The Trembling of a Leaf: Little Stories of the South Sea IslandsMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
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The Trembling of a Leaf: Little Stories of the South Sea Islands
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Oceania -- Fiction
"I've made an awful hash of things. That's obvious, isn't it? I'm right
down at the bottom of the pit and there's no getting out for me. '_Black
as the pit from pole to pole._'" I felt him smile as he made the
quotation. "And the strange thing is that I don't see how I went wrong."
I held my breath, for to me there is nothing more awe-inspiring than
when a man discovers to you the nakedness of his soul. Then you see that
no one is so trivial or debased but that in him is a spark of something
to excite compassion.
"It wouldn't be so rotten if I could see that it was all my own fault.
It's true I drink, but I shouldn't have taken to that if things had gone
differently. I wasn't really fond of liquor. I suppose I ought not to
have married Ethel. If I'd kept her it would be all right. But I did
love her so."
His voice faltered.
"She's not a bad lot, you know, not really. It's just rotten luck. We
might have been as happy as lords. When she bolted I suppose I ought to
have let her go, but I couldn't do that--I was dead stuck on her then;
and there was the kid."
"Are you fond of the kid?" I asked.
"I was. There are two, you know. But they don't mean so much to me now.
You'd take them for natives anywhere. I have to talk to them in Samoan."
"Is it too late for you to start fresh? Couldn't you make a dash for it
and leave the place?"
"I haven't the strength. I'm done for."
"Are you still in love with your wife?"
"Not now. Not now." He repeated the two words with a kind of horror in
his voice. "I haven't even got that now. I'm down and out."
The bells of the Cathedral were ringing.
"If you really want to come to the midnight mass we'd better go along,"
I said.
"Come on."
We got up and walked along the road. The Cathedral, all white, stood
facing the sea not without impressiveness, and beside it the Protestant
chapels had the look of meeting-houses. In the road were two or three
cars, and a great number of traps, and traps were put up against the
walls at the side. People had come from all parts of the island for the
service, and through the great open doors we saw that the place was
crowded. The high altar was all ablaze with light. There were a few
whites and a good many half-castes, but the great majority were natives.
All the men wore trousers, for the Church has decided that the
_lava-lava_ is indecent. We found chairs at the back, near the open
door, and sat down. Presently, following Lawson's eyes, I saw Ethel come
in with a party of half-castes. They were all very much dressed up, the
men in high, stiff collars and shiny boots, the women in large, gay
hats. Ethel nodded and smiled to her friends as she passed up the aisle.
The service began.
When it was over Lawson and I stood on one side for a while to watch the
crowd stream out, then he held out his hand.
"Good-night," he said. "I hope you'll have a pleasant journey home."
"Oh, but I shall see you before I go."
He sniggered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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