the unbearable bassington-第25章

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toilet　would　occupy　his　attention　till　he　appeared　at　the　luncheon　

table。　　There　were　not　many　people　breakfasting　when　Elaine　arrived　

on　the　scene；　but　the　room　seemed　to　be　fuller　than　it　really　was　

by　reason　of　a　penetrating　voice　that　was　engaged　in　recounting　how　

far　the　standard　of　Viennese　breakfast　fare　fell　below　the　

expectations　and　desires　of　little　Jerome　and　the　girls。



〃If　ever　little　Jerome　becomes　President　of　the　United　States；〃　

said　Elaine；　〃I　shall　be　able　to　contribute　quite　an　informing　

article　on　his　gastronomic　likes　and　dislikes　to　the　papers。〃



The　aunts　were　discreetly　inquisitive　as　to　the　previous　evening's　

entertainment。



〃If　Elaine　would　flirt　mildly　with　somebody　it　would　be　such　a　good　

thing；〃　said　Mrs。　Goldbrook；　〃it　would　remind　Courtenay　that　he's　

not　the　only　attractive　young　man　in　the　world。〃



Elaine；　however；　did　not　gratify　their　hopes；　she　referred　to　the　

ball　with　the　detachment　she　would　have　shown　in　describing　a　

drawing…room　show　of　cottage　industries。　　It　was　not　difficult　to　

discern　in　her　description　of　the　affair　the　confession　that　she　

had　been　slightly　bored。　　From　Courtenay；　later　in　the　day；　the　

aunts　received　a　much　livelier　impression　of　the　festivities；　from　

which　it　was　abundantly　clear　that　he　at　any　rate　had　managed　to　

amuse　himself。　　Neither　did　it　appear　that　his　good　opinion　of　his　

own　attractions　had　suffered　any　serious　shock。　　He　was　distinctly　

in　a　very　good　temper。



〃The　secret　of　enjoying　a　honeymoon；〃　said　Mrs。　Goldbrook　

afterwards　to　her　sister；　〃is　not　to　attempt　too　much。〃



〃You　mean　…　？〃



〃Courtenay　is　content　to　try　and　keep　one　person　amused　and　happy；　

and　he　thoroughly　succeeds。〃



〃I　certainly　don't　think　Elaine　is　going　to　be　very　happy；〃　said　

her　sister；　〃but　at　least　Courtenay　saved　her　from　making　the　

greatest　mistake　she　could　have　made　…　marrying　that　young　

Bassington。〃



〃He　has　also；〃　said　Mrs。　Goldbrook；　〃helped　her　to　make　the　next　

biggest　mistake　of　her　life　…　marrying　Courtenay　Youghal。







CHAPTER　XVI







IT　was　late　afternoon　by　the　banks　of　a　swiftly　rushing　river；　a　

river　that　gave　back　a　haze　of　heat　from　its　waters　as　though　it　

were　some　stagnant　steaming　lagoon；　and　yet　seemed　to　be　whirling　

onward　with　the　determination　of　a　living　thing；　perpetually　eager　

and　remorseless；　leaping　savagely　at　any　obstacle　that　attempted　to　

stay　its　course；　an　unfriendly　river；　to　whose　waters　you　committed　

yourself　at　your　peril。　　Under　the　hot　breathless　shade　of　the　

trees　on　its　shore　arose　that　acrid　all…pervading　smell　that　seems　

to　hang　everywhere　about　the　tropics；　a　smell　as　of　some　monstrous　

musty　still…room　where　herbs　and　spices　have　been　crushed　and　

distilled　and　stored　for　hundreds　of　years；　and　where　the　windows　

have　seldom　been　opened。　　In　the　dazzling　heat　that　still　held　

undisputed　sway　over　the　scene；　insects　and　birds　seemed　

preposterously　alive　and　active；　flitting　their　gay　colours　through　

the　sunbeams；　and　crawling　over　the　baked　dust　in　the　full　swing　

and　pursuit　of　their　several　businesses；　the　flies　engaged　in　

Heaven　knows　what；　and　the　fly…catchers　busy　with　the　flies。　　

Beasts　and　humans　showed　no　such　indifference　to　the　temperature；　

the　sun　would　have　to　slant　yet　further　downward　before　the　earth　

would　become　a　fit　arena　for　their　revived　activities。　　In　the　

sheltered　basement　of　a　wayside　rest…house　a　gang　of　native　

hammock…bearers　slept　or　chattered　drowsily　through　the　last　hours　

of　the　long　mid…day　halt；　wide　awake；　yet　almost　motionless　in　the　

thrall　of　a　heavy　lassitude；　their　European　master　sat　alone　in　an　

upper　chamber；　staring　out　through　a　narrow　window…opening　at　the　

native　village；　spreading　away　in　thick　clusters　of　huts　girt　

around　with　cultivated　vegetation。　　It　seemed　a　vast　human　ant…

hill；　which　would　presently　be　astir　with　its　teeming　human　life；　

as　though　the　Sun　God　in　his　last　departing　stride　had　roused　it　

with　a　careless　kick。　　Even　as　Comus　watched　he　could　see　the　

beginnings　of　the　evening's　awakening。　　Women；　squatting　in　front　

of　their　huts；　began　to　pound　away　at　the　rice　or　maize　that　would　

form　the　evening　meal；　girls　were　collecting　their　water　pots　

preparatory　to　a　walk　down　to　the　river；　and　enterprising　goats　

made　tentative　forays　through　gaps　in　the　ill…kept　fences　of　

neighbouring　garden　plots；　their　hurried　retreats　showed　that　here　

at　least　someone　was　keeping　alert　and　wakeful　vigil。　　Behind　a　hut　

perched　on　a　steep　hill…side；　just　opposite　to　the　rest…house；　two　

boys　were　splitting　wood　with　a　certain　languid　industry；　further　

down　the　road　a　group　of　dogs　were　leisurely　working　themselves　up　

to　quarrelling　pitch。　　Here　and　there；　bands　of　evil…looking　pigs　

roamed　about；　busy　with　foraging　excursions　that　came　unpleasantly　

athwart　the　border…line　of　scavenging。　　And　from　the　trees　that　

bounded　and　intersected　the　village　rose　the　horrible；　tireless；　

spiteful…sounding　squawking　of　the　iron…throated　crows。



Comus　sat　and　watched　it　all　with　a　sense　of　growing　aching　

depression。　　It　was　so　utterly　trivial　to　his　eyes；　so　devoid　of　

interest；　and　yet　it　was　so　real；　so　serious；　so　implacable　in　its　

continuity。　　The　brain　grew　tired　with　the　thought　of　its　unceasing　

reproduction。　　It　had　all　gone　on；　as　it　was　going　on　now；　by　the　

side　of　the　great　rushing　swirling　river；　this　tilling　and　planting　

and　harvesting；　marketing　and　store…keeping；　feast…making　and　

fetish…worship　and　love…making；　burying　and　giving　in　marriage；　

child…bearing　and　child…rearing；　all　this　had　been　going　on；　in　the　

shimmering；　blistering　heat　and　the　warm　nights；　while　he　had　been　

a　youngster　at　school；　dimly　recognising　Africa　as　a　division　of　

the　earth's　surface　that　it　was　advisable　to　have　a　certain　nodding　

acquaintance　with。



It　had　been　going　on　in　all　its　trifling　detail；　all　its　serious　

intensity；　when　his　father　and　his　grandfather　in　their　day　had　

been　little　boys　at　school；　it　would　go　on　just　as　intently　as　ever　

long　after　Comus　and　his　generation　had　passed　away；　just　as　the　

shadows　would　lengthen　and　fade　under　the　mulberry　trees　in　that　

far　away　English　garden；　round　the　old　stone　fountain　where　a　

leaden　otter　for　ever　preyed　on　a　leaden　salmon。



Comus　rose　impatiently　from　his　seat；　and　walked　wearily　across　the　

hut　to　another　window…opening　which　commanded　a　broad　view　of　the　

river。　　There　was　something　which　fascinated　and　then　depressed　one　

in　its　ceaseless　hurrying　onward　sweep；　its　tons　of　water　rushing　

on　for　all　time；　as　long　as　the　face　of　the　earth　should　remain　

unchanged。　　On　its　further　shore　could　be　seen　spread　out　at　

intervals　other　teeming　villages；　with　their　cultivated　plots　and　

pasture　clearings；　their　moving　dots　which　meant　cattle　and　goats　

and　dogs　and　children。　　And　far　up　its　course；　lost　in　the　forest　

growth　that　fringed　its　banks；　were　hidden　away　yet　more　villages；　

human　herding…grounds　where　men　dwelt　and　worked　and　bartered；　

squabbled　and　worshipped；　sickened　and　perished；　while　the　river　

went　by　with　its　endless　swirl　and　rush　of　gleaming　waters。　　One　

could　well　understand　primitive　early　races　making　propitiatory　

sacrifices　to　the　spirit　of　a　great　river　on　whose　shores　they　

dwelt。　　Time　and　the　river　were　the　two　great　forces　that　seemed　to　

matter　here。



It　was　almost　a　relief　to　turn　back　to　that　other　outlook　and　watch　

the　village　life　that　was　now　beginning　to　wake　in　earnest。　　The　

procession　of　water…fetchers　had　formed　itself　in　a　long　chattering　

line　that　stretched　river…wards。　　Comus　wondered　how　many　tens　of　

thousands　of　times　that　procession　had　been　formed　since　first　the　

village　came　into　existence。　　They　had　been　doing　it　while　he　was　

playing　in　the　cricket…fields　at　school；　while　he　was　spending　

Christmas　holidays　in　Paris；　while　he　was　going　his　careless　round　

of　theatres；　dances；　suppers　and　card…parties；　just　as　they　were　

doing　it　now；　they　would　be　doing　it　when　there　was　no　one　alive　

who　remembered　Comus　Bassington。　　This　thought　recurred　again　and　

again　with　painful　persistence；　a　morbid　growth　arising　in　part　

from　his　loneliness。



Staring　dumbly　out　at　the　toiling　sweltering　human　ant…hill　Comus　

marvelled　how　missionary　enthusiasts　could　labour　hopefully　at　the　

work　of　transplanting　their　religion；　with　its　homegrown　accretions　

of　fatherly　parochial　benevolence；　in　this　heat…blistered；　fever…

scourged　wilderness；　where　men　lived　like　groundbait　and　died　like　

flies。　　Demons　one　might　believe　in；　if　one　did　not　hold　one's　

imagination　in　healthy　check；　but　a　kindly　all…managing　God；　never。　　

Somewhere　in　the　west　country　of　England　Comus　had　an　uncle　who　

lived　in　a　rose…smothered　rectory　and　taught　a　wholesome　gentle…

hearted　creed　that　expressed　itself　in　the　spirit　of　〃Little　lamb；　

who　made　thee？〃　and　faithfully　reflected　the　beautiful　homely　

Christ…child　sentiment　of　Saxon　Europe。　　What　a　far　away；　unreal　

fairy　story　it　all　seemed　here　in　this　West　African　land；　where　the　

bodies　of　men　were　of　as　little　account　as　the　bubbles　that　floated　

on　the　oily　froth　of　the　great　flowing　river；　and　where　it　required　

a　stretch　of　wild　profitless　imagination　to　credit　them　with　

undying　souls。　　In　the　life　he　had　come　from　Comus　had　been　

accustomed　to　think　of　individuals　as　definite　masterful　

personalities；　making　their　several　marks　on　the　circumstances　that　

revolved　around　them；　they　did　well　or　ill；　or　in　most　cases　

indifferently；　and　were　criticised；　praised；　blamed；　thwarted　or　

tolerated；　or　given　way　to。　　In　any　case；　humdrum　or　outstanding；　

they　had　their　spheres　of　importance；　little　or　big。　　They　

dominated　a　breakfast　table　or　harassed　a　Government；　according　to　

their　capabilities　or　opportunities；　or　perhaps　they　merely　had　

irritating　mannerisms。　　At　any　rate　it　seemed　highly　probable　that　

they　had　souls。　　Here　a　man　simply　made　a　unit　in　an　unnumbered　

population；　an　inconsequent　dot　in　a　loosely…compiled　deathroll。　　

Even　his　own　position　as　a　white　man　exalted　conspicuously　above　a　

horde　of　black　natives　did　not　save　Comus　from　the　depressing　sense　

of　nothingness　which　his　first　experience　of　fever　had　thrown　over　

him。　　He　was　a　lost；　soulless　body　in　this　great　uncaring　land；　if　

he　died　another　would　take　his　place；　his　few　effects　would　be　

inventoried　and　sent　down　to　the　coast；　someone　else　would　finish　

off　any　tea　or　whisky　that　he　left　behind　…　that　would　be　all。



It　was　nearly　time　to　be　starting　towards　the　next　halting　place　

where　he　would　dine　or　at　any　rate　eat　something。　　But　the　

lassitude　which　the　fever　had　bequeathed　him　made　the　tedium　of　

travelling　through　interminable　forest…tracks　a　weariness　to　be　

deferred　as　long　as　possible。　　The　bearers　were