South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) by Norman Douglas (novels for students TXT) 📕

Located. Blood,  The Blood Of The Sacred Sixty-Three,  Began To Flow. At

That Sight The Women,  As Their Manner Is,  Set Up A Scream.

The Palace Of Justice Abutted On The Market-Place,  And Up To That

Moment His Worship Signor Malipizzo Might Have Been Lost To The World,

So Deeply Immersed Was He In Threading The Labyrinthine Mazes Of An

Exceptionally Intricate Affiliation Case--A Warm Document,  After His Own

Heart. The Sound Of The Scream Suspended His Labours. Like A Gouty

Parrot He Hopped Down From His Seat Of Judgment,  Spat On The Floor,

Limped To The Window And Took In The Situation At A Glance. That Is To

Say,  He Understood The Cause Of The Disturbance As Little As Did Any

One Else; It Would Have Required A Divine Inspiration To Guess That A

Box Of Wax Vestas Was At The Bottom Of The Affair; But He Knew Enough,

Quite Enough,  More Than Enough,  For The Purpose At Hand. He Knew,  To

Begin With,  That Apostles Were Involved In The Brawl. He Knew,  What Was

Equally Important,  The Provisions Of The Penal Code. It Sufficed. His

Chance For Dealing With The Russian Colony Had At Last Arrived.

Allowing Himself Barely Time To Smack His Lips At This Providential

Interlude He Gave Orders For The Great Cannon Of Duke Alfred To Be

Sounded. It Boomed Once Or Twice Over Nepenthe And Reverberated Among

The Rocks.

In Times Of Yore A Certain Interval Was Wont To Elapse Before The

Militia Could Be Assembled,  Living As They Did In Distant Regions Of

The Island. But Nowadays,  As Befitted A Laborious Rural Population,

They Were Spending Their Morning In The Wine-Shops Of The Town,

Gambling,  Drinking,  Or Playing Skittles. This Enabled A Sufficient

Number Of Them To Forgather,  In An Incredibly Short Space Of Time,  At

The Outskirts Of The Market-Place (Occupied By A Seething,  Howling

Tangle Of Humanity)--There To Receive The Plainest Of Instructions. They

Were To Quell The Disorder And To Single Out For Punishment,  Whenever

Possible,  The Strangers,  The Obvious Authors Of The Rebellion,  Easily

Discernible By Their Scarlet Blouses. Not That The Judge Was Particular

About The Lives Or Deaths Of A Few Natives; He Knew That Any Injuries

Received By His Countrymen Would Strengthen His Case Against The

Outsiders. But An Order Couched In Such Terms Would Look Well In The

Records Of The Court.

Within Ten Minutes The Market-Place Was Cleared. The Militia Had Used

Their Weapons With Such Precision That Four School Children,  Seven

Women,  Eleven Islanders,  And Twenty-Six Apostles Were Wounded--About

Half Of Them,  It Was Believed,  Mortally. Order Reigned In Nepenthe.

The Warm Affiliation Case Having Been Laid On Ice For The Nonce,  The

Next Few Minutes Were Occupied By His Worship In Issuing Warrants Of

Arrest Against The Messiah's Followers. They Were Lodged By Batches In

Gaol,  And In Supplementary Gaols--Disused Cellars And So Forth. Once

Under Lock And Key They Were Safe From Mischief For An Indefinite

Length Of Time,  Since According To The Statutes Of The Code Of Criminal

Procedure,  There Is No Reason On Earth Why An Italian Lawsuit Should

Ever End,  Or Indeed,  Why It Should Ever Begin. They Might,  And Probably

Would,  Remain Incarcerated For Life,  Pending The Commencement Of A

Trial Which Could Only Be Set In Motion By The Judge Himself--A Most

Improbable Conjuncture--Or,  Failing That,  By An Extravagant Bribe To His

Official Superior,  The President Of The Court Of Cassation. How Were

Poor Apostles To Find The Necessary Sixty Or Seventy Francs For Such A

Venture?

His Worship Retired To Luncheon,  Reasonably Satisfied With The

Morning's Work. And Yet Not Altogether Delighted. Both The Messiah And

Peter The Great Had Eluded His Wrath. Peter Was Able To Prove,  Beyond

The Shadow Of A Doubt,  That He Had Spent The Last Twenty-Four Hours On

Madame Steynlin's Premises And Knew Nothing Whatever Of Occurrences In

The Outside World. In The Face Of Such A Fact--So Comfortable To Common

Knowledge,  So Inherently Probable--Malipizzo Gave Way. He Was Too Good A

Lawyer To Spoil His Case. Sooner Or Later,  He Foresaw,  That Bird Would

Be Caged With The Rest Of Them. Regarding The Messiah,  An Unexpected

And Breathless Appeal For Mercy Was Lodged By The Communal Doctor,

Atheist And Freemason Like The Judge,  Who Implored,  With Tears In His

Eyes,  That The Warrant For His Arrest Should Be Rescinded. By Means Of

A Sequence Of Rapid And Intricate Masonic Signs,  He Explained That

Bazhakuloff Was A Patient Of His; That He Was Undergoing A Daily

Treatment With The Stomach-Pump; That The Prison Diet Being Notoriously

Slender,  He Feared That If He,  The Messiah,  Were Confined In Captivity,

Than It,  The Stomach-Pump,  Would Be No Longer Required And Therefore

He,  The Physician,  A Family Man,  Deprived Of A Small But Regular Source

Of Income. Again The Astute Judge Relented. This Is How The Messiah And

His Disciple Escaped.

They Escaped,  But Not For Long.

And All This Happened While Mr. Keith And His Companion,  Drowsily

Ensconced Among The Morocco Cushions Of Their Boat,  Were Being Wafted

Over The Blue Sea,  Far Away,  Under The Cliffs.

"The Devil's Rock,  Gentlemens! The Rock Of The Devil. Where The Young

English Lord Jump Over. Everyone Know That Story."

The Word "Devil" Caused The Bishop To Wake Up From His Pleasant Dreams

With Something Of A Start.

"You Had Better Take A Good Look At That Cliff," Suggested Mr. Keith.

"It Is Not Only The Finest On The Island But,  I Fancy,  The Finest On

The Whole Mediterranean. Those On The Spanish Coast And On Mount Athos

Lack The Wonderful Colour And The Clean Surface Of This One. Looks As

If It Had Been Done With A Knife,  Doesn't It? Alpine Crags Seem

Vertical But Are Nearly Always Inclined; Their Primary Rock,  You Know,

Cannot Flake Off Abruptly Like This Tufa. This Is A Genuine Precipice.

Plumb!"

"Terrific," Said Mr. Heard. "What Was That About The English Lord?"

"Two Young Fellows Who Rented The Villa At The Back Of It For A Summer.

They Used To Bathe And Booze All Day Long. I Was Not On The Island At

The Time,  But Of Course I Heard About It. One Day The Younger One

Jumped Over The Edge Of The Cliff For A Bet; Said He Was Going To Dive.

They Never Recovered His Body. There Is A Strong Current At This Point.

That's So,  Isn't It,  Antonio?"

"That So,  Gentlemens. Drink Branty All The Time,  Both Of Them. But

Little One--Everybody Smile At Him. Pretty Boy. Swim And Dive,  Something

Lovely. One Evening Both Get Drunk And Walk Along The Edge Of Cliff Up

There. Then Little One,  He Say: I Good Diver,  Eh,  What,  Friend? Big One

Say: You Dive Prettier Than Dolphin.--What Bet,  Over Cliff Here,

Now?--Six Bottle Branty.--Done! Clothes Off,  Over He Go,  Like A Sea-Bird.

All Finished. That So,  Gentlemens. Next Morning They Bring Clothes To

Big One Into House. Big One,  When He Wake Up And See Clothes Lying

There,  With No Friend Inside,  He Very Angry With Servants And Everybody

Else,  And Drink No More Branty For Three Days. Dam-Fool Foreigners."

"That's A Tragedy,  Anyhow," Said The Bishop.

"You Are Right. It Is Quite Artistic--That Touch About Bringing Back The

Clothes,  The Empty Shell,  Next Morning. Quite Artistic."

Mr. Heard Looked Up At The Crag. It Made Him Dizzy To Picture Some

Human Body Hurtling Through The Air From That Awful Height. Its Surface

Was Of Perfect Smoothness. But What Struck Him Even More Was The

Uncommon And Almost Menacing Coloration. The Rock Was Bluish Black,

Spattered With Maculations Of A Ruddy Sanguine Tint,  As Though Drops Of

Blood Had Oozed Out,  In Places,  From Its Stony Heart.

"I Remember Mrs. Meadows Telling Me That Story," He Said To Keith.

"Isn't Her Villa At The Back?"

"The Very Place. By The Way,  When Next You Call,  Would You Please Say

Something Particularly Nice De Ma Part? I Don't See Half Enough Of That

Lady,  Considering How Much I Like Her. How Is She?"

"Complains Of Headache."

"Headache? That Is Very Unlike Mrs. Meadows. I Always Look Upon Her As

A Bundle Of Steel Springs. Perhaps Something Is Wrong With The Baby."

"Maybe," Replied The Bishop. "She Seems To Dote On It."

Then That Last Visit To His Cousin Suddenly Recurred To Him; He

Remembered Her Conversation--He Thought Of The Lonely Woman Up Thee.

Strange! Somehow Or Other,  She Had Been At The Back Of His Mind All The

Time. He Decided To Call Again In A Day Or Two.

Keith Said:

"I Should Not Like To Come Between Her And The Child. That Woman Is A

Tiger--Mother. . . . Heard,  There Has Been Something In Your Mind All

Day Long. What Is It?"

"I Believe There Has. I'll Try To Explain. You Know Those Japanese

Flowers--" He Began,  And Then Broke Off.

"I Am Glad You Are Becoming Terrestrial At Last. Nothing Like Mother

Earth! You Cannot Think How Much Money I Wasted On Japanese Plants,

Especially Bulbs,  Before I Convinced Myself That They Cannot Be Grown

On This Soil."

"Those Paper Flowers,  I Mean,  Which We Used To Put In Our Finger-Bowls

At Country Dinner Tables. They Look Like Shrivelled Specks Of

Cardboard. But In The Water They Begin To Grow Larger And To Unfold

Themselves Into Unexpected Patterns Of Flowers Of All Colours. That Is

How I Feel--Expanding,  And Taking On Other Tints. New Problems,  New

Influences,  Are At Work Upon Me. It Is As If I Needed Altogether Fresh

Standards. Sometimes I Feel Almost Ashamed--"

"Ashamed? My Dear Heard,  This Will Never Do. You Must Take A Blue Pill

When We Get Home."

"Can It Be The South Wind?"

"Everybody Blames The Poor Sirocco. I Imagine You Have Long Been

Maturing For This Change,  Unbeknown To Yourself. And What Does It Mean?

Only That You Are Growing Up. Nobody Need Be Ashamed Of Growing Up. . . .

Here We Are,  At Last! We Will Land At The Little Beach Yonder,  Near

The End Of That Gulley. You Can Go Ashore And Have A Look At The Old

Thermal Establishment. It Used To Be A Gay Place With A Theatre And

Ballrooms And Banqueting Rooms. Nobody Dare Enter It Nowadays. Haunted!

Perhaps You Will See The Ghost. As For Me,  I Mean To Take A Swim. I

Always Feel As If I Needed A Bath After Talking About Religion. You

Don't Mind My Saying So,  Do You?"

Mr. Heard,  Climbing Upwards From The Beach,  Felt As Though He Did Not

Mind What Anyone Said About Anything.

With The Devil's Rock The Most Imposing Tract Of Nepenthean

Cliff--Scenery Came To An Abrupt End. That Mighty Escarpment Was Its

Furthest Outpost. Thereafter The Land Fell Seawards No Longer

Precipitously,  But In Wavy Earthen Slopes Intersected By Ravines Which

The Downward-Rushing Torrents Of Winter Had Washed Out Of The Loose

Soil. It Was At The Termination Of One Of These Dry Stream-Beds That

Mr. Heard Set Foot On Shore. Panting Under The Relentless Heat He Wound

His Way Along A Path Once Carefully Tended And Engineered,  But Now

Crumbling To Decay.

Before Him,  On A Treeless Brown Eminence,  Silhouetted Against The Blue

Sky,  Stood The Ruin. It Was A Fanciful Woe-Begone Structure,  Utterly

Desolate. The Plaster,  Gnawed Away By Winds Laden With Searching

Sea-Moisture,  Had Fallen To Earth,  Exposing The Underlying Masonry Of

Cheap Construction Whose Rusty Colour Was The Same As That Of The

Ground From Which It Had Arisen,  And Into Which It Now Seemed Ready And

Eager To Descend. Everything Useful Or Portable,  Everything That Spoke

Of Man's Occupation,  Everything That Suggested Life And Comfort--The

Porcelain Tiles,  Woodwork,  Window-Panes,  Roofings,  Mosaic Or Marble

Floors,  Leaden Pipes--All This Had Been Carried Away Long Ago. It Stood

There Stark,  Dismantled,  De-Humanized,  In The Midday Heat. Here Was

Nothing To Charm The Eye Or Conjure Up Visions Of Past Glory; Nothing

Elegant Or Romantic; Nothing Savouring Of Grim Warlike Purposes. It Was

A Modern Ruin; A Pile Of Rubbish; A Shameless,  Frivolous Skeleton.

Those Hastily Built Walls And Staring Windows Wore An Air Of Faded

Futility,  Almost Of Indecency--As Though The Mouldering Bones Of Some

Long-Forgotten Lady Of Pleasure Had Crept Out Of Their Tomb To Give

Themselves An Airing In The Sunshine.

Mr. Heard,