South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: Norman Douglas
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"The Nuncio!" He Suddenly Thought. A Catholic Republic Like Nicaragua
Was Sure To Have A Papal Nuncio Whatever That Might Be; And If He
Became A Convert To The Official Faith Of That Country, The Nuncio
Would Be Delighted And Might Whisper In The Ear Of The President A Few
Words Commending His Act And Requesting That So Good A Servant Of The
Church Should Not Be Despoiled Of His Post. And If The President,
Himself A Catholic, Could Be Brought To Share This View, Then He,
Freddy Parker, Could Snap His Fingers At The Machinations Of Senor
Vergara's Successor.
He Decided To Show Some Signs Of Devotion To What He Had Been
Accustomed To Call The Grossest Of Superstitions; To Reveal Symptoms Of
Latent Roman Proclivities. Grief Seemed To Have Sharpened His Wits, For
An Inspiration Came To Him. After The Sordid And Melancholy Details Of
The Funeral Had Been Discussed Yet Again--It Was To Take Place As Soon
As Ever The State Of The Sky Would Allow Of It--Mr. Parker, Pointing To
The Blackened World Outside, Made An Oracular Remark.
"Something Must Be Done," He Said.
His Companion Agreed, Very Heartily. But Soon He Drew A Deep Sigh. How
Could A Volcanic Eruption Be Stopped? In Other Words, What Must Be
Done?
"Let Me Suggest Something, Parroco. Why Not Organize A Procession At
Once, A Penitential Procession? Such Things Take Place During Eruptions
On The Mainland. Why Not Here?"
It Was The Most Tactful And Diplomatic Proposal That The Commissioner
Had Ever Made. A Thundering Good Tip, In Fact. How Proud His Lola Would
Have Been, Had She Heard Him Make It! A Flash Of Inspiration--And He Was
Actually Following It Up. The Effect Was Instantaneous. At The Sound Of
The Word "Procession" The Other's Thin Lips Relaxed, And Into His
Ferrety Eyes There Came A Gentler Look. He Was Pleased, Infinitely
Pleased. The Protestant Commissioner Betraying Only Too Plainly The
Heart Of A Catholic--That Augured Well. But Difficulties, Apparently
Insurmountable, Presented Themselves.
"That Thought, Signor Parker, Coming From You, Gives Me Pleasure Beyond
Words. But I Question Whether A Procession Can Be Formed. Even The
Priests, Most Of Them, Would Not Care To Attend. As To The Populace--Who
Is Going To Risk His Life In The Midst Of This Calamity? We Might All
Be Choked To Death. Not That I Would Hesitate To Play My Becoming
Part!"
"You Know Your People--How Inquisitive They Are. If You Toll The Church
Bells A Certain Number Are Sure To Gather In The Market-Place In Order
To Learn, Even At Risk Of Their Lives, What Is Happening. When They See
A Torchlight Procession Being Formed, You Will Obtain A Sufficient
Quantity, I Feel Sure, To Carry The Holy Image Of The Saint; And Some
To Spare. Also, I See No Reason Why The Priests Should Be Present In
Full Strength. Toll The Bells, Parroco! You Will Get Your Men."
His Reverence Was Thinking Hard. At Last He Said:
"Your Project Appeals To Me. It Does Credit To Your Heart. It Would Do
Credit To Our Island. I Will Try To Arrange It. But If--"
"You Mean, Don't You, If The Ashes Continue To Fall, Notwithstanding
Our Expiatory Demonstration? Let Me See. There Was That Disgraceful
Tumult In The Town Yesterday. Saint Dodekanus Is Perhaps Too Deeply
Vexed Against His People To Concede Them A Grace Under Such
Circumstances. I Imagine Him To Be Very Displeased With Us Just Now.
That Being The Case, The Fall Of Ashes Might Well Be Permitted To
Continue For Our Castigation, Despite The Penitential Act. What Do You
Think?"
Nobody Knows What The Parroco Thought. It Was Not His Habit To Think
Aloud, Much Less To Express Opinions On Ticklish Arguments Such As
These. But He Could Corroborate The Fact With A Clear Conscience.
"It Was Indeed Enough To Anger A Saint In Heaven! Seven More Of The
Wounded Have Succumbed To Their Injuries; Three Of Them Little
Children. Ah, These Deeds Of Violence And Bloodshed, For Which Nepenthe
Was Ever Infamous! When Will The Peace Of God Descend Upon Our Island?"
Mr. Parker Had No Idea When That Might Happen. He Was Not Particularly
Keen About The Peace Of God--He Was Keen About Keeping His Job. None The
Less, He Managed To Move His Head Up And Down, In A Decidedly Becoming
Fashion.
"And Now," Concluded The Parroco, "With Your Kind Permission, I Will
Take My Leave, To Confer With The Clergy If I Can Discover Any Of Them,
As To What Can Be Done Towards Forming A Procession. I Confess That The
More I Think Upon Your Idea, Signor Parker, The More I Like It. If Only
We Can Find A Sufficient Number To Participate!"
"Have No Fear Of That. Only Toll The Bells. You Will Get Your Men. This
Eruption Is Enough To Make Anybody Religious. I Mean--You Know What I
Mean, Parroco."
The Acolytes Having Rekindled Their Torches His Reverence, A Happier
Man, Stepped Boldly Out Of Doors And Was Swallowed Up In The Murk.
This Is A Succinct And Faithful Account Of The Genesis Of That
Procession Which Was To Become Famous In Nepenthean Annals. However
Much, In Later Years, Certain Envious Folks Claim To Be The Originators
Of The Project It Was, From First To Last, The Commissioner's Idea.
Honour To Whom Honour Is Due. He Deserved, And Took, All Credit For It.
Meanwhile He Sat Down At His Table Once More, And Stared Into The
Pitchy Darkness.
Not Long Afterwards, The Sound Of Bells Announced That Something Was
Being Done. Men Looked Out Of Their Windows And Saw Flickering Lights
Moving About The Gloom. The Flames Grouped Themselves Into Definite
Arrangements; A Procession Was Being Formed. As The Parroco Had
Foretold It Was But Sparsely Attended In The Beginning; Out Of
Sixty-Five Priests And Canons Of The Church, Only Fourteen Found It
Convenient To Attend; Another Dozen, However, Were Presently Shamed
Into Taking Their Places In The Ranks. The Same With The Followers.
Their Number Gradually Increased. For The Bells Did The Work Of
Arousing Curiosity; They Tolled Plangently Into The Night.
Stranger Pageant Never Trod Nepenthe. Some Thoughtful Person Had
Discovered That Umbrellas Might Be Used With Advantage. Umbrellas Were
Therefore Utilized By All Save The Priests, The Choristers,
Torch-Bearers, And Those Carrying The Statue Of The Saint Who, For
Reasons Of Personal Dignity Or Expediency, Preferred The Other Method.
They Chanted Their Psalms And Litanies Through Handkerchiefs, Knowing
Full Well That Their Music Would Be None The Less Pleasing To The Saint
For Being More Than Usually Nasal In Tone. Thus, With Soundless
Footfalls, They Perambulated The Streets And Outskirts Of The Town,
Gathering Fresh Recruits As They Went.
And Still The Ashes Fell.
Viewing This Cortege Of Awe-Struck Innocents Braying Into The Blackness
Under Their Umbrellas At The Heels Of A Silver-Plated Idol (Not Yet
Paid For), An Intelligent God Might Well Be Proud Of His Workmanship.
So Thought The Parroco. He Was Undismayed. Come What Might, He Had An
Explanation Ready. Saint Dodekanus, If The Ashes Continued To Fall, Was
Only Showing His Displeasure; He Was Perfectly Justified In Letting His
Wrath Be Known For The Better Guidance Of Mankind. Certain Of The
Younger Priests, On The Other Hand, Were Growing Nervous At The
Prospect Of A Possible Failure Of The Procession. They Began To Blame
His Reverence For What He Had Given Them To Understand Was His Own
Idea. For Two Hours They Had Now Been In Movement; They Had Swallowed A
Hatful Of Ashes. And Yet No Sign From Heaven. The Sky Appeared Darker
Than Ever. Many Of The Followers, Exhausted, Dropped Out Of The
Procession And Returned Sadly To Their Homes. They Thought The
Speculation Was Going To Turn Out Badly. The Others Deemed In Not
Impossible That The Saint Could Not See Them Through So Thick A
Curtain. Well, Then, He Might Hear Them. They Chanted More Furiously.
The Sound Must Have Reached Heaven, At Last, For A Miracle Occurred.
The Gloom Decreased In Density. Men Looked Up And Beheld A Sickly
Radiance Overhead--It Was The Sun, Ever So Far Away; It Shone As When
Seen Through Thickly Smoked Glasses. Then A Veil Seemed To Be
Withdrawn. The Light Grew Clearer--The Song Of The Penitents Jubilant
With Hope. Sullen Gleams, Now, Pierced The Murky Air. Outlines Of Trees
And Houses Crept Furtively Into Their Old Places. The Fall Of Ashes Had
Almost Ceased. With A Wrench, As It Seemed, The Final Covering Was
Drawn Away. The Land Lay Flooded In Daylight.
That Paean Of Joy And Thanksgiving Which Ought To Have Greeted This
Divine Largesse, Died On The Lips Of The Beholders When They Saw The
State Of Their Island. Nepenthe Was Hardly Recognizable. The Saint Had
Lifted A Mantle From Heaven Only To Reveal The Desolation On Earth.
Ashes Everywhere. Trees, Houses, The Fertile Fields, The Mountain
Slopes--All Were Smothered Under A Layer Of Monotonous Pallor. They Knew
What It Meant. It Meant Ruin To Their Crops And Vineyards. None The
Less, They Raised A Shout, A Half-Hearted Shout, Of Praise. For
Nepentheans Are Born Politicians And Courteous By Nature. It Is Their
Heritage From The Good Duke Alfred To "Keep Smiling." A Shout Was
Expected Of Them Under The Circumstances; It Costs Nothing And May Even
Do Good, Inasmuch As Saint Dodekanus Could Remove The Ashes As Easily
As He Had Sent Them. Why Not Shout?
"A Miracle, A Miracle!" The Cry Went Up. "Long Life To Our Patron!"
A Poor Tribute; But The Saint Took Note Of It. Half An Hour Had Barely
Passed Ere The Sky Grew Cloudy. Moist Drops Began To Fall. It Was The
First Rain For Many Weeks, And Foreign Visitors, Accustomed To Think Of
Nepenthe As A Rainless Land, Were Almost As Interested In The Watery
Shower As In That Of The Ashes. Mud, Such Mud As The Oldest Midwife
Could Not Remember, Encumbered The Roofs, The Fields, The Roadways. It
Looked As If The Whole Island Were Plastered Over With A Coating Of
Liquid Chocolate. Now, If The Shower Would Only Continue--
Suddenly It Ceased. The Sky Grew Clear.
Saint Dodekanus Had Often Been Accused Of Possessing A Grain Of Malice.
Some Went So Far As To Say He Had The Evil Eye. It Was By No Means The
First Time In His Long Career That The Natives Had Found Cause To
Complain Of A Certain Rancour In His Temperament--Of Certain Spiteful
Viperish Acts To Which The Priests, And They Alone, Were Able To Give A
Benevolent Interpretation. Now Their Wrath Blazed Out Against The
Celestial Patron. "He's Not Fit For His Job," Said Some; "Let's Get A
New Saint! The Ruffian, The Son Of An Impure Mother--Up To His Tricks,
Was He? Ah, The Cut-Throat, The Saracen, The Old Paederast: Into The
Ditch With Him!"
During A Brief Moment His Fate Hung In The Balance. For It Was Plain
That The Ashes, If Unwetted, Might Ultimately Have Been Blown Away By
The Wind. But What Was Going To Happen When All This Mud, Baked By The
Sun Into The Hardness Of Brick, Covered The Island?
Perhaps The Saint Was Only Putting Their Tempers To The Test. The
Experiment Of Another Shout Was Worth Trying. One Could Always Punish
Him Later On.
So Feeble Was The Noise That Saint Dodekanus Must Have Had Uncommonly
Good Ears. He Had. And Soon Showed His Real Feelings. Rain Fell Once
More. Instead Of Diminishing It Grew More Violent, Accompanied By Warm
Blasts Of Wind. There Was Sunshine Overhead, But The Peaks Were
Shrouded In Scudding Vapours, Trees Bent Under The Force Of The Wind;
The Sea, A Welter Of Light And Shade, Was Dappled With Silvery Patches
Under The Swiftly Careering Clouds. Soon There Came A Blinding
Downpour. Gullies Were Blocked Up With Mud; Rills Carried Tons Of It
Into The Sea. Then The Gale Died Down; The Sun Beamed Out Of A Bright
Evening Sky. The Miraculous Shower Was Over.
Men Walked Abroad And Recognized Their Beloved Nepenthe Once More. It
Glowed In The Tenderest Hues. The Events Of Morning And Midday Were
Like A Bad Dream. Everything Sparkled With Unaccustomed Brilliance; The
Land Was Refreshed--Swept Clean; The Sea Alone Remained Discoloured To A
Dingy Brown. Truly, As The Commissioner--Once More A Sound
Protestant--Remarked In Later Years: "The Old Rotter Came Up To The
Scratch That Time." So Clear And Pleasant Was The Air That It Seemed As
If The Wind Had Actually Veered To The North. But No. It Still Blew
From The Other Quarter--The Old Familiar Sirocco. Which Proved That The
Shower Of Ashes Had Not Been "Carried Elsewhere," As The Youthful
Teacher Of Mathematics Had Prognosticated. It Had Not Been Carried
Anywhere. It Simply Ceased To Fall, The Volcano Having Momentarily Run
Out Of Its Stock Of Objectionable Materials.
The Clubmen Therefore, Calling To Mind The Discussion Of The Morning,
Were Led To Revise Their Opinion As To That Gentleman's Intelligence.
They Remembered One Or Two Things. They Remembered That Even When
Heavenly Powers Are Not Known To
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