Chapter 11: Meeting Calanthe

How can I describe my first impression of that room? it was some­thing I would never forget. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the warmth, the text­ures, not one de­tail ever left me. I was kneel­ing (stark naked and filthy) on a thick deep blue carp­et. People were laugh­ing, not at me but be­cause they were tell­ing jokes to one an­oth­er; others were talk­ing, and in the back­ground I could hear some­one sob­bing and weep­ing, and then some­one sing­ing in a rich con­tral­to. I couldn’t deal with kneel­ing there and lift­ed my head, risk­ing pun­ish­ment. At first I couldn’t un­der­stand the noise, because the room seemed small, but then I saw that it wasn’t a wall some ten or fif­teen feet in front of me, but a dark red cur­tain of thick vel­vet, and that be­yond a scatter­ing of sofas and chairs and stools the cur­tain ended, and gave way to a much lar­ger open space. It was fairly dark near me; there was a dim light on the wall above and be­hind me. But be­yond the cur­tain was lots of elec­tric light, com­ing from chan­de­liers and wall-lamps. There was a thin haze of smoke in the air, but it was not from cig­ar­ettes: it was in­cense, possibly mix­ed with drugs. The wall­pa­per had a pattern made from deep red vel­vet with light green fleurs-de-lys flo­wers, the ceil­ing was white pla­ster with painti­ngs of cher­ubs on it, and a mass of col­our to­wards the open space, with bar­oque-style fig­ures and scenes paint­ed on it.

All of this took me but a sec­ond or two to ab­sorb, but the noise, and the fact that all that fur­n­i­ture was strewn with people in var­ious states of un­dress, all in­tently oc­cup­ied with each other and ig­nor­ing me en­tire­ly, and the fact that people seemed to be danc­ing on a table in the far dis­tance, and the faint smell of cook­ing that came to me, all this and more, it made me want to hide. I’d never thought to see any­thing like this, not even in my dreams.