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

Account?

"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