Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own PeopleKipling, Rudyard
History
Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People
Kipling, Rudyard
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction; India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
‘She lifted up her arms, and they come round my neck i’ a gentle grip,
and they slacked away, and she seemed fainting. “Now yo’ mun get away,
lad,” says Jesse, and I picked up my hat and I came downstairs.
‘Th’ recruiting sergeant were waitin’ for me at th’ corner public-house.
“Yo’ve seen your sweetheart?” says he. “Yes, I’ve seen her,” says I.
“Well, we’ll have a quart now, and you’ll do your best to forget her,”
says he, bein’ one o’ them smart, bustlin’ chaps. “Ay, sergeant,” says
I. “Forget her.” And I’ve been forgettin’ her ever since.’
He threw away the wilted clump of white violets as he spoke. Ortheris
suddenly rose to his knees, his rifle at his shoulder, and peered across
the valley in the clear afternoon light. His chin cuddled the stock, and
there was a twitching of the muscles of the right cheek as he sighted;
Private Stanley Ortheris was engaged on his business. A speck of white
crawled up the watercourse.
‘See that beggar? . . . Got ‘im.’
Seven hundred yards away, and a full two hundred down the hillside, the
deserter of the Aurangabadis pitched forward, rolled down a red rock,
and lay very still, with his face in a clump of blue gentians, while a
big raven flapped out of the pine wood to make investigation.
‘That’s a clean shot, little man,’ said Mulvaney.
Learoyd thoughtfully watched the smoke clear away.
‘Happen there was a lass tewed up wi’ him, too,’ said he.
Ortheris did not reply. He was staring across the valley, with the smile
of the artist who looks on the completed work.
THE MAN WHO WAS
The Earth gave up her dead that tide,
Into our camp he came,
And said his say, and went his way,
And left our hearts aflame.
Keep tally--on the gun-butt score
The vengeance we must take,
When God shall bring full reckoning,
For our dead comrade’s sake.
BALLAD.
Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful person
till he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental he is charming. It is only
when he insists upon being treated as the most easterly of western
peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes a
racial anomaly extremely difficult to handle. The host never knows which
side of his nature is going to turn up next.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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