Death - conga line

Somewhere around the middle of the dance was fat Lord Rodley of Quirm, heir to the fabulous Quirm estates, whose current preoccupation was with the thin fingers gripping his waist. Under its bath of alcohol his brain kept trying to attract his attention.

“I say,” he called over his shoulder, as they oscillated for the tenth hilarious time through the enormous kitchen, “not so tight, please.”

I AM MOST TERRIBLY SORRY.

“No offense, old chap. Do I know you?” said Lord Rodley, kicking vigorously on the back beat.

I THINK IT UNLIKELY. TELL ME, PLEASE, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS ACTIVITY?

“What?” shouted Lord Rodley, above the sound of someone kicking in the door of a glass cabinet amid shrieks of merriment.

WHAT IS THIS THING THAT WE DO? said the voice, with glacial patience.

“Haven’t you been to a party before? Mind the glass, by the way.”

I AM AFRAID I DO NOT GET OUT AS MUCH AS I WOULD LIKE TO. PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS. DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH SEX?

“Not unless we pull up sharp, old boy, if you know what I mean?” said his lordship, and nudged his unseen fellow guest with his elbow.

“Ouch,” he said. A crash up ahead marked the demise of the cold buffet.

No. “What?”

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN.

“Mind the cream there, it’s slippery—look, it’s just a dance, all right? You do it for fun.”

FUN.

“That’s right. Dada, dada, da—kick!” There was an audible pause.

WHO IS THIS FUN?

“No, fun isn’t anybody, fun is what you have.”

WE ARE HAVING FUN?

“I thought I was,” said his lordship uncertainly. The voice by his ear was vaguely worrying him; it appeared to be arriving directly into his brain.

WHAT IS THIS FUN?

“This is!”

TO KICK VIGOROUSLY IS FUN?

“Well, part of the fun. Kick!”

TO HEAR LOUD MUSIC IN HOT ROOMS IS FUN?

“Possibly.”

HOW IS THIS FUN MANIFEST?

“Well, it—look, either you’re having fun or you’re not, you don’t have to ask me, you just know, all right? How did you get in here, anyway?” he added. “Are you a friend of the Patrician?”

LET US SAY, HE PUTS BUSINESS MY WAY. I FELT I OUGHT TO LEARN SOMETHING OF HUMAN PLEASURES.

“Sounds like you’ve got a long way to go.”

I KNOW. PLEASE EXCUSE MY LAMENTABLE IGNORANCE. I WISH ONLY TO LEARN. ALL THESE PEOPLE, PLEASE—THEY ARE HAVING FUN?

“Yes!”

THEN THIS IS FUN.

“I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. Mind the chair,” snapped Lord Rodley, who was now feeling very unfunny and unpleasantly sober.

A voice behind him said quietly: THIS IS FUN. TO DRINK EXCESSIVELY IS FUN. WE ARE HAVING FUN. HE IS HAVING FUN. THIS IS SOME FUN.

WHAT FUN.

Behind Death the Patrician’s small pet swamp dragon held on grimly to the bony hips and thought: guards or no guards, next time we pass an open window I’m going to run like buggery.

***

Mort p117-119