30 JOURNEY WTIHOUT MAPS

heavy green night. A sky-sign was the size of a
postage stamp; one could see the whole plan of the
city, like a lit map in the Underground when you
press a button to find the route. The great rectangle
of the Tempelhof was marked in scarlet and yellow
lights; the plane swerved away over the breadth of
Berlin, turned back and down; the lights in the cabin
went out and one could see the headlamps sweeping
the asphalt drive, the sparks streaming out behind
the grey Luft Hansa wing, as the wheels touched and
rebounded and took the ground and held. That was
happiness, the quick impression; but on the ground,
among the Swastikas, one saw pain at every yard.

Arrived about nine o'clock at the Gare St. Lazare,
Easter, 1924, went to an hotel, then on to the Casino
to see Mistinguette, the thin insured distinguished
legs, the sharp "catchy" features like the paper faces
of the Ugly-Wuglies in The Enchanted Castle
(" *Walk on your toes, dear/ the bonneted Ugly-
Wugly whispered to the one with the wreath; and
even at that thrilling crisis Gerald wondered how she
could, since the toes of one foot were but the end of
a golf club and of the other the end of a hockey
stick"). The next night the Communists met in the
slums at the end of a cul-de-sac. They kept on read-
ing out telegrams from the platform and everyone
sang the Internationale; then they'd speak a little and
then another telegram arrived. They were poor and
pinched and noisy; one wondered why it was that
they had so much good news coming to them which
didn't make any difference at all. All the good news
and the singing were at the end of an alley in a wide
cold hall; they couldn't get out; in the little square