Love--or not!--in the back seat...

Elizabeth Bibesco gives us a brief cinematic glimpse into a world that seems to exist whether we read it or not. Below is the entirety of one of two short stories about short, but intense, taxi rides.

Dec 13, 2024

With a dedication to Paul Morand

Taxi Drive II: LAMPS

"I love you so." The wheels of the taxi were the counterpoint to his voice.

"What is the good of my turning away when every bit of him bites into my consciousness?" she thought.

The road stretched ahead of them like ciré satin with a piping of lights. She had changed her position a little, restless under the constraint of his eyes. A lamp lit her up for him, her face white and drawn, her eyelids pulled over her eyes like a heavy curtain.

A waxed satin dress—or ciré satin—of the period is pictured at the left (Wikimedia Commons)

"One feels that one could skate down the street," she murmured, "it looks like stuff worn thin with time and use—the shabby shiny surface of the night."

On and on they went.

"We can't get anywhere," he said.

A lamp lit up her face.

It looked so weary and impotent as if she had abdicated the uneven struggle with circumstances.

On they raced, down the slippery ribbon of road.

There was a bump and she fell towards him. He stretched out his arm and held her firm and secure. He wanted her to feel that it was a rampart and not an insidious outpost of passion quick to take advantage.

"Let me kiss you once, for God's sake," his voice was harsh.

She turned her face towards him. The passing lamp showed her resigned, pitying, tender.

"Don't look like that," he said—sharp with the things he had wanted.

"I'm sorry," her voice was velvety and comforting.

Yet another lamp, there was a faint smile on her lips—breathed as it were from him. He huddled into his corner, hurt by her compassion.

"I hate to see the moon," she said, "cynical and prying—an eavesdropper of a moon."

Again a light gave him a fleeting vision of her—photographed on to his soul.

Her deep dark eyes, heavy with distress, the corners of her mouth repudiating the misery of the moment. She put her hand on his arm.

"Don't," she said, "there is in life such an incoherent mass of interwoven strands. And perhaps something comes and tears them all to bits."

Her voice was chanting—as if she were singing him a lullaby—then it became light again.

"Wait till the next lamp," she said. "And you will see in my eyes the old laughter that you used to love."

They turned down a side street and there were no more lights.

Abruptly the taxi stopped.

She got out. Her pale gold coat was a continuation of the moon.

She turned her brooding eyes away from him.

"Thank you for taking me home," she said; her voice had broken. She looked back—a smile turned on to her lips.

He heard her latch key. The door opened and shut.

What we love about this story…

As readers, we are in media res—simply thrown into the backseat of the taxi with these travellers with no explanation of where they are going and why things seem so strained between them. Yet the story, despite its brevity, manages to resist being an “incoherent mass of interwoven strands”: it has a clear narrative that begins with love and ends with separation, even if we are left trying to figure out what happened.

This close-up description of the visual space between two people makes the whole experience feel like cinema. This was a period in which movies were becoming increasingly popular, and the descriptions of the lamps illuminating the faces for just a moment at the time is reminiscent of film unspooling.

About the Author…

The English writer Elizabeth Bibesco (1897-1945) was a well-known figure of her time, both in European high society and amongst artists and writers. She published her short stories in magazines such as The New Statesman and New Republic, and they received praise from now better-remembered modernists such as Rebecca West and Elizabeth Bowen. As the daughter of Prime Minister Herbert Asquith and a close friend of figures such as Marcel Proust and Jean Cocteau, she has often played a walk-on role in history rather than being appreciated in her own right.

To Read Alongside…

Last year we featured a longer short story by Bibesco for a cozy winter read. Find it below.

The forgotten stories of Princess Bibesco

December 1, 2023

Elizabeth Bibesco, ‘Misunderstood’

Read full story

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