Bacacay (16 page)
Authors: Bill Johnston Witold Gombrowicz
When, however, we reached the settlement, my skin began to cry for help—it contracted, it crawled, it tightened, it went mad from terror!
The entire village without exception was composed of lepers: the old folk, and the men, and the women, and the young girls, and the young boys, apart from a few small children who were set glaringly apart by their smoothness.
This particular form of the illness was called, to the best of my knowledge,
lepra anaesthetica,
or perhaps
lepra elephantiasis;
everything was rough, lumpy, carbuncular, tumid, and excrescent, in dull white, brown, or dirty red blotches, in pustules, scales, calluses, hardenings, in chronic ulcers.
But they were not humble or modest like their brothers in the cities of Asia who warn of their revolting presence from far off with a cry.
Oh no, not at all; it must be acknowledged at once that they had nothing in common with modesty or humility!
Quite the reverse—they formed a circle around me and crowded in on me so inquisitively and shamelessly, and they reached toward me so with horny and twisted fingernails, that I
threw myself at them, screaming and waving my fists.
They instantly disappeared into their shacks.
I left the village at once—but when I turned my head a few hundred paces on, I saw that the mob had come back out and was following me at a distance.
I stamped my foot.
They disappeared, but a moment later they reemerged.
The entire village without exception was composed of lepers: the old folk, and the men, and the women, and the young girls, and the young boys, apart from a few small children who were set glaringly apart by their smoothness.
This particular form of the illness was called, to the best of my knowledge,
lepra anaesthetica,
or perhaps
lepra elephantiasis;
everything was rough, lumpy, carbuncular, tumid, and excrescent, in dull white, brown, or dirty red blotches, in pustules, scales, calluses, hardenings, in chronic ulcers.
But they were not humble or modest like their brothers in the cities of Asia who warn of their revolting presence from far off with a cry.
Oh no, not at all; it must be acknowledged at once that they had nothing in common with modesty or humility!
Quite the reverse—they formed a circle around me and crowded in on me so inquisitively and shamelessly, and they reached toward me so with horny and twisted fingernails, that I
threw myself at them, screaming and waving my fists.
They instantly disappeared into their shacks.
I left the village at once—but when I turned my head a few hundred paces on, I saw that the mob had come back out and was following me at a distance.
I stamped my foot.
They disappeared, but a moment later they reemerged.
The island was no more than fifteen square kilometers in area, and it could be said that it was entirely uninhabited; the greater part of its surface was covered by a dense forest.
I walked along not particularly quickly and yet without a pause, not particularly nervously and yet stiffly, not particularly fearfully, and yet with a slightly quickened pace—for the whole time I could sense the blotchy monsters behind my back.
I didn’t want to turn around; I wanted to pretend that I knew nothing, that I could see nothing, and that only my back warned me of their slow approach.
I walked and walked ...
I walked in various directions like a traveler, like a tourist, like a searcher, first here, then there, more and more hurriedly, like a person with urgent business, but in the end I ran out of space and, having exhausted all the unwooded places, I started down a path into the tangled depths of the forest.
They drew significantly nearer—they were already right behind, and I could hear their whispers and the rustle of the branches.
Spotting someone’s lumpy skin creeping along behind a bush, I turned sharply to the left, jumped to the side as I caught sight amid the lianas of something like a hand in an advanced state of elephantiasis—and came out onto a little clearing.
They followed me.
Again I stamped my foot—they retreated into the jungle.
I walked on; they thronged forward again, persistent as rats, and their whispers,
prods, and nudges were becoming ever bolder.
Every hair of mine was stiff as a wire—what had these carbuncle-people seen in me?
What were they after?
Women know this—when all at once they’re accosted from behind with filthy jokes by an unruly band of good-for-nothings, while they scurry along with lowered head—and that is just how it was with me, exactly the same, point for point ...
I walked along not particularly quickly and yet without a pause, not particularly nervously and yet stiffly, not particularly fearfully, and yet with a slightly quickened pace—for the whole time I could sense the blotchy monsters behind my back.
I didn’t want to turn around; I wanted to pretend that I knew nothing, that I could see nothing, and that only my back warned me of their slow approach.
I walked and walked ...
I walked in various directions like a traveler, like a tourist, like a searcher, first here, then there, more and more hurriedly, like a person with urgent business, but in the end I ran out of space and, having exhausted all the unwooded places, I started down a path into the tangled depths of the forest.
They drew significantly nearer—they were already right behind, and I could hear their whispers and the rustle of the branches.
Spotting someone’s lumpy skin creeping along behind a bush, I turned sharply to the left, jumped to the side as I caught sight amid the lianas of something like a hand in an advanced state of elephantiasis—and came out onto a little clearing.
They followed me.
Again I stamped my foot—they retreated into the jungle.
I walked on; they thronged forward again, persistent as rats, and their whispers,
prods, and nudges were becoming ever bolder.
Every hair of mine was stiff as a wire—what had these carbuncle-people seen in me?
What were they after?
Women know this—when all at once they’re accosted from behind with filthy jokes by an unruly band of good-for-nothings, while they scurry along with lowered head—and that is just how it was with me, exactly the same, point for point ...
What did they want?
I did not yet understand, I did not immediately grasp the new idea, but I already mentioned the resemblance point for point ...
and if one went deeper into the essence of the situation from which I had been torn and suddenly transported onto this island—into that premarital anxiety, the church and the veil—then things could not have been any different ...
In a word—it had become clear that I excited them, that I excited them in a particular way—and though I could not fathom the source of this excitement, nor the meaning of their exclamations, their laughs, their revolting jokes, nevertheless the filthiness, the licentiousness, the lasciviousness were palpable—and in the voices of the men-monsters I sensed the lustful brutality, and in the voices of the women-monsters the spiteful amusement, which tended without exception to be brought out in human beings of all races and latitudes in only two cases—innocence or immaturity...
Oh, I would have accepted the leprosy alone; but not leprosy and eroticism together, oh no, for the love of God, erotic leprosy?
I took flight like a madman.
Seeing this, they rushed after me with a shout.
But their plodding elephantine shanks were no match for my mad panic!
I hid in the spreading crown of a tree, armed myself with a stout cudgel and swore to myself I’d crack the skull of the first one who came near.
I did not yet understand, I did not immediately grasp the new idea, but I already mentioned the resemblance point for point ...
and if one went deeper into the essence of the situation from which I had been torn and suddenly transported onto this island—into that premarital anxiety, the church and the veil—then things could not have been any different ...
In a word—it had become clear that I excited them, that I excited them in a particular way—and though I could not fathom the source of this excitement, nor the meaning of their exclamations, their laughs, their revolting jokes, nevertheless the filthiness, the licentiousness, the lasciviousness were palpable—and in the voices of the men-monsters I sensed the lustful brutality, and in the voices of the women-monsters the spiteful amusement, which tended without exception to be brought out in human beings of all races and latitudes in only two cases—innocence or immaturity...
Oh, I would have accepted the leprosy alone; but not leprosy and eroticism together, oh no, for the love of God, erotic leprosy?
I took flight like a madman.
Seeing this, they rushed after me with a shout.
But their plodding elephantine shanks were no match for my mad panic!
I hid in the spreading crown of a tree, armed myself with a stout cudgel and swore to myself I’d crack the skull of the first one who came near.
And there gradually was revealed to me the infernal combination—the infernal substance of this torture ...
I discovered the entire complex mechanism of probabilities that made this fantasy real.
No ship had visited the island for two or three centuries; it had been forgotten, as sometimes happens with such small and infertile little islands.
Its inhabitants had never seen a stranger here either in their own lifetime or that of their parents.
I discovered the entire complex mechanism of probabilities that made this fantasy real.
No ship had visited the island for two or three centuries; it had been forgotten, as sometimes happens with such small and infertile little islands.
Its inhabitants had never seen a stranger here either in their own lifetime or that of their parents.
Very well—but how should one understand the bawdiness, the lascivious jibes, the fearful pursuit, and the desire to accost?
Oh, it was easy!
It was easy—one had only to enter into the psychology of the black man’s Spirit, which had arranged all this (and in this respect I had already notched up certain experiences).
Since time immemorial, perhaps several generations, perhaps four, leprosy had afflicted them—and over the years they had assimilated it, accepted it as a natural quality of humankind ....
Blotchiness was, in their eyes, as natural to human beings as colorfulness is to butterflies; lumps were as natural as a rooster’s comb; and it would have been no easier for them to comprehend a person without carbuncles and pustules than it would have been for us to comprehend a person without a single hair on his skin.
And since they had not renounced love—since their children were born healthy, smooth, and pure—since it was only after a few years that they yielded to the pestilence, and the time when the skin began to thicken and form scales coincided with puberty ...
coming at the time of the first kiss ...
the first charms of love ...
accordingly, seeing me ridiculously smooth, utterly uncarbuncled, amusingly thin, just some hopping creature with a little pink face (oh yes, for them carbuncles, blotches, calluses, star-shaped and spindleshaped
pustules were what colors are for a butterfly, and what for us is the hair that turns a child into a man)—they had to think what they thought.
They had to nudge one another, taunt, mock, and torment, and when they realized that I was afraid of them, that, embarrassed and disgraced, I was running away—they had to send their monstrous maturity in delighted pursuit of my timid innocence, by the same infernal law that governs boys in school!
Oh, it was easy!
It was easy—one had only to enter into the psychology of the black man’s Spirit, which had arranged all this (and in this respect I had already notched up certain experiences).
Since time immemorial, perhaps several generations, perhaps four, leprosy had afflicted them—and over the years they had assimilated it, accepted it as a natural quality of humankind ....
Blotchiness was, in their eyes, as natural to human beings as colorfulness is to butterflies; lumps were as natural as a rooster’s comb; and it would have been no easier for them to comprehend a person without carbuncles and pustules than it would have been for us to comprehend a person without a single hair on his skin.
And since they had not renounced love—since their children were born healthy, smooth, and pure—since it was only after a few years that they yielded to the pestilence, and the time when the skin began to thicken and form scales coincided with puberty ...
coming at the time of the first kiss ...
the first charms of love ...
accordingly, seeing me ridiculously smooth, utterly uncarbuncled, amusingly thin, just some hopping creature with a little pink face (oh yes, for them carbuncles, blotches, calluses, star-shaped and spindleshaped
pustules were what colors are for a butterfly, and what for us is the hair that turns a child into a man)—they had to think what they thought.
They had to nudge one another, taunt, mock, and torment, and when they realized that I was afraid of them, that, embarrassed and disgraced, I was running away—they had to send their monstrous maturity in delighted pursuit of my timid innocence, by the same infernal law that governs boys in school!
On that island I survived two months of a monkey’s existence, hiding in the hollows of trees, in dense bushes and the tops of palms.
The monsters organized formal hunts for me.
Nothing could have amused them better than the embarrassment with which I rushed from their touch—they hid in the undergrowth, jumped out unexpectedly, ran along with a merry and lascivious roar—and had it not been for the characteristic
odor hircinus,
had it not been for the decrepitude of their degenerated limbs, and the desperate fear that augmented my strength, I would have fallen into their clutches a hundred times over.
And above all, if it had not been for my skin—my skin, contracting without a moment’s rest, susceptible, chapped, terrified, exhausted, in eternal perturbation.
I ceased to be anything else but skin—with it I would fall asleep and wake up, it was my only, it was my all.
The monsters organized formal hunts for me.
Nothing could have amused them better than the embarrassment with which I rushed from their touch—they hid in the undergrowth, jumped out unexpectedly, ran along with a merry and lascivious roar—and had it not been for the characteristic
odor hircinus,
had it not been for the decrepitude of their degenerated limbs, and the desperate fear that augmented my strength, I would have fallen into their clutches a hundred times over.
And above all, if it had not been for my skin—my skin, contracting without a moment’s rest, susceptible, chapped, terrified, exhausted, in eternal perturbation.
I ceased to be anything else but skin—with it I would fall asleep and wake up, it was my only, it was my all.
In the end I discovered by chance a few bottles of kerosene that had probably come from a shipwreck.
I managed to patch up the balloon—and I sailed away ....
But when I saw once again the beeches and pines, et cetera, and the familiar eyes, what on earth was I to do?
What was I to do, I, who was after all smooth, without lumps, without blotches, without calluses, without scales or
ulcers, thoroughly uncarbuncled?
...
What was I to do; could I now, pink and childlike, look into those eyes?
I managed to patch up the balloon—and I sailed away ....
But when I saw once again the beeches and pines, et cetera, and the familiar eyes, what on earth was I to do?
What was I to do, I, who was after all smooth, without lumps, without blotches, without calluses, without scales or
ulcers, thoroughly uncarbuncled?
...
What was I to do; could I now, pink and childlike, look into those eyes?
But since I could not—then I could not—and I parted from that which parted from me ....
Besides, soon afterward I was swept up by other adventures; oh yes, I never lacked for adventures.
I remember that in 1918 it was I and no one else who broke through the German line.
As was common knowledge, the trenches reached all the way to the seashore—it was a true system of deep, dry channels that stretched unbroken for five hundred kilometers or so.
And I was the only one who conceived the idea of irrigating those channels.
In the night I crept up, dug a ditch, and linked the trenches with the sea.
The water, surging uncontrollably, flooded them along the entire front, and the astonished Coalition armies saw the Germans soaked to the skin and jumping up in panic in the faint light of a misty morning.
Besides, soon afterward I was swept up by other adventures; oh yes, I never lacked for adventures.
I remember that in 1918 it was I and no one else who broke through the German line.
As was common knowledge, the trenches reached all the way to the seashore—it was a true system of deep, dry channels that stretched unbroken for five hundred kilometers or so.
And I was the only one who conceived the idea of irrigating those channels.
In the night I crept up, dug a ditch, and linked the trenches with the sea.
The water, surging uncontrollably, flooded them along the entire front, and the astonished Coalition armies saw the Germans soaked to the skin and jumping up in panic in the faint light of a misty morning.
The Events on the
Banbury
Banbury
In the spring of 1930, I decided to undertake a trip by sea—for personal reasons—to do with health and relaxation.
It was mainly that my situation on the European continent was becoming more disagreeable and indistinct with every day.
So I wrote to a shipping magnate of my acquaintance, Mr.
Cecil Burnett of Birmingham, to request that he find a berth for me on one of his numerous ships —and in no time at all I received a short reply by telegraph: “
Berenice
Brighton 17 April 09.00 sharp.”
But at Brighton, at the docks, there were so many sailing ships and steamships at anchor, and my baggage hindered my movements so, that I was a little less than fifteen minutes late, and the sailors and stevedores starting calling out urgently, as they always do—“Over there, over there, hurry up, sir, you can still make it!—hurry, hurry—get a move on, sir!
You’ll get there in time!”
I caught up with the
Berenice
by motor
launch, though without my luggage.
A rope ladder was lowered, up which I climbed onto the deck, in my haste not reading the name painted in large letters on the port side of the hull.
It was mainly that my situation on the European continent was becoming more disagreeable and indistinct with every day.
So I wrote to a shipping magnate of my acquaintance, Mr.
Cecil Burnett of Birmingham, to request that he find a berth for me on one of his numerous ships —and in no time at all I received a short reply by telegraph: “
Berenice
Brighton 17 April 09.00 sharp.”
But at Brighton, at the docks, there were so many sailing ships and steamships at anchor, and my baggage hindered my movements so, that I was a little less than fifteen minutes late, and the sailors and stevedores starting calling out urgently, as they always do—“Over there, over there, hurry up, sir, you can still make it!—hurry, hurry—get a move on, sir!
You’ll get there in time!”
I caught up with the
Berenice
by motor
launch, though without my luggage.
A rope ladder was lowered, up which I climbed onto the deck, in my haste not reading the name painted in large letters on the port side of the hull.
It was a large three-masted brig with a capacity of at least four thousand tons—and, as I inferred from the arrangement of the sails and the design of the bowspit, was sailing to Valparaiso with a cargo of sprats and herring.
Captain Clarke, an old sea dog with cheeks reddened by the wind, said straightforwardly:
Captain Clarke, an old sea dog with cheeks reddened by the wind, said straightforwardly:
“Welcome aboard the
Banbury,
sir.”
Banbury,
sir.”
The first officer agreed for a small sum to let me have his cabin.
But soon the seas began to swell, and I was beset by seasickness with an intensity I had never experienced before.
I rendered to the sea all that I had to render, and I groaned, void as an empty bottle and unable to meet the demands of the element, which was insisting on more, more ...
In a state of physical and moral torment, because of my unbearably empty stomach, I devoured my blanket, pillow, and window blind—but none of these objects remained inside me for longer than a second.
I further devoured the bedsheets and the first officer’s underwear, which he kept in a trunk marked with the letters BBS—but that too stayed only temporarily in my innards.
My groans passed through the cabin wall to the captain, who took pity on me and had a barrel of herring and a barrel of sprats rolled in.
It was only toward the evening of the third day, after consuming three quarters of the barrel of herring and half the sprats, that I more or less came to, and the movement of the pumps that cleaned out the ship came to a halt.
But soon the seas began to swell, and I was beset by seasickness with an intensity I had never experienced before.
I rendered to the sea all that I had to render, and I groaned, void as an empty bottle and unable to meet the demands of the element, which was insisting on more, more ...
In a state of physical and moral torment, because of my unbearably empty stomach, I devoured my blanket, pillow, and window blind—but none of these objects remained inside me for longer than a second.
I further devoured the bedsheets and the first officer’s underwear, which he kept in a trunk marked with the letters BBS—but that too stayed only temporarily in my innards.
My groans passed through the cabin wall to the captain, who took pity on me and had a barrel of herring and a barrel of sprats rolled in.
It was only toward the evening of the third day, after consuming three quarters of the barrel of herring and half the sprats, that I more or less came to, and the movement of the pumps that cleaned out the ship came to a halt.
We were passing the northwest coast of Portugal.
The
Banbury
was drifting at an average rate of eleven knots with a favorable
headwind.
The sailors were scrubbing the deck.
I gazed at the rocky land of Europe as it receded.
Farewell, Europe!
I felt hollow, aseptic and light; only my throat hurt hellishly.
Farewell, Europe!
I took a handkerchief from my pocket and waved it a couple of times—at which a little man standing in a mountain ravine responded also with a wave.
The ship moved briskly; water splashed at the bow and astern, and foaming billows rose as far as the eye could see.
The
Banbury
was drifting at an average rate of eleven knots with a favorable
headwind.
The sailors were scrubbing the deck.
I gazed at the rocky land of Europe as it receded.
Farewell, Europe!
I felt hollow, aseptic and light; only my throat hurt hellishly.
Farewell, Europe!
I took a handkerchief from my pocket and waved it a couple of times—at which a little man standing in a mountain ravine responded also with a wave.
The ship moved briskly; water splashed at the bow and astern, and foaming billows rose as far as the eye could see.
The deckhands, who up till this point had been scrubbing the fore-gangway, now began scrubbing the aft-gangway—their bent backs came close to me and I had to move out of the way.
The captain appeared for a moment on the bridge and raised a moistened finger to gauge the speed of the wind.
That same day, toward evening, a curious, as it were cautionary incident occurred that was related in some unspecified manner to my recent sickness: one of the sailors, a certain Dick Harties of central Caledonia, accidentally swallowed the end of a thin rope hanging from the mizzenmast.
As a consequence, I believe, of the peristaltic action of his digestive tract he began abruptly to draw the rope into himself—and before anyone had noticed, he had risen up it to the very top like a cable car in the mountains, his mouth gaping terrifyingly wide.
The peristaltic character of his digestive tract proved so powerful that it was impossible to pull him down; in vain did two sailors cling to each of his legs.
It was only after long deliberations that the first officer, whose name was Smith, had the idea of applying an emetic—but here another question arose: how could the emetic be introduced into the digestive tract since the latter was completely blocked by the rope?
At last, after even longer deliberations,
it was decided to act solely on the imagination through the eyes and nose.
At the officer’s order one of the deckhands shimmied up onto the mast and showed the patient a handful of severed rats’ tails on a plate.
The poor fellow looked at them with bulging eyes—but when a small fork was added to the tails, he suddenly remembered spaghetti from his childhood years—and he slid back down to the deck so fast he almost broke his legs.
This incident ought to have made me think, as, I repeat, it bore a certain analogy to my indisposition—it was not exactly the same, yet both cases involved feelings of sickness, with the difference that his case was of an absorptive, inward character, whereas mine was quite the opposite—outward in direction.
There was a certain erroneous resemblance here, much as in a mirror—the right ear appears on the left side, though the face is the same.
Aside from this, the rats’ tails also inclined one to reflection.
Nevertheless, for the time being I did not pay sufficient heed to all this—nor to the fact that the ship and the backs of the sailors were not so foreign to me as they should have been, given the short time I had been on board.
The captain appeared for a moment on the bridge and raised a moistened finger to gauge the speed of the wind.
That same day, toward evening, a curious, as it were cautionary incident occurred that was related in some unspecified manner to my recent sickness: one of the sailors, a certain Dick Harties of central Caledonia, accidentally swallowed the end of a thin rope hanging from the mizzenmast.
As a consequence, I believe, of the peristaltic action of his digestive tract he began abruptly to draw the rope into himself—and before anyone had noticed, he had risen up it to the very top like a cable car in the mountains, his mouth gaping terrifyingly wide.
The peristaltic character of his digestive tract proved so powerful that it was impossible to pull him down; in vain did two sailors cling to each of his legs.
It was only after long deliberations that the first officer, whose name was Smith, had the idea of applying an emetic—but here another question arose: how could the emetic be introduced into the digestive tract since the latter was completely blocked by the rope?
At last, after even longer deliberations,
it was decided to act solely on the imagination through the eyes and nose.
At the officer’s order one of the deckhands shimmied up onto the mast and showed the patient a handful of severed rats’ tails on a plate.
The poor fellow looked at them with bulging eyes—but when a small fork was added to the tails, he suddenly remembered spaghetti from his childhood years—and he slid back down to the deck so fast he almost broke his legs.
This incident ought to have made me think, as, I repeat, it bore a certain analogy to my indisposition—it was not exactly the same, yet both cases involved feelings of sickness, with the difference that his case was of an absorptive, inward character, whereas mine was quite the opposite—outward in direction.
There was a certain erroneous resemblance here, much as in a mirror—the right ear appears on the left side, though the face is the same.
Aside from this, the rats’ tails also inclined one to reflection.
Nevertheless, for the time being I did not pay sufficient heed to all this—nor to the fact that the ship and the backs of the sailors were not so foreign to me as they should have been, given the short time I had been on board.
The next day, over lunch, I asked Captain Clarke and Lieutenant Smith about the ship and about prospects for the remainder of the voyage.
“The ship is a good one,” replied the captain, puffing away at his pipe.
“First rate!”
confirmed Smith sarcastically.
confirmed Smith sarcastically.
“And even if it weren’t first rate!”
said the captain, surveying the expanse of waters with a proud and imperious gaze.
“Even if it weren’t first rate!
Let’s say there may be a crack here and there!”
said the captain, surveying the expanse of waters with a proud and imperious gaze.
“Even if it weren’t first rate!
Let’s say there may be a crack here and there!”
“Exactly,” said the first officer, looking at me antagonistically.
“Even if it weren’t first-rate.
Anyone who’s afraid of getting wet—is free to leave the ship whenever they wish.
By all means!”—he gestured at the waves.—“The landlubber!
God darn, that is, the ...
godda ...”
“Even if it weren’t first-rate.
Anyone who’s afraid of getting wet—is free to leave the ship whenever they wish.
By all means!”—he gestured at the waves.—“The landlubber!
God darn, that is, the ...
godda ...”
“Mr.
Smith,” said the captain, jiggling his finger in his ear, “order the crew to shout three times: Long live Captain Clarke, hip hip hurrah!”
We sailed on.
The weather was favorable.
The
Banbury
was plying an even course, its jib fully unfurled, amid steady waves.
A sea cow appeared on the horizon.
The sailors were now scrubbing the brass railings.
They were being supervised by the second officer, while the captain gazed out of the window of his cabin, a toothpick in his mouth.
Smith,” said the captain, jiggling his finger in his ear, “order the crew to shout three times: Long live Captain Clarke, hip hip hurrah!”
We sailed on.
The weather was favorable.
The
Banbury
was plying an even course, its jib fully unfurled, amid steady waves.
A sea cow appeared on the horizon.
The sailors were now scrubbing the brass railings.
They were being supervised by the second officer, while the captain gazed out of the window of his cabin, a toothpick in his mouth.
In this manner several days passed, in the course of which I explored the ship.
It was an old vessel, seriously gnawed by rats, huge numbers of which had bred below—in places the hull was completely eaten away, while the stern, as if out of spite, was filled with rat droppings.
All in all it was reminiscent of the old Spanish frigates.
The excess of rats I found far from delightful—these rodents have disagreeable habits; their fat tails are so long, the pointed tips so far away, that they lose their sense of the tail’s being connected with the rest of their body, as a consequence of which they are continuously prey to the ghastly illusion that they are dragging behind them a tasty piece of meat which is quite foreign to them and just right for devouring.
This makes them very nervous.
Sometimes they sink their teeth into their own tail, writhing with a squeal, as if mad with craving and in terrible pain.
The arrangement of the rigging and the disposition of the tackle, like
the design of the port side of the ship, entirely failed to meet with my approval—and when I saw the shape, dimensions, and hue of the ventilation pipes, I returned to my cabin with signs of great dissatisfaction and remained there till evening.
It was an old vessel, seriously gnawed by rats, huge numbers of which had bred below—in places the hull was completely eaten away, while the stern, as if out of spite, was filled with rat droppings.
All in all it was reminiscent of the old Spanish frigates.
The excess of rats I found far from delightful—these rodents have disagreeable habits; their fat tails are so long, the pointed tips so far away, that they lose their sense of the tail’s being connected with the rest of their body, as a consequence of which they are continuously prey to the ghastly illusion that they are dragging behind them a tasty piece of meat which is quite foreign to them and just right for devouring.
This makes them very nervous.
Sometimes they sink their teeth into their own tail, writhing with a squeal, as if mad with craving and in terrible pain.
The arrangement of the rigging and the disposition of the tackle, like
the design of the port side of the ship, entirely failed to meet with my approval—and when I saw the shape, dimensions, and hue of the ventilation pipes, I returned to my cabin with signs of great dissatisfaction and remained there till evening.
The crew intrigued me.
I shall pass over the stoicism with which the sailors would scrub clean a designated part of the ship, utterly unconcerned by the fact that they were tossing dirty water over the part they had previously cleaned.
But each time I tore my gaze from the sea and turned it toward the ship, I was struck by some unexpected sight.
Thus, for example, I would see four sailors sitting cross-legged on the deck and staring at their own feet.
On another occasion I saw a couple of seamen staring at their own hands.
In the evenings, I would overhear phrases chanted for hours on end:
I shall pass over the stoicism with which the sailors would scrub clean a designated part of the ship, utterly unconcerned by the fact that they were tossing dirty water over the part they had previously cleaned.
But each time I tore my gaze from the sea and turned it toward the ship, I was struck by some unexpected sight.
Thus, for example, I would see four sailors sitting cross-legged on the deck and staring at their own feet.
On another occasion I saw a couple of seamen staring at their own hands.
In the evenings, I would overhear phrases chanted for hours on end:
“Fish and sea birds feed behind the ship.”
A great
cleanliness
prevailed on the vessel; soap and water were applied almost constantly.
As I passed the sailors they would not raise their eyes—on the contrary, they would stoop all the more energetically over their work, such that I only ever saw backs bent like hoops.
Yet I had the obscure impression that whenever I was engrossed in contemplation of the horizon, the deckhands would begin conversing, of course only if no officer was in the vicinity—on land I have seen street sweepers who in similar fashion would set aside their broom and sprinkler when no one was watching.
The captain and the lieutenant mostly played dominos or, sitting opposite one another at the table, sang old music-hall songs from 1897—for navigation in a steady and favorable wind did not present any difficulties.
Nevertheless, not everything on the ship ran
like clockwork.
The sailors’ backs were bent too low when I passed by; their spines seemed fearful, and their big coarse hands, which they moved sluggishly beneath them, too easily became swollen and suffused with blood.
Encountering Smith as he strolled about the deck, I expressed my profound trust and faith that the crew of the
Banbury
was composed exclusively of good and brave fellows.
cleanliness
prevailed on the vessel; soap and water were applied almost constantly.
As I passed the sailors they would not raise their eyes—on the contrary, they would stoop all the more energetically over their work, such that I only ever saw backs bent like hoops.
Yet I had the obscure impression that whenever I was engrossed in contemplation of the horizon, the deckhands would begin conversing, of course only if no officer was in the vicinity—on land I have seen street sweepers who in similar fashion would set aside their broom and sprinkler when no one was watching.
The captain and the lieutenant mostly played dominos or, sitting opposite one another at the table, sang old music-hall songs from 1897—for navigation in a steady and favorable wind did not present any difficulties.
Nevertheless, not everything on the ship ran
like clockwork.
The sailors’ backs were bent too low when I passed by; their spines seemed fearful, and their big coarse hands, which they moved sluggishly beneath them, too easily became swollen and suffused with blood.
Encountering Smith as he strolled about the deck, I expressed my profound trust and faith that the crew of the
Banbury
was composed exclusively of good and brave fellows.
“I keep them in line with this, sir,” replied the lieutenant, displaying a small gimlet in his sinewy hand and swallowing the profanities that multiplied on his tongue.
“I keep them by the throat ...
The hardest thing is not to give one of them a kick on the backside—you see how they stick them out.
G ...
d ...—and if I were to kick one of them, for equality’s sake I’d have to kick them all without exception, and that would be foolish, foolish by Chr ...
I mean, the ...”—He shrugged, indicating he was at a loss.
The astonishing feeling of his own helplessness in the face of extraordinary idiocy struck him like a blow to the head.
The ship was moving forward, but monotonously, wave chasing after wave.
On the bridge I spotted the faint little glow of a small pipe—the captain was striding to and fro in his mackintosh.
“I keep them by the throat ...
The hardest thing is not to give one of them a kick on the backside—you see how they stick them out.
G ...
d ...—and if I were to kick one of them, for equality’s sake I’d have to kick them all without exception, and that would be foolish, foolish by Chr ...
I mean, the ...”—He shrugged, indicating he was at a loss.
The astonishing feeling of his own helplessness in the face of extraordinary idiocy struck him like a blow to the head.
The ship was moving forward, but monotonously, wave chasing after wave.
On the bridge I spotted the faint little glow of a small pipe—the captain was striding to and fro in his mackintosh.
“Sir,” he said, “do you know what it means to be the master of life and death?
Hello there—Mr.
Smith, come here a moment and take a look—ha ha ...”
Hello there—Mr.
Smith, come here a moment and take a look—ha ha ...”
“Ha ha,” laughed Smith, looking at me with small bloodshot eyes—“Papa and mama ..
By J ..., I mean, the ...”
By J ..., I mean, the ...”
“Papa and mama,” the captain repeated, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, “while here in fact there is no papa and mama!
This is a ship, sir—a ship on the ocean!
Far away from any consulates!”
This is a ship, sir—a ship on the ocean!
Far away from any consulates!”
“By my granny’s granny,” Smith swore with relish.—“There’s
no gingerbread or cakes here, nor any da ...
I mean, the ...
nothing but discipline.
An iron fist and that’s the end of it—by ...
keep them by the thro ...”
no gingerbread or cakes here, nor any da ...
I mean, the ...
nothing but discipline.
An iron fist and that’s the end of it—by ...
keep them by the thro ...”
Other books
The Storm Maker by Sid K
Diabolus by Hill, Travis
Shifting Gears by Jenny Hayut
Haunted by Meg Cabot
The Inheritance (Happy Endings Resort Book 1) by Benson, Jennifer
The Widow Killer by Pavel Kohout
Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 by Jill
Monsieur Pamplemousse Afloat by Michael Bond
Devil's Prize by Jane Jackson
