He wished she would not have to go.
He realized and acknowdedged that she w-ould, anybody, everybody, w ould, sometimes, often, seldom, now and then, late or early, have to go.
And, anyway.
So.
That left six or seven hours.
First stop: the Pelican Bar. (Beside the yard.)
He was areeted bv a loudlv voice which he could have done without; “Pussy is like beer, you don’t buy it, you just rent it: right, Jack?”
“Pour Mr. Duncan his pleasure,” was Jack’s answer, perhaps a trifle evasive, perhaps not; in British Hidalgo there had evolved a more perfect union of fornication, freedom, and the old time religion than is usually encountered in English-speaking nations. “And let me have a double glass of the inwariable, me dear.”
“Ah, Limekiller,” said a voice out of the shadow7 corner. Professor Brolly, Jack knew the voice; no one knew what the real name was: a younger, chunky Neville Chamberlain in khaki shorts and an Albert Schweitzer set of moustaches. “Professor,” said Limekiller, politely, towards the shadow-. “Pray ask,” to the barkeep, “the Professor to allow7 me. ” By the sounds of things, things w7ere sounding up pretty soundly in the bar; and he would not be or have been the only one to be spending in a rush, or whatever — Dory Duncan: no one needed Dory Duncan, Jack didn’t, loudmouth and so forth: but no need to make him an enemy; was he worth it? — no.
“We were just discussing, Limekiller,” said the voice from the shadow corner, without even seeing him one would know the professor was leaning on his umbrella; “thought you might be interested, seeing you come in, just discussing —” A burst of noise from another part of the wood, or anyway, of the bar, interrupted — … jumble… ” Professor Brolly: hadn’t Professor Brollv just said that? Limekiller thought: What? was this some sort of Moebius strip? was this like one of those weed-trips when everything occurred again and again, time ceasing to have significance, when what one had just said one recognized as having been said before. before. again. again. Surely Professor Brolly had said, “jumble”., perhaps “jungle”?
But before he could turn and deal with this mystical business, the bartender had placed a glass on the bar; Jack hoisted it, tipped it to the wind’s, well, not twelve quarters, say three. say three? Fine. Three. The bartender had repeated, a double glass of the inwariable, with amusement, though not hilarity; he thought that John L. Limekiller was merely pretending to imitate a White Creole, whose inversions of the letters V and W were perennial, invariable, and infinite sources of amusement. To others. There. Down there. In the all-but-lost-little Colony of British Hidalgo, down here on the boggy barm of what someone — would anyone here ever forgive him for it? no: had once, and in print; called The Spanish Minor… it wasn’t even that funny — ah well.
And then, even as he turned, with intent to enter the shadow comer where Professor Brolly was, to pursue the matter of this odd sequence of syllables which had, seemingly, begun to pursue him (John Limekiller, not Professor Brolly), throughout this semi-immediate area and scene — just then a burst of noise louder even than usual even here, where the monastic virtue of silence was appreciated no more than that of celibacy, struck his eardrums, and swiveled him around to the other side of the bar; no, there was no face on the bar-room floor, there was —
There was and there followed one of the most extra-ordinary occasions and scenes which Limekiller had ever witnessed. Even to begin with (dead, like Marley? by no means) the action at the semifar table had, God knows, elements of the grotesque perhaps enough to last a lifetime longer than Marley’s — the little man with the enormous head and hands, Congo-black of skin and Mayan- large of nose, standing treat for a small mob of men and women (these last, those good-time ladies of the place who were not still peacefully discussing this-and-that, Henrietta or whatever, back up on the second story verandah): “sporting girls,” in the local idiom. Roaring, the “lee man” was, now, with laughter, now slapping his huge hands on the table and now pointing to one and another at his table and screaming words incomprehensible to Jack; quickly, quickly, like some well-rehearsed and oft-performed set piece, men would reach across the shout of words and the spread of table to shake his huge hand and women would bend down and kiss his huge and balding head (screaming, themselves with laughter; shrieking high-pitched jest) or — the women — tickle him under the arms or grab towards his nipples or his crotch: gestures he would at once or as soon as he could, try to reciprocate; all the while rounds of drink were being set down slop-slop and dirty glasses removed — this play alone Jack would surely long remember — but this was not it..
Even while (via the bar-mirror) half he looked away out of politeness (“. a gentleman does not stare, John. ”) and half he looked on out of fascination, out of the comer of his eye he saw (thinking: what next? what is this?) out of the corner of his eye someone crawling out of the background to hide behind, a low partition; a man it was, mouth on one side wryly drawn down, eye a-wink, and then pull from one pocket what Limekiller first thought were chicken-feet: it was plain, from the nudges and the winks and suddenly-smugly blank faces that others, too, saw this — and then someone with a look of assumed astonishment which would not (so Jack thought) have deceived a child, held up a hand for silence.
This was a while in coming; the lee mahn noticed nothing, and continued to shout; only now was Jack able to hear him somewhat clearly. “. up, drink up, you ahl me guest. bock from bush now. glod be bock. anyway… no fright in bush, some people fright in bush, fright fi bobboon, fright fi tiger, fright fi wild hog, fright fi jungle, I doesn’t fright but anyway glod be bock from bush. see ahl me friend. ” Gradually his voice wound down as he became aware of the silence; he looked around, half-puzzled, half-quizzical. People, meanwhile at and crowded about his table, were looking questioningly at each other; shrugged or frowned as though in concentration; one of the women asked, “What I hear? What —?” The very little man with the very large head now quite paused in his frenzy of jollification and his large mouth opened and showed his large teeth —
— then the man on the floor, hidden behind the partition (Limekiller, his long height lengthened by his seat on the high bar stool could see in the bar’s mirror what the little man, the lee mahn, could not) the man lying down slowly scraped and clicked the claws of the bird-feet on the floor: and again. And gave a sort of bird- squawk, which -
The effect was instant, almost unimaginable, and, to Limekiller, absolutely terrifying: but not to Limekiller alone -
The very little man screamed as though in the most intense pain. He pushed at the table so as to draw his chair back and he struggled to get up. But his chair was wedged in and did not move, and (Jack could see) others surreptitiously pushed back down and against the table so that it could not move. For a second more, as the lee mahn pushed and wrestled (and screamed: and screamed) the table stayed in place, as though some part of some insane seance. Then it shot up on one side as the very little man flung it up, it shot up on one side and bottles, glasses, everything on it, shot off it, crashing to the floor — the very lee mahn climbed up on his chair, women now screaming too, climbed to the windowsill, from the windowsill he leaped to an empty chair and from there to an empty- table and from that table clambered in a frenzv onto the bar —