Effect.
—What the hell is that?
—Ah, said Virgil, I think you’ve had enough for one day. Suffice to say this: the slopes of Calf Mountain are full of monsters, Mr Eagle. You’d never survive without a guide. Possibly not even then.
Flapping Eagle shook his head, an utterly bewildered man, and buried his face in his hands. Virgil Jones came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
—I’m very sorry, he said. I’m very, very sorry.
—No. It’s my turn to apologize, said Flapping Eagle. I’m behaving like a bad-tempered child.
—Entirely understandable, my dear fellow, said Virgil Jones, good-naturedly,
—Perhaps you could explain about the monsters?
Virgil Jones nodded sadly.
—You are quite resolved, are you not? he said.
—Yes, said Flapping Eagle. For better or worse.
—What I have been describing are the Outer Dimensions, said Mr Jones. There are Inner Dimensions as well. One never knows what universes may lie locked within one’s mind. The Effect can work upon the mind with devastating effects.
He fell silent. Flapping Eagle pressed him for more, but he would only say:
—There are some things about Calf Mountain which cannot be explained, only experienced. I hope you never experience them, Mr Eagle. I have grown fond of you. There is a great deal of spirit in that questing frame, is there not?
Flapping Eagle smiled uncertainly.
—Consider this well, gestured Virgil quickly to cover his embarrassment. It is physical proof that not all superstitions are effective. It was, as a matter-of-fact, the use of a divining-rod that settled me on this spot; and as you see it is bone-dry. But one does not have the heart to fill it up; one hopes against hope that water will begin to seep through those parched walls.
—But you didn’t need a well, said Flapping Eagle. There’s the stream. He pointed at the freshwater rivulet that ran through the trees.
Virgil Jones snorted. —It was something to do, he said, even if it was a bad idea.
—It’s a sad ambition you have, Mr Eagle, said Virgil Jones. To grow old, to die; how is it that someone like you, so young in mind and body, can have such an ambition?
Flapping Eagle replied, with a bitter tone in his voice which surprised him: —I want to return to the human race.
A dark look flashed across Mr Jones’ face: shock first, then something more like … apology? He seemed to apologize a lot, thought Flapping Eagle.
—Interesting, said Virgil, that you should think of death as such a humanizing force.
Flapping Eagle’s confusions had settled into a slough of unwanted depression; Virgil Jones appeared to be no merrier. He stood up, shook himself, straightened his hat, dusted his trousers, and attempted to lighten the atmosphere.
—Calf Mountain, I’ve always thought, is rather like a giant lingam weltering in the yoni that is the Sea, he offered, and was forced to explain to the uncomprehending Flapping Eagle: A Sanskrit circumlocution, my dear Eagle. Small pleasantry. I fear I have a rather obscure sense of humour.
Then the gloom descended on him again, and he went on: —Though why I should see this wretched place as so overtly phallic, I cannot think. After all the one thing we have in common on the island is … He broke off.
—What? asked Flapping Eagle.
—But you must know, sir, said Virgil Jones, retreating behind a shell of formality. Sterility. Sterility. That is what I left unsaid. A tragic side-effect of the Drink of life. You will find no children on this rock, godforsaken as it is. Sterile, every manjack of us.
Including you.
Bitterness had now entered the voice of Virgil Jones.
Flapping Eagle walked away towards the hut. He left Virgil Jones deep in thought, absentmindedly snapping twigs in half.
XIV
I N NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES , Flapping Eagle would have felt an instinctive sympathy for Mrs O’Toole, physically distorted as she was. He himself had suffered the social darts that fly at the freak; they should have
—What the hell is that?
—Ah, said Virgil, I think you’ve had enough for one day. Suffice to say this: the slopes of Calf Mountain are full of monsters, Mr Eagle. You’d never survive without a guide. Possibly not even then.
Flapping Eagle shook his head, an utterly bewildered man, and buried his face in his hands. Virgil Jones came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
—I’m very sorry, he said. I’m very, very sorry.
—No. It’s my turn to apologize, said Flapping Eagle. I’m behaving like a bad-tempered child.
—Entirely understandable, my dear fellow, said Virgil Jones, good-naturedly,
—Perhaps you could explain about the monsters?
Virgil Jones nodded sadly.
—You are quite resolved, are you not? he said.
—Yes, said Flapping Eagle. For better or worse.
—What I have been describing are the Outer Dimensions, said Mr Jones. There are Inner Dimensions as well. One never knows what universes may lie locked within one’s mind. The Effect can work upon the mind with devastating effects.
He fell silent. Flapping Eagle pressed him for more, but he would only say:
—There are some things about Calf Mountain which cannot be explained, only experienced. I hope you never experience them, Mr Eagle. I have grown fond of you. There is a great deal of spirit in that questing frame, is there not?
Flapping Eagle smiled uncertainly.
—Consider this well, gestured Virgil quickly to cover his embarrassment. It is physical proof that not all superstitions are effective. It was, as a matter-of-fact, the use of a divining-rod that settled me on this spot; and as you see it is bone-dry. But one does not have the heart to fill it up; one hopes against hope that water will begin to seep through those parched walls.
—But you didn’t need a well, said Flapping Eagle. There’s the stream. He pointed at the freshwater rivulet that ran through the trees.
Virgil Jones snorted. —It was something to do, he said, even if it was a bad idea.
—It’s a sad ambition you have, Mr Eagle, said Virgil Jones. To grow old, to die; how is it that someone like you, so young in mind and body, can have such an ambition?
Flapping Eagle replied, with a bitter tone in his voice which surprised him: —I want to return to the human race.
A dark look flashed across Mr Jones’ face: shock first, then something more like … apology? He seemed to apologize a lot, thought Flapping Eagle.
—Interesting, said Virgil, that you should think of death as such a humanizing force.
Flapping Eagle’s confusions had settled into a slough of unwanted depression; Virgil Jones appeared to be no merrier. He stood up, shook himself, straightened his hat, dusted his trousers, and attempted to lighten the atmosphere.
—Calf Mountain, I’ve always thought, is rather like a giant lingam weltering in the yoni that is the Sea, he offered, and was forced to explain to the uncomprehending Flapping Eagle: A Sanskrit circumlocution, my dear Eagle. Small pleasantry. I fear I have a rather obscure sense of humour.
Then the gloom descended on him again, and he went on: —Though why I should see this wretched place as so overtly phallic, I cannot think. After all the one thing we have in common on the island is … He broke off.
—What? asked Flapping Eagle.
—But you must know, sir, said Virgil Jones, retreating behind a shell of formality. Sterility. Sterility. That is what I left unsaid. A tragic side-effect of the Drink of life. You will find no children on this rock, godforsaken as it is. Sterile, every manjack of us.
Including you.
Bitterness had now entered the voice of Virgil Jones.
Flapping Eagle walked away towards the hut. He left Virgil Jones deep in thought, absentmindedly snapping twigs in half.
XIV
I N NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES , Flapping Eagle would have felt an instinctive sympathy for Mrs O’Toole, physically distorted as she was. He himself had suffered the social darts that fly at the freak; they should have
Similar Books
