The Trembling of a Leaf: Little Stories of the South Sea IslandsMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
General
The Trembling of a Leaf: Little Stories of the South Sea Islands
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Oceania -- Fiction
He returned their greeting and sat down at his desk. He began to write,
working on a report which the governor of Samoa had been clamouring for
and which Walker, with his usual dilatoriness, had neglected to prepare.
Mackintosh as he made his notes reflected vindictively that Walker was
late with his report because he was so illiterate that he had an
invincible distaste for anything to do with pens and paper; and now when
it was at last ready, concise and neatly official, he would accept his
subordinate's work without a word of appreciation, with a sneer rather
or a gibe, and send it on to his own superior as though it were his own
composition. He could not have written a word of it. Mackintosh thought
with rage that if his chief pencilled in some insertion it would be
childish in expression and faulty in language. If he remonstrated or
sought to put his meaning into an intelligible phrase, Walker would fly
into a passion and cry:
"What the hell do I care about grammar? That's what I want to say and
that's how I want to say it."
At last Walker came in. The natives surrounded him as he entered, trying
to get his immediate attention, but he turned on them roughly and told
them to sit down and hold their tongues. He threatened that if they were
not quiet he would have them all turned out and see none of them that
day. He nodded to Mackintosh.
"Hulloa, Mac; up at last? I don't know how you can waste the best part
of the day in bed. You ought to have been up before dawn like me. Lazy
beggar."
He threw himself heavily into his chair and wiped his face with a large
bandana.
"By heaven, I've got a thirst."
He turned to the policeman who stood at the door, a picturesque figure
in his white jacket and _lava-lava_, the loin cloth of the Samoan, and
told him to bring _kava_. The _kava_ bowl stood on the floor in the
corner of the room, and the policeman filled a half coconut shell and
brought it to Walker. He poured a few drops on the ground, murmured the
customary words to the company, and drank with relish. Then he told the
policeman to serve the waiting natives, and the shell was handed to each
one in order of birth or importance and emptied with the same
ceremonies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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