Read Porterhouse Blue for Free Online Page B

him, “Somebody’s been taking a poke at you.” You know what he says?’ Zipser shook his head. ‘He says, “I’ll thank you to keep your comments to yourself, Mrs Biggs.” That’s what he says. Silly old fool. Don’t know which century he’s living in.’ She went into the other room and Zipser followed her. He put a kettle on to make coffee while Mrs Biggs bustled about picking things up and putting them down again in a manner which suggested that a great deal of work was being done but which merely helped to emphasize her feelings. All the time she rattled on with her daily dose of inconsequential information while Zipser dodged about the room like a toreador trying to avoid a talkative bull. Each time she brushed past him he was aware of an animal magnetism that overrode considerations of taste and that aesthetic sensibility his education was supposed to have given him. Finally he stood in the corner, hardly able to contain himself, and watched her figure as it walloped about the room. Her words lost all meaning, became mere soothing sounds, waves of accompaniment to the surge of her thighs and the great rollers of her buttocks dimpled and shimmeringbeneath her skirt. ‘Well I says, “You know what you can do …”’ Mrs Biggs’ voice echoed Zipser’s terrible thought. She bent over to plug in the vacuum-cleaner and her breasts plunged in her blouse and undulated with a force of attraction Zipser found almost irresistible. He felt himself moved out of his corner like a boxer urged forward by unnatural passion for an enormous opponent. Words crowded into his mouth. Unwanted words. Unspeakable words.
    ‘I want you,’ he said and was saved the final embarrassment by the vacuum-cleaner which roared into life.
    ‘What’s that you said?’ Mrs Biggs shouted above the din. She was holding the suction pipe against a cushion on the armchair. Zipser turned purple.
    ‘Nothing,’ he bawled, and fell back into his corner.
    ‘Bag’s full,’ said Mrs Biggs, and switched the machine off.
    In the silence that followed Zipser leant against the wall, appalled at his terrible avowal. He was about to make a dash for the door when Mrs Biggs bent over and undid the clips on the back of the vacuum-cleaner. Zipser stared at the backs of her knees. The boots, the creases, the swell of her thighs, the edge of her stockings, the crescent …
    ‘Bag’s full,’ Mrs Biggs said again. ‘You can’t get any suction when the bag’s full.’
    She straightened up holding the bag grey and swollen … Zipser shut his eyes. Mrs Biggs emptied the bag intothe wastepaper basket. A cloud of grey dust billowed up into the room.
    ‘Are you feeling all right, dearie?’ she asked, peering at him with motherly concern. Zipser opened his eyes and stared into her face.
    ‘I’m all right,’ he managed to mutter trying to take his eyes off her lips. Mrs Biggs’ lipstick gleamed thickly. ‘I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.’
    ‘Too much work and not enough play makes Jack a dull boy,’ said Mrs Biggs holding the bag limply. To Zipser the thing had an erotic appeal he dared not analyse. ‘Now you just sit down and I’ll make you some coffee and you’ll feel better.’ Mrs Biggs’ hand grasped his arm and guided him to a chair. Zipser slumped into it and stared at the vacuum-cleaner while Mrs Biggs, bending once again and even more revealingly now that Zipser was sitting down and closer to her, inserted the bag into the back of the machine and switched it on. A terrible roar, and the bag was sucked into the interior with a force which corresponded entirely to Zipser’s feelings. Mrs Biggs straightened up and went through to the gyp room to make coffee while Zipser shifted feebly in the chair. He couldn’t imagine what was happening to him. It was all too awful. He had to get away. He couldn’t go on sitting there while she was in the room. He’d do something terrible. He couldn’t control himself. He’d say something. He