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

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.

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