American fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories, American
Up to that instant I had never, in all my life, had anything resembling
a delusion or even any thoughts that could be called queer. But, just
as I made certain that I was approaching an island, there popped into
my head, for no assignable reason, the recollection of the flock of
white geese on my grandmother’s farm and of how I, when seven years old
or so, or maybe only six or perhaps even younger, used to make a pet
of an unusually large and most uncommonly docile and friendly white
gander, used to fondle him, and, in particular, used to straddle him
and fairly ride about on him, he flapping his wings and squawking.
While I was wondering what in the world had made me think of that
gander, all of a sudden, as I neared the island and would soon be over
it, I had an indubitable delusion. Instead of seeing before me and
about me the familiar parts of my aeroplane, I seemed to see nothing
but sky and sea and myself astraddle of an enormous white gander,
longer than a canoe, and bigger than a dray-horse; I seemed to see
his immense, dazzlingly white wings, ten yards or more in spread,
rhythmically beating the air on either side of me; I seemed to see,
straight out in front of me, his long white neck, the flattened,
rounded top of his big head, and the tip of his great yellow bill
against the sky; what was more, instead of seeing my knees clad in
khaki, my calves swathed in puttees and my feet in brown boots, I
seemed to see my knees in blue corduroy knickerbockers, my legs in blue
ribbed woolen stockings, against the white feathers of that gigantic
dream-gander’s back, and my feet sticking out on either side of him
encased in low, square-toed shoes of black leather, of the cut one sees
in pictures of Continental soldiers or of Benjamin Franklin as a lad,
their big silver buckles plain to me against the blueness of the ocean
far below me.
After being swallowed up in this astounding hallucination, which I
vividly recalled, I remembered nothing until I came to myself, standing
on the beach by what was left of my blazing aeroplane.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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