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not the end of the world.'
Bending down, Holliday reached towards the fish, lying still now, the mud
around it slick with blood. His hands hesitated, then retreated.
'Nothing we can do, is there ?' he said impersonally.
Granger examined the fish. Apart from the large wound
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.txt in its side and the flattened skull the skin was intact. 'Why not have it
stuffed ?' he suggested seriously.
Holliday stared at him incredulously, his face contorting.
For a moment he said nothing. Then, almost berserk, he shouted: 'Have it
stuffed? Are you crazy? Do you think I
want to make a dummy of myself, fill my own head with straw ?'
Turning on his heel, he shouldered past Granger and swung himself roughly out
of the pool.
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The Volcano Dances
They lived in a house on the mountain Tlaxlhuatl halfa mile below the summit.
The house was built on a lava flow like the hide of an elephant. In the
afternoon and evening the man, Charles Vandervell, sat by the window in the
lounge, watching the fire displays that came from the crater. The noise rolled
down the mountain side like a series of avalanches.
At intervals a falling cinder hissed as it extinguished itself in the water
tank on the roof. The woman slept most of the time in the bedroom overlooking
the valley or, when she wished to be close to Vandervell, on the settee in the
lounge.
In the afternoon she woke briefly when the 'devil-sticks'
man performed his dance by the road a quarter of a mile from the house. This
mendicant had come to the mountain for the benefit of the people in the
village below the summit, but his dance had failed to subdue the volcano and
prevent the villagers from leaving. As they passed him pushing their carts he
would rattle his spears and dance, but they walked on without looking up. When
he became discouraged and seemed likely to leave, Vandervell sent the
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house-boy out to him with an American dollar. From then on the stick-dancer
came every day.
'Is he still here ?' the womal'asked. She walked into the lounge, folding her
robe around her waist. 'What's he supposed to be doing?'
'He's fighting a duel with the spirit of the volcano,'
Vandervell said. 'He's putting a lot of thought and energy into it, but he
hasn't a chance.'
'I thought you were on his side,' the woman said. 'Aren't you paying him a
retainer ?'
'That's only to formalize the relationship. To show him that I understand
what's going on. Strictly speaking, I'm on the volcano's side.'
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A shower of cinders rose a hundred feet above the erater illuminating the
jumping stickman.
'Are you sure it's safe here ?'
Vandervell waved her awayr 'Of course. Go back to bed rest. This thin air is
bad for the complexion.'
an'I feel all right. I heard the ground move.'
'It's been moving for weeks.' He watched the stickman conclude his performance
with a series of hops, as if leapfrogging over a partner. 'On his diet that's
not bad.'
'You should take him back to Mexico City and put him in one of the cabarets.
He'd make More than a dollar.'
'He wouldn't be interested. He's a serious artist, this
Nijinsky of the mountain side. Can't you see that?'
The woman haft-filled a tumbler from the decanter on the table. 'How long are
you going to keep him out there ?'
'As long as he'll stay.' He turned to face the woman. 'Remember that. When he
leaves it will be time to go.'
The stick-man, a collection of tatters when not in motion, disappeared into
his lair, one of the holes in the lava beside the road.
'I wonder if he met Springman?' Vandervell said. 'On balance it's possible.
Springman would have come up the south face. This is the only road to the
village.'
'Ask him. Offer him another dollar.'
'Pointless - he'd say he had seen him just to keep me happy.'
'What makes you so sure Springman is here?'
'He was here,' Vandervell corrected. 'He won't be here any longer. I was with
Springrnan in Acapulco when he looked at the map. He came here.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]