South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: Norman Douglas
Book online «South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗». Author Norman Douglas
Tiger Mother. That Was Correct. Not Every Parent Could Do What She Had
Done. Not Every Parent Could Do What She Had Done. Not Every Parent Was
Placed Under The Necessity. Not Every Parent Had The Grit. If All Of
Them Fought For Their Offspring After This Fashion, The Race Would Be
Stronger And Better. Thinking Thus, He Not Only Understood. He
Approved. Mrs. Meadows Had Saved Her Family. She Was Perfect Of Her
Kind.
Suddenly He Remembered That Other Parent On The Passenger Boat When He
Came To Nepenthe--That Ugly Peasant-Woman Dressed In Black, With The
Scar Across Her Cheek--How She Had Tried To Console Her Suffering Child.
What Had Muhlen Said? "Throw It Into The Water! It's Often The Only Way
Of Ridding Oneself Of A Nuisance." Into The Water. His Own Words. That
Was Where He, The Nuisance, Had Gone. It Was Unpleasant, Maybe, To
Hurtle Through Eight Hundred Feet Of Air. But Men Who Specialize In
Making Themselves Objectionable After Muhlen's Peculiar Fashion Deserve
All They Can Get. Sensible Women Do Not Put Up With Such Nonsense, If
They Can Help It.
One Owes Something To One's Self, N'est-Ce Pas?
Decidedly So.
Everything Was As Clear As Daylight. And He Found He Had Bothered
Himself Long Enough About Muhlen; There Were So Many Other Interesting
Things On Earth. A Contemptible Little Episode! He Decided To Relegate
It Into The Category Of Unimportant Events. He Was Glad That The Whole
Affair Had Remained In The Background, So To Speak, Of His Nepenthean
Experiences. It Seemed Appropriate. Odd, All The Same, That The Most
Respectable Woman On The Island Should Be A Murderess.
"Dear Me!" He Mused. "How Very Queer. It Never Struck Me In The Light
Before. Shows How Careful One Must Be. . . . And A Relation Of Mine
Into The Bargain. H'm. Some People, If They Knew, Would Call It A
Compromising Situation. Well, I Begin To Think It Rather Creditable
Than Otherwise To Our Family. We Want More Women Of This Kind On Earth.
All Mothers Ought To Be Tiger Mothers. . . ."
"Don't You Notice, Count, That There Is An Unwonted Sparkle In The Air
This Evening? Something Cleansing, Clarifying?"
"To Be Sure I Do," Replied The Other. "And I Can Tell You The Cause Of
It. Sirocco Is Over For The Present. The Wind Has Shifted To The North.
It Brightens All Nature. It Makes One See Things In Their True
Perspective, Doesn't It?"
"That Is Exactly What I Feel," Said Mr. Heard.
Chapter 40
The Symposium, That Evening, Might Have Degenerated Into Something Like
An Orgy But For The Masterful Intervention Of Denis Who Was Not Going
To Let Keith Make A Fool Of Himself. It Took Place In The Most Famous
Of All The Caves Of Nepenthe-Luisella's Grotto-Cavern Dedicated, By
Common Usage, To The Worship Of Venus And Bacchus.
There Were Two Or Three Living Rooms On The Surface Of The Ground.
Walking Through The First Of These You Clambered Down Some Slippery
Stairs Into What Was Once A Breathless Subterranean Vault Hewn Out Of
The Soft And Dry Pumiceous Rock And Used, As Was Customary, For Storing
Barrels And Other Paraphernalia. In The Course Of Time, As More Barrels
Accumulated, The Grotto Was Excavated Further And Further Into The
Entrails Of The Island. There Seemed No Reason Why It Should Ever Cease
Growing When Suddenly, One Day, The Perspiring Workmen Were Struck In
The Face By A Cool Blast Of Wind Laden With Marine Moisture. They Knew
What This Meant. They Had Encountered One Of Those Mysterious And
Dangerous Fissures That Lead Down To Unknown Depths, Opening Upon The
World Of Sunshine Often At The Water's Edge, Four Hundred Feet Below.
It Was Deemed Prudent To Suspend Excavations. These Rents In The
Interior Of The Earth Had A Knack Of Enlarging Themselves, Without A
Word Of Warning, From Cracks Of A Few Inches To Black Gulfs Several
Hundred Feet Across. The Cavern Ceased To Grow. As A Matter Of Fact, It
Turned Out To Be Just Large Enough.
That Current Of Air Ventilating The Grotto Made The Fortune Of These
Orphan Girls--Luisella And Her Three Sisters. The Barrels And Other
Lumber Once Removed, The Recess Became A Breezy Night-Tavern, Its
Natural Vaulting Being First Whitewashed And Then Adorned, By
Master-Hand, With Thrilling Pictures Of Crimson Fish Afloat Upon
Caerulean Waves, And Piles Of Bossy Pumpkins, And Birds Of Paradise With
Streaming Golden Feathers, And Goats At Pasture Among Blue Lilies, And
Horses Prancing Over Emerald Mountains, And Trees Laden With Flowers
And Fruits Such As No Mortal Had Ever Seen Or Tasted. It Was An Ideal
Place For A Carousal.
They Could Cook, Those Girls. Their Savoury Stews And Vegetable Soups
And Fritturas Of Every Description Were Known Far And Wide. It Was
Universally Agreed That Nobody Could Make A More Appetizing Mayonnaise
Sauce For Cold Fish And Lobsters. No Mayonnaise Was Quite Like Theirs;
No, Not Quite. Its Flavour Lingered On The Palate; It Haunted Your
Memory In Distant Lands, Like The After-Glow Of Some Happy Love-Affair.
Nice Girls, Too; Well-Mannered; Not Very Difficult To Caress, And Never
Jealous Of Each Other. "It's All In The Family," They Used To Declare.
"Am I Right, Then, Or Am I Wrong?" Asked Mr. Keith, Whose Pomposity Was
Melting Away Under Successive Bottles Of His Own Wine, Specially
Imported To Grace The Table.
The Honest Vice-President Of The Club, Mr. Richards, Was Pretty Far
Gone, But Could Always Be Relied Upon To Say Something Opposite. That
Was Due To His Legal Training. Once A Thriving Solicitor, He Had Been
Struck Off The Rolls In Consequence Of Some Stupid Trustee Business
Which Turned Out All Wrong And Thereafter Driven Along Devious Paths
Known Only To Himself: Hence His Residence On Nepenthe. He Replied:
"That Depends Entirely, My Dear Sir, Upon What You Postulated."
"The Older I Get," Observed Mr. Van Koppen, "The More I Realize That
Everything Depends Upon What A Man Postulates. The Rest Is Plain
Sailing."
"I Never Heard A Truer Remark," Said Keith, "Not Even From You! One Has
Only To Posit A Thing, And It's Done. Don't You Agree, Bishop? Here Is
What I Would Call A Worn-Out Earthenware Plate. It Is Not A Plate
Unless I Tell It To Be A Plate. You May Call It Anything You Like--It
Can't Answer Back. But We Need Not Pursue The Argument. Speaking For
Myself, I Am Feeling As Comfortable As A Beetle In A Rose."
The Vice-President Remarked:
"We All Know What It Means When Mr. Keith Becomes Horticultural In His
Similes. It Means The Same Thing As When I Become Legal. Gentlemen! I
Propose To Grow Legal Within The Next Half-Hour Or So."
"You Promised To Tell Me The History Of Your Cannas," Said Mr. Heard.
"You Were Going To Tell It Me Too," Answered Denis.
"I Did. I Was. And I Will. But Let Me Ask You This: Have You Ever Heard
Of A Teetotaler Conspicuous For Kindliness Of Heart, Or Intellectually
Distinguished In Any Walk Of Life? I Should Be Glad To Know His Name. A
Sorry Crew! Not Because They Drink Water, But Because The State Of Mind
Which Makes Them Dread Alcohol Is Unpropitious To The Hatching Of Any
Generous Idea. When Men Have Well Drunk. I Like That Phrase. When Men
Have Well Drunk. I Am Inclined To Think That The Aramaic Text Has Not
Been Tampered With At This Point. What Do You Say, Heard?"
"Nothing Is More Improbable," Replied The Bishop. "And The Water, You
Perceive, Was Changed Into Wine; Not Into Cocoa Or Lemonade. That
Conveys, If I Am Not Mistaken, Rather A Suggestive Implication."
"I Have Been Pursuing Seneca's Letters. He Was A Cocoa-Drinker,
Masquerading As An Ancient. An Objectionable Hypocrite! I Wish People
Would Read Seneca Instead Of Talking About Him."
Van Koppen Observed:
"What A Man Postulates Is Truer Than What Exists. I Have Grown Grey In
Trying To Make My Fellow-Creatures Understand That Realities Are Less
Convincing Than Make-Believe."
"Given The Proper Atmosphere," Said The Bishop, Laughing, "Everything
Becomes Inevitable. If You Were Wrong, Mr. Van Koppen, Where Would Our
Poets And Novelists Be?"
"Where Are They?" Queried The American.
"How Shall That Come Out Of A Man," Continued Mr. Heard, "Which Was
Never In Him? How Shall He Generate A Harmonious Atmosphere If He Be
Disharmonious Himself? It Is All A Question Of Plausibility, Of
Verisimi--Simili--"
"I Never Heard A More Profound Remark, Koppen, No, Nor A More Subtle
One; Not Even From You. Nor Yet From You, Heard. And I Can Tell You
Something To The Point. I Was Talking This Afternoon With A Gentleman
About The Stage. I Said It Made Me Said To See Flesh-And-Blood People
Pretending To Be Kings And Queens. Because It Cannot Be Done. No
Sensible Person Can Bring Himself To Believe It. But When You Watch
Some Of These Local Marionette Theatres The Illusion Is Complete. Why
Is A Poppy Show More Convincing Than The Comedie Francaise? Because It
Is Still Further Removed From Reality. There Is So Much Make-Belief
That You Cease To Struggle. You Succumb Without An Effort. You Are
Quite Disposed, You Are Positively Anxious, To Make Concessions To The
Improbable. Once They Are Made--Why, As You Say, It Is Plain Sailing."
"All Life Is A Concession To The Improbable," Observed The Bishop
Rather Vaguely.
Mr. Richards Remarked:
"These Questions Must Be Approached With An Open Mind. An Open Mind,
Gentlemen, Is Not Necessarily An Empty One."
"A Fine Distinction!"
"Very Well. Mr. Keith Proposes To Abolish Theatres. I Second The
Motion. Nothing Is Easier. Let Me Draw Up A Memorial To The House Of
Lords. We Will Appeal To Them On Moral Grounds. I Know The Proper
Language. Whereas By The Grace Of God Your Petitioners Humbly Protest
That There Is Too Much Kissing On The Stage--Ah! Talking Of Kissing,
Here Comes Our Friend Don Francesco. He Shall Put His Name To The
Memorial And Seal It With An Oath. No Englishman Can Resist A
Monsignor. And Nothing Like A Solemn Oath. People Always Think You Mean
It."
That Amiable Personage Strode Down The Stairs In Dignified Fashion,
Greeting The Guests With A Sonorous:
"Pax Vobiscum!"
He Could Not Be Induced To Stay Long, However. He Had Been Perturbed
All Day On Account Of The Duchess Who Now Threatened To Join The
Moravian Brotherhood; She Was So Annoyed About A Little Thing Which Had
Happened. He Did Not Quite Believe It, Of Course; But, Like A
Well-Trained Priest, Took Nothing For Granted And Was Prepared For
Every Emergency Where Ladies Are Concerned.
"Just One Glass!" Said Keith.
"Let Me Drink To Your Health Ere We Part," Added The Bishop. "I Am
Sorry To Leave You. Our Friendship Will Endure. We Meet In September,
During The Vintage Season. Keith Has Been Talking To Me. I Am As Wax In
His Hands. Your Smile, Don Francesco, Will Follow Me Across The Ocean.
Just One Glass!"
"Ah, Well!" Said The Priest. "The Next Best Thing To Leading Others
Astray Is To Be Led Astray Oneself."
He Gulped Down A Couple Of Tumblers And Dutifully Took His Leave,
Turning Round, As He Reached The Staircase, To Make A Playful Gesture
Of Benediction Towards The Assembled Company.
"Don't Leave Your Bottle Half Empty," Keith Called After Him,
Imploringly. "It Looks Untidy."
"And So Unhappy," Added The Bishop. "Dear Me! This Is Most Singular. I
Seem To See Two Lamps Instead Of One. It Must Have Been Those
Apricots."
Keith Interposed:
"Or Perhaps You Strained One Of Your Eyes Bathing. It Has Happened To
Me, Occasionally. Darkness Is The Best Remedy. It Rests The Optic
Nerve."
"Shall We Take A Turn Or Two Outside?" Asked Denis.
It Was Past Midnight As The Two Climbed Out Of The Cave Into The Night
Air. A Cool North Wind Blew Across The Market-Place. The Bishop Was
Filled With A Sense--A Clear-Cut, All-Convincing Sense--Of The
Screamingly Funny Insignificance Of Everything. Then He Noticed The
Moon.
It Dangled Over The Water, Waning, Sickly, Moth-Eaten, Top-Heavy, And
Altogether Out Of Condition--As If It Had Been On Duty For Weeks On End.
In Other Respects, Too, Its Appearance Was Not Quite Normal. In Fact,
It Soon Took To Behaving In The Most Extraordinary Fashion. Sometimes
There Were Two Moons, And Sometimes One. They Seemed
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