Francis arrived on the last day of October, with a week's leave before
his regiment embarked for the Dardanelles. For a few hours he was a
mere mass of physical needs; until these were satisfied he announced
himself as incapable of thinking or speaking of anything but the
carnalities.
"Tea at once," he said. "No, I think I won't have tea with you; I
want tea sent up to the bath-room. That packet? It's a jar of bath
salts--verbena--all of which I am going to use. I saw it in a shop
window, and quite suddenly I knew I wanted it. Nothing else seemed
to matter. I want a dressing-gown, too. Will you lend me one? And
slippers. For a few hours I propose to wallow in a sensual sty. I've
planned it all, and for the last week I have thought of nothing else."
He sketched the sty. There was to be tea in the bath-room and a muffin
for tea. This he would eat as he lay in a hot bath full of verbena
salts. He would then put on his dressing-gown and lie in bed for half
an hour, reading a shilling shocker and smoking cigarettes. (End of
Part I.) Still in his dressing-gown he would come downstairs, and smoke
more cigarettes before my fire, till it was time to have a cocktail.
We would dine at home (he left the question of dinner to me, provided
only that there should be a pineapple), after which we should go to
the movies. We were then to drive rapidly home in a taxi, and, over
sandwiches and whisky and soda, he felt that he would return to a
normal level again. But the idea of being completely comfortable and
clean and gorged and amused for a few hours had taken such hold of him,
that he could not "reach his mind" until the howling beast of his body
had been satisfied. That, at least, was the plan.
Accordingly, proclamation having come from upstairs that all was ready,
Francis departed to his sty, and I, as commanded, waited till such time
as he should reappear in my dressing-gown and slippers. But long before
his programme (Part I.) could have been carried out he re-entered.
"It didn't seem worth while to get into bed," he said, "so I left that
out. I loved the bath-salts, and the tea was excellent. But how soon
anything that can be satisfied is satisfied. It's only----"
He leaned forward and poked the fire, stretching his legs out towards
the blaze.
"I've travelled a long way since we met," he said, "and the further one
goes the simpler the way becomes. The mystics are perfectly right. You
can only get what you want, what your soul wants, by chucking away all
that you have. The only way to find yourself is to lose yourself. I've
been losing myself all these months, and I began to recover little bits
of me that I didn't want over the muffin and the verbena. I was afraid
I should find more if I tucked up in bed. That's why I didn't. I used
to want such lots of things; now there is growing a pile of things I
don't want."