I Like It Here

falling to pieces, it just can’t hold up much longer. Not that they don’t deserve it; hell, they deserve it all right.”
Bowen was conscious of feeling slightly nettled. If the French were going to be knocked, he felt, he would do the knocking himself, and on ground of his own choosing, on literature or politics, where it didn’t matter. “How do you make that out?”
“I’m telling you, young fellow. But then let me tell you France isn’t alone in falling to pieces, no indeed, it’s very far from alone in that. You show me one country that isn’t falling to pieces, that’s all I ask. You’ll find it tough, I’m warning you, because I’ve seen more of the world than you. I was employed in the
United States Consular Service and my duties took me to a dozen places in both hemispheres and I never want to see any of them again. I’ve been retired nearly twelve years now and do you know what we’ve been doing since then? We’ve been touring the world—but literally touring the world—looking for some place where we could stand it. We tried South America: nothing but squalor and greed and corruption and … and sheer horror. We lasted three days in Australia, just three days: dirt and drunkenness and stink everywhere.” He broke off to light a long thin cigar and to cough.
“What about the States? Surely there must be …”
“Have you ever been to the States, young fellow? Have you seen Americans in their natural habitat? Then let me tell you that they’re the most ignorant, vulgar, immoral, godless, materialist, greedy, avaricious, small-minded people on the whole face of this earth. And I ought to know. Life in America today is sheer … unmitigated … hell. Only satisfaction is it can’t last much longer. It’s on the way out. Finished. Doomed. I know what I’m talking about. I give it twenty years at the outside. More like ten in all probability. I’m sorry in a way I shan’t be here to see it. But it’ll come. And then will you fellows in Europe feel the draught. We make all your goods for you and then give you the money to pay for them. When the States goes you’ll just rot away. You’re British, aren’t you? Then have a drink. Have one with me. You could use one. You may not feel you could, but by God you could. You … certainly … could. If you’re British as you say, then, boy, could … you … use … a drink.”
British or not, Bowen could, and felt he could too.
His companion pressed the bell for a minute or so, looking frequently over his shoulder to make sure Bowen had not stirred. Without consultation he ordered two large Scotches. Then he said: “The world today is inhabited by a race of sub-men. I’m beginning to see there’s only one thing to be done about it. Cut yourself off from it. Fast. While there’s still time. And I think I’ve found the place.”
“Outer Mongolia?”
“Certainly not. In England, oddly enough. The British are the laziest people on the whole face of this earth, but by God you almost begin to appreciate it when it’s gimme, gimme, gimme everywhere else. You know Gloucestershire?”
“Well, I know where it is.”
“You do ?” The American sounded sceptical. “There’s a little place called Lydney in Gloucestershire. There’s a house near there I can get if I want it. I haven’t seen it but my wife has. It’s away off on its own. We figured we could hire a man to shop for us and then we wouldn’t need to talk to anyone but him. I don’t know, but I think it would work. I think it would.”
Bowen put on an intent, earnest look. “Let’s see, now … Lydney …”
“You know it?”
“I’ve been through it a few times. Mm … No, I don’t think I should advise Lydney.”
“What’s that to me? You’ve only been through it. You don’t know it, do you? You want water?”
“Yes please, up to the top … No, it’s too near Wales. Why, it can’t be more than ten miles or so from Monmouth.”
“So what?”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell you … Have you ever heard of the Welsh Nationalist Party?”
“No, I haven’t. What of it?”
“I didn’t think you would have done. Very few people have, outside Wales itself. That’s the really frightening thing.”
“You come from Wales? You … Welsh?”
“Good Lord, no. English to the backbone, thank God.”
“Well … just what are you talking about?”
“Now very little of this gets into the English papers, you see. Of course, there are Welshmen all over England in positions of power, especially in London. A lot of key posts in the administration have been infiltrated by Welshmen. Oh, they’re a clever lot, you’ve got to hand it to them. I’ve seen them at work.”
“I still don’t get you, young fellow.”
Bowen took his time lighting one of his Dutch cigars. “The Welsh Nationalist Party,” he said, gesturing, “is a revolutionary party. So far there hasn’t been very much activity out in the open—a bit of sabotage here and there, a police station raided, a few R.A.F. airfields destroyed, nothing more than that. The English authorities know pretty well who’s responsible, but they can’t do anything about it. No Welsh witness would testify against them, and even if they did there’d be no convictions. Welsh juries and Welsh judges, you see. I say, I hope I’m not boring you with all this.”
“Just keep talking.”
“They’re not strong numerically at the moment. They’re in control of the Press and radio and education and local government and the Church, but their actual numbers are small so far. Though—I get all this from my brother-in-law, who’s stationed there—it’s true that they’ve grown a good bit in the last five years or so.”
“How’s your brother-in-law making out?”
“Oh, quite well. They’ve no personal quarrel with the English, you see. He’s not worried. There’ll be plenty of time to get out before