Garden of Eden Read Online Free Page A

dark, brother," he said. "You don't know how dark."
     
    "I
like it," the girl said. "But I want to be darker."
     
    They
lay on the beach on the firm sand that was dry now but still cool after the
high tide had fallen. The young man put some oil on the palm of his hand and
spread it lightly with his fingers over the girl's thighs and they glowed warm
as the skin took the oil. He went on spreading it over her belly and breasts
and the girl said sleepily, "We don't look very much like brothers when
we're this way do we?"
     
    "No."
     
    "I'm
trying to be such a very good girl," she said. "Truly you don't have
to worry darling until night. We won't let the night things come in the
day."
     
    At
the hotel the postman was having a drink while he waited for the girl to sign
for a large forwarding envelope heavy with enclosed letters from her bank in
Paris. There were three letters re-addressed from his bank, too. It was the
first mail since they had sent the hotel as a forwarding address. The young man
gave the postman five francs and asked him to have another glass of wine with
him at the zinc bar. The girl unhooked the key from the board and said,
"I'll go up to the room and get cleaned up and meet you at the cafe."
     
    After
he finished his glass he said goodbye to the postman and walked down along the
canal to the cafe. It was good to sit in the shade after walking back
bareheaded in the sun from the far beach and it was pleasant and cool in the
cafe. He ordered a vermouth and soda and took out his pocket knife and slit
open his letters. All three envelopes were from his publishers and two of them
were fat with clippings and the proofs of advertisements. He glanced at the
clippings and then read the long letter. It was cheerful and guardedly
optimistic. It was too early to tell how the book would do but everything
looked good. Most of the reviews were excellent. Of course there were some. But
that was to be expected. Sentences had been underlined in the reviews that
would probably be used in the future advertisements. His publisher wished he could
say more about how the book would do but he never made predictions as to sales.
It was bad practice. The point was that the book could not have been better
received. The reception was sensational really. But he would see the clippings.
The first printing had been five thousand copies and on the strength of the
reviews a second printing had been ordered. The upcoming advertisements would
carry the phrase Now in Its Second Printing. His publisher hoped that he was as
happy as he deserved to be and taking the rest that he so richly deserved. He
sent his best greetings to his wife.
     
    The
young man borrowed a pencil from the waiter and commenced to multiply $2.50 by
one thousand. That was easy. Ten percent of that was two hundred and fifty
dollars. Five times that was twelve hundred and fifty dollars. Deduct seven
hundred and fifty dollars for the advance. That left five hundred dollars
earned by the first printing.
     
    Now
there was the second printing. Say that was two thousand. That was twelve and a
half percent of five thousand dollars. If that was how the contract was. That
would be six hundred and twenty-five dollars. But maybe it did not go up to
twelve and a half percent until ten thousand. Well it was still five hundred
dollars. That would still leave a thousand.
     
    He
started to read the reviews and found that he had drunk the vermouth without
ever noticing it. He ordered another and returned the pencil to the waiter. He
was still reading the reviews when the girl came in bringing her heavy envelope
of letters. "I didn't know they'd come," she said. "Let me see
them. Please let me see them." The waiter brought her a vermouth and
putting it down saw the picture as the girl unfolded a clipping. "C'est
Monsieur?" he asked. "Yes it is," the girl said and held it up
for him to see. "But differently dressed," the waiter said. "Do
they write about the marriage? May I see a