I wanted to speak to you about my will,’ she went on in a tone of slight disappointment, as she brushed and brushed her improbable and abundant hair.
    â€˜Oughtn’t you to rest now? The doctor told me not to stay long.’
    â€˜They have given you a nice room, I hope? Some of the rooms remain a little bare. For want of ready cash.’
    â€˜I left my bags at El Rancho.’
    â€˜Oh, but you must stay here, my dear. El Rancho – it wouldn’t do – to advertise that joint,’ she used the American expression. ‘After all – it was what I had to tell you – this hotel will be yours one day. Only I wanted to explain – the law is so complicated, one must take precautions – that it’s in the form of shares, and I have left to Marcel a third interest. He will be very useful if you treat him right, and I had to do something for the boy, hadn’t I? He has been rather more than a mere manager. You understand? You are my son, so of course you understand.’
    â€˜I understand.’
    â€˜I’m so glad you are here. I didn’t want any little slip . . . Never underestimate a Haitian lawyer, when it comes to a testament . . . I’ll tell Marcel that you’ll take over the actual direction immediately. Only be tactful, that’s a good boy. Marcel is very sensitive.’
    â€˜And you, mother, rest quiet. If you can, don’t think any more about business. Try to sleep.’
    â€˜They say that to be dead is about as quiet as you can get. I don’t see any point in my anticipating death. It lasts a long time.’
    I put my lips again against the whitewashed wall. She closed her eyes in an artificial gesture of love, and I tiptoed away from her to the door. When I opened it very softly so as not to disturb her I heard a giggle from the bed. ‘You really are a son of mine,’ she said. ‘What part are you playing