Page 53 of My Uncle Oswald

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'Yes,' she said. 'He sprang.'

'Good Lord.'

'He didn't even put his paintbrush down.'

'So you had no chance to get the mackintosh on?'

'Afraid not. Didn't even have time to open my purse.'

'Hell.'

'I was hit by a hurricane, Oswald.'

'Couldn't you have slowed him down a bit? You remember what you did to old Woresley to make him keep still?'

'Nothing would have stopped this one.'

'Were you on the floor?'

'No. He threw me on to a filthy sofa thing. There were tubes of paint everywhere.'

'It's all over you now. Look at your dress.'

'I know.'

One couldn't blame Yasmin for the failure, I knew that. But I felt pretty ratty all the same. It was our first miss. I only hoped there wouldn't be many more.

'Do you know what he did afterwards?' Yasmin said. 'He just buttoned up Kis trousers and said, "Thank you, mademoiselle. That was very refreshing. Now I must get back to my work." And he turned away, Oswald! He just turned away and started painting again!'

'He's Spanish,' I said, 'like Alfonso.' I stepped out of the car and cranked the starting-handle and when I got back in again Yasmin was tidying her hair in the car mirror. 'I hate to say it,' she said, 'but I rather enjoyed that one.'

'I know you did.'

'Phenomenal vitality.'

'Tell me,' I said, 'is Monsieur Picasso a genius?'

'Yes,' she said. 'It was very strong. He will be wildly famous one day.'

'Damn.'

'We can't win them all, Oswald.'

'I suppose not.'

Matisse was next.

Yasmin was with Monsieur Matisse for about two hours and blow me if the little thief didn't come out with yet another painting. It was sheer magic, that canvas, a Fauve landscape with trees that were blue and green and scarlet, signed and dated 1905.

'Terrific picture,' I said.

'Terrific man,' she said. And that was all she would say about Henri Matisse. Not a word more.

Fifty straws.

17

My travelling container of liquid nitrogen was beginning to fill up with straws. We now had King Alfonso, Renoir, Monet, Stravinsky and Matisse. But there was room for a few more. Each straw held only 1/4cc of fluid and the straw itself was only slightly thicker than a matchstick and about half as long. Fifty straws stacked neatly in a metal rack took up very little room. I decided we could accommodate three more batches on this trip and I told Yasmin we would be visiting Marcel Proust, Maurice Ravel and James Joyce. All of them were living in the Paris area.


Tags: Roald Dahl Humorous