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Authors: Gerald Kersh
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thousands of years ago. The great M. Casteret, I believe, began to explore the caves of the Dent Gâtée; one of his predecessors , in 1906, in a hole named Le Chasme Sans Fond, discovered an antediluvian carving of a buffalo, and the carefully arranged teeth of three cave bears…. There was an animal for you, if you like! From nose to tail-root, the cave bear measured ten feet, and he stood five feet at the shoulder. His haunches were considerably higher than his shoulders; so that when he reared up to attack, his forepaws must have hovered twenty feet high, armed with hooked claws ten inches long. His canine teeth were bigger than bananas. But around this creature, which was much bigger than a bull, you must wrap a pelt about three times as long and dense as that of a grizzly bear. This nightmare our ancestors fought with chipped flints lashed to the tips of wooden poles! … All this made me feel that Man is not called Man for nothing.
I tried to convey this to Mavis, but she felt the cold. She wanted to be over the mountain, and into Spain; where, she said, she proposed to hear a flamenco, learn a gipsy dance, and see a bull-fight. So we hurried up and up that tricky road until, a mile before we were to touch the mountain village called Lô, we crashed.
It was not my fault. It happened like this: Mavis was hungry and thirsty, and I was preoccupied…. In my head something kept singing:
You murdered your Uncle Arnold – Murdered your Uncle Arnold – He will die in September – You have murdered your Uncle Arnold
….Changing into second gear, coining into low, I encountered a cow, and swerved. My right-hand turn, thoughtlessly twisted on, took me up a steep bank. The car turned over. It stopped rolling at the edge of the road, the rear wheels spinning over the cliff.
Mavis’s arm had gone through the windshield. I was always a coward – I had ducked – I was merely stunned.
Coming to, I ran for help. It happened that an old man was going to Lô, mounted on a mule. I made a tourniquet of my tie, thrust five hundred francs into the man’s hand, mounted Mavis on the mule, and followed her to Lô, where there was a doctor.
I trembled for her, when I saw him: he was a French doctor of the old school, who used his ear for a stethoscope , and did not believe in new-fangled drugs. A rugged old fellow, jack of all medical trades and master of none – but no fool. He said: ‘Madame has lost too much blood and, what with that and the shock, I order a transfusion. But you are in no condition, m’sieur, to have half a litre of blood taken out of your arteries at the moment——’
‘– No, no!’ I cried. ‘I gave blood for a transfusion only a month ago. I am not fit, doctor; not healthy.’
‘– If you will allow me to proceed?’
‘I beg your pardon, doctor.’
‘ Il n’y a pas de quoi, m’sieur…. As I was saying, since you are not in a condition to give blood to your wife, I have called in a woman of the village. A healthy animal, I assure you. She was wet-nurse to the Princesse de Bohemond’s child, which I had the honour prematurely to deliver, after the Prince’s motor-car crashed on this self-same road. The baby thrived – at eight months, mark you! We can’t do better than take a littleblood from young Solomona. They do not come much healthier than she – she is bursting with milk and blood.’
Then he introduced the woman Solomona, to whom I gave a thousand francs. She bared a powerful brown arm and giggled as the needle went home in the artery at the crook of the elbow.
A little colour came into Mavis’s cheeks as Solomona’s blood ran into her veins. It worked like magic. Her eyes opened, the lids fluttering, and she smiled.
I remember saying: ‘Now I can die,’ and after that I must have collapsed. When I was conscious again, a day and a half later, the doctor told me that I had concussion ; for which, he said, the only remedy was ice-packs and rest.
But how could I rest until I
I tried to convey this to Mavis, but she felt the cold. She wanted to be over the mountain, and into Spain; where, she said, she proposed to hear a flamenco, learn a gipsy dance, and see a bull-fight. So we hurried up and up that tricky road until, a mile before we were to touch the mountain village called Lô, we crashed.
It was not my fault. It happened like this: Mavis was hungry and thirsty, and I was preoccupied…. In my head something kept singing:
You murdered your Uncle Arnold – Murdered your Uncle Arnold – He will die in September – You have murdered your Uncle Arnold
….Changing into second gear, coining into low, I encountered a cow, and swerved. My right-hand turn, thoughtlessly twisted on, took me up a steep bank. The car turned over. It stopped rolling at the edge of the road, the rear wheels spinning over the cliff.
Mavis’s arm had gone through the windshield. I was always a coward – I had ducked – I was merely stunned.
Coming to, I ran for help. It happened that an old man was going to Lô, mounted on a mule. I made a tourniquet of my tie, thrust five hundred francs into the man’s hand, mounted Mavis on the mule, and followed her to Lô, where there was a doctor.
I trembled for her, when I saw him: he was a French doctor of the old school, who used his ear for a stethoscope , and did not believe in new-fangled drugs. A rugged old fellow, jack of all medical trades and master of none – but no fool. He said: ‘Madame has lost too much blood and, what with that and the shock, I order a transfusion. But you are in no condition, m’sieur, to have half a litre of blood taken out of your arteries at the moment——’
‘– No, no!’ I cried. ‘I gave blood for a transfusion only a month ago. I am not fit, doctor; not healthy.’
‘– If you will allow me to proceed?’
‘I beg your pardon, doctor.’
‘ Il n’y a pas de quoi, m’sieur…. As I was saying, since you are not in a condition to give blood to your wife, I have called in a woman of the village. A healthy animal, I assure you. She was wet-nurse to the Princesse de Bohemond’s child, which I had the honour prematurely to deliver, after the Prince’s motor-car crashed on this self-same road. The baby thrived – at eight months, mark you! We can’t do better than take a littleblood from young Solomona. They do not come much healthier than she – she is bursting with milk and blood.’
Then he introduced the woman Solomona, to whom I gave a thousand francs. She bared a powerful brown arm and giggled as the needle went home in the artery at the crook of the elbow.
A little colour came into Mavis’s cheeks as Solomona’s blood ran into her veins. It worked like magic. Her eyes opened, the lids fluttering, and she smiled.
I remember saying: ‘Now I can die,’ and after that I must have collapsed. When I was conscious again, a day and a half later, the doctor told me that I had concussion ; for which, he said, the only remedy was ice-packs and rest.
But how could I rest until I
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