Characters ...

Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 147, 18 March 1937, Page 6

Characters ...

j T LIKE my railway carriage win- ; ! dow open, so that, if it had been j avoidable. I would never have sat | beside a man so obviously of the ! opposite opinion. There was about ! him a faint and unpleasant sugges- ! tion of decay, and his cold eyes • were glazed with unutterable bore- ] dom, so deep he no longer resented i it. He lolled in his seat like a dead ! man, one shrunken hand dangling ! over the aisle and swaying gently j with the motion of the train. Titn- ] idly I asked him to give me room ! and he slumped ungraciously to > one side. For three hours we sat < in silence as trees and fields went j hurtling by. Noonday sun etched i the sagging lines of his sere face and underlined the pockets beneath |i his eyes. Not a muscle moved. I; I do not know why he finally l| spoke. But his voice, harsh as a ! rusty hinge, broke upon my I dreams. “Would you like a paper?’’ i My startled acceptance was suf- • ficent introduction and he launched J into a monologue, gazing through J the grimy windows and abstract- > cdly puffing at cigarettes of strong- ! smelling tobacco. Evidently an able | man, he was worth hearing. His ’ analytical mind stripped the wool ! from politics, yet lie had the artist’s ! sense of form and colour, too, and ! a queer flair for using the right j words. Drily told, his descrip- [ tions of many lands and peoples j had a bard, vivid reality. Inwardly I I wondered why so much interest I had so sapped his life from him. ; Of his own accord be answered > my unspoken questions, as he gloom- } ily watched the smoke of his cigar--1 ette curl and fade in the thick air of i the carriage. “I’d like to see Eng- ; land again,’’ he said. "Haven’t been J there for twenty years, and I was a 1 silly nipper then. Under-age sub- > akern and purblinded by war. Now > I’m stuck in New Zealand. I’m a | very sick man. you know, very sick j indeed.” He inhaled and blew rings J to the ceiling. "Sclerosis of the ! liver. I've bad to cut out smoking ! and drinking." | i As he lit more cigarettes he mel- ] lowed. He guided me among bis | symptoms and hunted through his i suitcase for a specialist’s text-book. ! Among the gay silk pyjamas I 1 caught sight of a bottle. ; He saw it too. "My wife always ! puts in a bottle of rum. Heaven i knows why. because of course I ! don't need it. I can’t take it. in | fact, and she knows that. Like [ some?’’ } Though I refused, the bottle was ! in his hand when he closed the suiti case, and as he waxed eloquent about > the educational system, bis straying | fingers drew the cork. He tossed | off a draught as heedlessly as we 1 ordinary mortals drink water.

! “The whole thing needs revision ! ..." And he tore viciously at « the wrapping on a second packet of | cigarettes. ! Before we reached the last station ! the bottle was empty and my man ! was drawing at his fifteenth weed. > The harsh voice was softer, as if | rum and smoke had oiled his vocal J chords. ! But at first glimpse of the city ! lights, he slumped again, droning i lifelessly in monosyllables and staring j fixedly into nothingness. His whole J being shouted aloud. "Sclerosis' ! Sclerosis!" i Then, as I stepped from the cari riagc, I heard him explaining, “Yes. • of course I’ve bad to cut out smok--1 ing and drinks. It’s been hard 1 sometimes, but the doctor doesn't i give a fig for my life otherwise. I’ve I just had to do it and I must say I | feel better.” | On his face I could detect no sign ! of conscious deception nor the ! faintest glimmer of humour. ! —O.M.A.