The Philosopher's Pupil Read Online Free PDF Page B

news, the Town Council decided to invest in a new building and make a greater profit out of science.
    The Rooms comprise consulting rooms, offices, massage parlours, mud baths, a gymnasium, a common room, but mainly the enterprise takes its name from the set of luxurious bedrooms with private baths attached. These large bed-sitting rooms, modelled on similar installations in continental spas, were designed for wealthy invalids. They were adorned in an art déco style which contrived to be, at the same time, severe, exotic and insipid. The colour schemes were predominantly black and white, trimmed with beige, orange and light green. There were a lot of triangular mirrors with zigzag edges, and curly tubular steel chairs which swayed alarmingly when sat on. The beds were also made of tubular steel, moving on casters to stand against carved light oak headboards attached to the wall.
    Beyond the louvred double doors the bathrooms were walled with iridescent coloured glass depicting thin ecstatic ladies on hilltops, leaping fawns, enormous cocktails, aeroplanes, airships and so on, together with pieces of furniture made of fur, and various alcoves protected by moorish lattices. The baths themselves (black), sunk into the floor and shaped like boats with blunt ends, were large and deep enough for a swimmer to take two or three strokes. Only the big goldeny Edwardian brass taps were reminiscent of a more traditional taste. These were put in by mistake, much to the annoyance of the Swedish architect, but never changed, since by then the cost of the building had exceeded the wildest estimates. (Most of the fittings came from Sweden; there were rows about that too.) I have used the past tense in this description since the Rooms have changed a good deal since the days of their glory. The famous orange and white ‘sunrise’ crockery has been mostly broken and not replaced, as have the zigzag mirrors and iridescent glass. The tubular snakes have sagged under their burdens and been succeeded by sturdy ugly chairs. The glittering black Swedish tiles are gone from the baths and decent white British tiles reign in their stead, though the shape of the baths and the Edwardian taps remain. The Institute suffered considerably from blast during the war, when it was used as an Air Raid Precautions centre. (The Outdoor Bath remained in use throughout the conflict and was very popular with the Army Camp upon the Common.) In general the decor of the Rooms has suffered, in a way which ought to have been better foreseen by the architect, from perpetual steam, since the hot water streams continuously from the great brass taps, maintaining a lowish water level in the baths (which may be raised by putting in the plug). The temperature is kept at 42° Centigrade. (Once the water supply suddenly became scalding hot by mistake and drowned an elderly gentleman who was unable to get out in time, but we do not speak of that.) The deafening noise of the water, together with the thick steamy moist air, gives the Ennistone Rooms a strange atmosphere. More than one woman has admitted to me that she feels a sexual thrill on entering.
    The Institute occupies a central place in the social life of Ennistone. Its role has been compared to that of the agora in Athens. It is the main rendezvous of the citizenry where people idle, gossip, relax, show off, hunt for partners, make assignations, make business deals, make plots. Marriages are made, and broken, beside these steamy pools. It is like what going to church used to be, only it happens every day. This aspect of our lives is of course described by responsible citizens in high-minded terms. Swimming is the very best kind of exercise for old and young, and is undoubtedly also good for the soul. This lofty conception of the spiritual utility of swimming battles continuously with the (also recurrent) notion of many citizens that the Baths is a temple of hedonism. The old this dansants (with three-piece