Chit-Chat; Nirvana; The SearchlightHolt, Mathew Joseph
General
Chit-Chat; Nirvana; The Searchlight
Holt, Mathew Joseph
Fiction
In early March, he received word of the death of his mother. He was not
surprised, and, though he loved her very much, was not overly grieved by
it. She had led a useful, unselfish, happy life; she was old and for
several years had been losing her vitality without apparent pain. Her
life had been a peaceful one; she expected the peace of the righteous
after death; she believed those of her family she left behind would be
happy. John looked upon her going as a vanishing from sight merely. She
seemed in an adjoining room or near place; a little too far away to see
or hear, but near enough to feel her presence and love.
Just when it seemed that winter was the perpetual season, when his
fingers were swollen and discolored by the cold and he had forgotten how
it felt to be warm unless in bed or shoveling snow, the valley below
took on emerald tints and the snow line crept up the mountain.
Then John thought, "the hill country will be fine this summer;" but he
was told to come out of his dolomite burrow and dwell in a tent with the
Arabs in Tripolitania for the summer. A place so near the equator that
his shadow at noon was hid by a none too prominent stomach; where the
thermometer feels comfortable and perfectly at home at 130 in the shade
and where the snow dogs of his winter home were replaced by the camel,
the only reliable conveyance in the summer.
The Bedouin, the Tuaregs and some of the blacks, ride the camel with
ease and dignity; but an Englishman, Italian or American on a camel
looks and feels wholly out of place, and at the end of a day's journey
is an object of pity and a subject for soothing lotions.
The impression that John Cornwall formed of Tripoli was that it was a
vastly overcrowded city, due to a host of visiting and trading natives
and the more than ten thousand soldiers, at that time, quartered in the
city.
The blue Mediterranean, the white beach, the brilliancy of the sun, the
palm trees and the crescent city, in the main of cement or plaster
buildings, with flat or beehive roofs, all white except an occasional
red or green tiled one, merely emphasizing by contrast the uniformity of
the building color; make an interesting picture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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