The Avignon Quintet (177 page)

Problem of woman – lightning never strikes twice in the same place. That heavenly gloating walk, as sultry as Achilles upon a bed of glowing embers!

Today Sutcliffe was washing his hair and singing tunelessly-his theme was “What shall we do with a drunken sailor?” to which he had harnessed words of his own devising, namely, “What shall we do with our alter ego?” I suppose when the time comes you will force me to commit
suttee
– climb on to a pyre and disappear in a swirl of smoke and a delicious odour of frying bacon. My apotheosis will have begun – myself transformed into the Swami Utter Conundrum with his three free-wheeling geishas, preaching the way to Inner Umptiousness. Swami so full of inner magnetism that he sparks as he describes the new reality: “If you can leave it alone sufficiently you will discover that reality is bliss – nothing less! When the mathematical and the poetical co-exist as they were always meant to; a collision of worlds takes place and you write a hymn to Process. It’s love that beckons, that huge axiomatic doll that we kiss to three places of decimals. In her arms you realise that happiness is just despair turned inside out like a sleeve. You ask yourself, “What am I as an artist but a whimsical poacher of stallion’s eggs?”

To investigate what went wrong with the intellect of a civilisation one has to start with human perception … i.e. sex, the original form of knowing which preceded language … i.e. telling, formulating, realising!

sweet thumbs up

dark thumbs down

life’s for living

says the clown

nothing adventured

nothing said

slip off to join

the laughing dead!

Smirgel took every kind of precaution against declaring where he was living or how, and for a while all trace of him was lost-so much so that the Prince began to wonder whether the whole rigmarole of his story was not invented, perhaps for obscure motives. Then the air cleared and he telephoned to Constance and offered them a rendezvous at the little bistro on the road to Vers which had recently changed hands and reopened. Sunlight greeted them under the olives. He was already there when they arrived in the Prince’s great Daimler which had once belonged to Queen Mary! In the sparkling shadow and light of the glade with its green tables Smirgel looked what perhaps he really was at heart, a wandering German professor of history on holiday. But he rose to greet them and his ankles sketched the faintest shadow of a Prussian heel-click – out of respect for the two dignitaries who came forward to meet him full of a delicious sense of legitimate cupidity – the folklore of riches! The Prince’s natural affability was very fetching, he exuded warmth. They all sat down and eyed each other for a long moment of silence, until a waiter came out of the bar and procured them drinks of their choice. Smirgel was nervous and ordered water.

After a silence during which the Prince politely toasted his guests in rather indifferent champagne Smirgel said, “Lord Galen, I feel we can afford to be frank now. I trust my reasons for wanting to meet you have become clear to you. I explained everything about the treasure to Constance and asked her to retail it to you in the hope of gaining your attention because I know that you and your consortium of interested backers are Geneva-based and serious –
des gens sérieux, quoi
! I am quite confident that what I have to offer them is of interest even though for the moment I cannot evaluate how much is actually at stake. The point is that nobody alive has access to it because of the pure danger inherent in the situation – the explosives and the mining! But what I can offer them is a detailed map of the boobytrapping with which one can gain safe access in order to visit and assess it. I have seen some of the precious stones and have spoken to the man who discovered it, so I know that it is not a fantasy but a fact. In exchange I would naturally wish to be represented among the other speculators, and entitled to my legitimate share of the booty.”

“I must admit that the thought of an immense fortune makes me sentimental,” said Lord Galen dreamily, but the Prince sounded a trifle reproachful when he said, “Yes, but think of the pure historical beauty of the thing – to rediscover this long-lost and far-famed treasure! We mustn’t lose sight of the cultural aspect, for many of the articles must be things of great beauty and we must keep a careful record for the future of our find.” The German sat quietly smoking and watching them with attention. The Prince’s mind roved far and wide among the legends and folktales of his own land, Egypt where secret treasures buried in caves and guarded by malefic djinns were a commonplace. “It would be amusing,” he said, “if the treasure had been filched away and had been replaced with feathers or sand!” He chuckled, but neither Galen nor the German found this line of thought funny. “How soon can we be sure?”

The German smiled and replied, “Just as soon as I am prepared to release to you the map of the workings. Then we can just walk into the caves and locate the door and force it. Presto! But this I will not do until the articles of association are signed and I am happy in my mind about my part.”

“A limited company, based on Geneva, called Treasure Trove Incorporated,” said Galen dreamily. “But how shall we describe the site? I have all the means to create the document.”

The German pulled forth from under him – he had been seated on it – a battered briefcase which contained two documents of importance: a cadastral map of the workings with scales and numbers and the names of the owners.

The German continued his exposition in a leisurely style and in the tone of a lecturing professor, but the matter was impeccably organised and the English choice. “I have discovered that practically the whole section which concerns us is in the possession of one single family, and I have already made contact with them. They are peasants and pretty hard up so that they have been delighted to rent the whole section to me on a hundred-year lease; on my side I have been into the legal side of things and have obtained a government lease and a permit to work the land and exploit the resources. French law is coming back into force and civil considerations are coming to the fore. I hinted that what I had in mind was to reactivate the Roman quarry as there were many unexploited seams still bearing, and this would of course provide employment in the area which would be welcomed. Indeed this will have to be our cover-story, so to speak, as we would not wish to excite the French government with tales of buried treasure upon which they might have a tax claim. However, in the present state of things I see no major reason why we should not extract the treasure, bit by bit if necessary, and maintain a cover-front of quarrymen to work the seams in good faith. Do you see anything against it?”

Lord Galen saw nothing against it. “But the famous map of the quarry – where is that?”

“It is in my possession, in a safe place, and at your disposition when certain conditions have been fulfilled. Chief among them is of course my acquittal by the war crimes tribunal which have put me mistakenly on their black list. In two months’ time my case comes before them, by which time I hope that Lord Galen will have acted for the defence and pulled the scales down in my favour. This whole business is due to the vanity and jealousy of the Milice. They would like to get me branded or beheaded or imprisoned because of all I know about their behaviour during the bad years. They have much to hide, as you may well suppose. But I think it will be possible to get a fair verdict in my favour especially because of the British members of the ruling committee. I am sure Lord Galen knows them all and can put in a word for me. I have their names on this piece of paper.” He passed over the documents in question and Lord Galen saw with horror that there were several friends on the list, while the president of the tribunal was one of his shareholders! He swallowed and blinked. “As soon as I am acquitted you will have the map.

But in the meantime let us work out the articles of association and get everything ready for action.”

He conducted them across the quarry to where the entrance was, picked out by the tall entrances to the caves, some quite profound. “We are concerned”, he said, “with the sequence of caves which begins here, on the left-hand side. I have managed to get the family which owns the land to close off the entrance as far as is possible in order to avoid trespassers of any sort. I have had several scares concerning the place. On one occasion a shepherd used them to shelter his flock during a thunderstorm: drove a hundred sheep into the entrance. My blood ran cold – I happened to be across the way, sheltering myself in a cave-entrance. It was too late to stop the shepherd, for he had followed his sheep into the first corridor. When I told him the danger he faced he went as white as a sheet and started to whistle up his dogs to retrieve the sheep, which by this time had scattered into the various corridors. Psychologically we both kept our fingers in our ears and hardly dared to breathe for what seemed eternity, until the last sheep had been retrieved and chased back into no man’s land. What an escape! One sheep could easily have fouled a trip wire and set off the whole place by a mass explosion. But of course once we start work seriously we must enforce strict security measures until we have cleared the place – or as much of it as is necessary for the work we have in mind.”

(Blanford had noted in his Ulysses archive: when the Cyclops cries, “Who goes there?” and Ulysses nervously replies “Nobody”, it constitutes the first Zen statement in the European literary canon!)

Walking back across the olive-glades they reached a working agreement as to the procedure to be invoked in order to harness all their interests together. Smirgel gave them a phone number where they might contact him if need be and then took his leave astride an ancient push-bike, melting slowly into the landscape with slow strokes of the pedals. “Well I never,” said the Prince, summoning another drink in order to talk over the whole matter with his partner. “If this comes off it will be something quite unique, no?”

“Indeed!” said Galen with a sort of uncertain rapture. The Prince added, “Are you going to use your pull and try to get him off?” Lord Galen nodded vehemently. “He won’t be any use to us if he’s sent up for life and won’t tell where the map is, will he? He must be kept cooperative, don’t you think? The whole thing is far from settled, I think. But it’s promising, I agree, dashed promising, and we must pursue it single-mindedly.” He put on his single-minded look and gazed round him like a blind buzzard. He had borrowed the look from a bust of Napoleon on St Helena which stood on his desk at home.

SIX

The Return

W
HEN SHE SAW HIM STANDING THERE IN THE HALL
of Tu Duc beside his luggage, leaning on a stick and clad in his old much-darned Scotch plaid, she could not resist a wave of tenderness, so much did his presence evoke of their common youth – a whole summer passed here in these enchanted glades and meadows in that limbo before The Flood! He too was overtaken by an involuntary shyness and hesitation. “Are you sure you want me here, fouling up your life with my heavy sighs?” But they embraced tenderly enough and she put on her briskest medical tone in order to hide her emotion. “I really wanted you under my eye, in my hands, because I noticed that you are slacking off on the yoga and simply not getting the massage you need for your back. At least that I can guarantee myself, while of course here you can swim in the mill-stream every day which is a radical part of the treatment. I propose to take you in hand.”

He could not imagine anything more delightful to contemplate and he settled into Livia’s room with its old Freudian couch without very much ado; his few clothes and books and his clutch of notebooks found niches easily enough, and once his possessions were in order he descended with his queer swaying walk to the kitchen where he proposed to help her cook the lunch – she was expecting the Prince and Lord Galen after their interview with Smirgel. They were both good cooks by now, and this was a further bond which was ripening between them. Somehow a profound reserve reigned in a strange sort of way, for there were a hundred questions he was dying to put to her though the time and place had not yet somehow come into focus – it was not yet appropriate to do so. And of course when their guests arrived the redoubled activity absorbed them and provided a neutral background against which all conversation became not personal but general. The Prince for example had been highly exhilarated by his encounter with the German but was as yet not fully convinced of his
bona fides
. He plied Constance with questions about him. Galen on the other hand had swallowed the whole proposition wholesale. “What other thing could he have been thinking?” he asked plaintively, and, “One has to learn to trust
someone
or one never gets results. I think the story is true, and if we play our cards right we will win out!”