Evelyn Waugh - A Handful Of Dust

“I'm in love with John Beaver,” said Ambrose.

“Why, I didn't know you were here.”

“I came to remind you that you were ill, sir. You must on no account leave your hammock.”

“But how can I reach the City if I stay here?”

“I will serve it directly, sir, in the library.”

“Yes, in the library. There is no point in using the dining hall now that her ladyship has gone to live in Brazil.”

“I will send the order to the stables, sir.”

“But I don't want the pony. I told Ben to sell her.”

“You will have to ride to the smoking room, sir. Dr. Messinger has taken the canoe.”

“Very well, Ambrose.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The committee had moved off down the avenue; all except Colonel Inch who had taken the other drive and was trotting towards Compton Last. Tony and Mrs. Rattery were all alone.

“Bow-wow,” she said, scooping in the cards. “That carries the motion.”

Looking up from the card table, Tony saw beyond the trees the ramparts and battlements of the City; it was quite near, him. From the turret of the gatehouse a heraldic banner floated in the tropic breeze. He struggled into an upright position and threw aside his blankets. He was stronger and steadier when the fever was on him. He picked his way through the surrounding thorn-scrub; the sound of music rose from the glittering walls; some procession or pageant was passing along them. He lurched into tree-trunks and became caught up in roots and hanging tendrils of bush-vine; but he pressed forward unconscious of pain and fatigue.

At last he came into the open. The gates were open before him and trumpets were sounding along the walls, saluting his arrival; from bastion to bastion the message ran to the four points of the compass; petals of almond and apple blossom were in the air; they carpeted the way, as, after a summer storm, they lay in the orchards at Hetton. Gilded cupolas and spires of alabaster shone in the sunlight.

Ambrose announced, “The City is served.”

ALTHOUGH Mr. Todd had lived in Amazonas for nearly sixty years, no one except a few families of Pie-wie Indians was aware of his existence. His house stood in a small savannah, one of those little patches of sand and grass that crop up occasionally in that neighbourhood, three miles or so across, bounded on all sides by forest.

The stream which watered it was not marked on any map; it ran through rapids, always dangerous and at most seasons of the year impassable, to join the upper waters of the river where Dr. Messinger had come to grief. None of the inhabitants of the district, except Mr. Todd, had ever heard of the governments of Brazil or Dutch Guiana, both of which, from time to time claimed its possession.

Mr. Todd's house was larger than those of his neighbours, but similar in character — a palm thatch roof, breast high walls of mud and wattle, and a mud floor. He owned the dozen or so head of puny cattle which grazed in the savannah, a plantation of cassava, some banana and mango trees, a dog and, unique in the neighbourhood, a single-barrelled breech-loading shot gun. The few commodities which he employed from the outside world came to him through a long succession of traders, passed from hand to hand, bartered for in a dozen languages at the extreme end of one of the longest threads in the web of commerce that spreads from Manaós into the remote fastness of the forest.

One day while Mr. Todd was engaged in filling some cartridges, a Pie-wie came to him with the news that a white man was approaching through the forest, alone and very sick. He closed the cartridge and loaded his gun with it, put those that were finished into his pocket and set out in the direction indicated.

The man was already clear of the bush when Mr. Todd reached him, sitting on the ground, clearly in a very bad way. He was without hat or boots, and his clothes were so torn that it was only by the dampness of his body that they adhered to it; his feet were cut and grossly swollen; every exposed surface of skin was scarred by insect and bat bites; his eyes were wild with fever. He was talking to himself in delirium but stopped when Todd approached and addressed him in English.

“You're the first person who's spoken to me for days,” said Tony. “The others won't stop. They keep bicycling by … I'm tired … Brenda was with me at first but she was frightened by a mechanical mouse, so she took the canoe and went off. She said she would come back that evening but she didn't. I expect she's staying with one of her new friends in Brazil … You haven't seen her have you?”

“You are the first stranger I have seen for a very long time.”

“She was wearing a top hat when she left. You can't miss her.” Then he began talking to someone at Mr. Todd's side, who was not there.

“Do you see that house over there? Do you think you can managed to walk to it? If not I can send some Indians to carry you.”

Tony squinted across the savannah at Mr. Todd's hut. “Architecture harmonizing with local character,” he said; “indigenous material employed throughout. Don't let Mrs. Beaver see it or she will cover it with chromium plating.”

“Try and walk.” Mr. Todd hoisted Tony to his feet and supported him with a stout arm.

“I'll ride your bicycle. It was you I passed just now on a bicycle wasn't it? … except that your beard is a different colour. His was green … green as mice.”

Mr. Todd led Tony across the hummocks of grass towards the house.

“It is a very short way. When we get there I will give you something to make you better.”

“Very kind of you … rotten thing for a man to have his wife go away in a canoe. That was a long time ago. Nothing to eat since.” Presently he said, “I say, you're English. I'm English too. My name is Last.”

“Well, Mr. Last, you aren't to bother about any thing more. You're ill and you've had a rough journey. I'll take care of you.”

Tony looked round him.

“Are you all English?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“That dark girl married a Moor … It's very lucky I met you all. I suppose you're some kind of cycling club?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I feel too tired for bicycling … never liked it much … you fellows ought to get motor bicycles you know, much faster and noisier … Let's stop here.”

“No, you must come as far as the house. It's not very much further.”

“All right … I suppose you would have some difficulty getting petrol here.”

They went very slowly, but at length reached the house.

“Lie there in the hammock.”

“That's what Messinger said. He's in love with John Beaver.”

“I will get something for you.”

“Very good of you. Just my usual morning tray — coffee, toast, fruit. And the morning papers. If her ladyship has been called I will have it with her …”

Mr. Todd went into the back room of the house and dragged a tin canister from under a heap of skins. It was full of a mixture of dried leaf and bark. He took a handful and went outside to the fire. When he returned his guest was bolt upright astride the hammock, talking angrily.

“… You would hear better and it would be more polite if you stood still when I addressed you instead of walking round in a circle. It is for your own good that I am telling you … I know you are friends of my wife and that is why you will not listen to me. But be careful. She will say nothing cruel, she will not raise her voice, there will be no hard words. She hopes you will be great friends afterwards as before. But she will leave you. She will go away quietly during the night. She will take her hammock and her rations of farine … Listen to me. I know I am not clever but … that is no reason why we should forget courtesy. Let us kill in the gentlest manner. I will tell you what I have learned in the forest, where time is different. There is no City. Mrs. Beaver has covered it with chromium plating and converted it into flats. Three guineas a week with a separate bathroom. Very suitable for base love. And Polly will be there. She and Mrs. Beaver under the fallen battlements …”