Fisher King by Anthony Powell

Author:Anthony Powell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Four

Henchman, kneeling at a perilous angle, contemplated the green perspectives. Their immensities appeared not to satisfy him. He changed position, groaning loudly as he did so, then, not without all danger of toppling over into the comparative abyss below, tried to straighten himself. Barberina Rookwood, who was watching, helped to put him on his feet.

‘I can’t find anything here. I like the country. It’s me, not the place, that’s at fault.’

She picked up the crutches, and handed them to him. Henchman took them from her, then, without hesitation, hurled them down the slope on the near side. They ricocheted over the rocks to the foot of the parapet quite a long way below. Henchman watched them with apparent pleasure.

‘Easier to get down without those bloody things.’

He began his descent, aiming more or less for the spot where the crutches had settled not too far from each other. Barberina Rookwood quickly began to move in the same direction, if possible to arrive first, help Henchman’s landing, at worst break a fall. Sliding headlong over the declivity, he made no attempt to wait for her. More than once a crash seemed imminent. By clutching handfuls of turf or projecting stones he always managed to steady himself, arriving in a cascade of rubble on the grass below. Beals and Lamont came up a moment later. By that time Henchman was upright on the retrieved crutches.

‘Good morning, Saul,’ said Lamont. ‘Been mountaineering?’

‘Only as far as snow level,’ said Henchman. ‘I do it every morning for my health.’

‘Found anything worth snapping?’

‘Not yet, Gary. I’m in hopeless photographic form today. I feel as you must when your paper has failed three times running to get a scoop offered on a plate.’

Henchman, in his characteristic position of resting on the crutches, smiled rather malevolently at Lamont, who now changed conversational direction.

‘Good-morning, Barberina.’

Beals considered the smile she gave was sufficient to irk Henchman.

‘How are your guts today, Gary?’ she asked.

‘Quite in order now, thank you.’

‘No longer having to run?’

‘I shouldn’t be here were that so.’

‘But behind a wall is a traditional place for relief,’ said Henchman. ‘And even in these wide open spaces, no one would notice if you were seen digging a hole for your own purposes. They would think you were an archaeologist.’

‘You’re looking better than when we met at the surgery,’ said Barberina Rookwood.

‘You’re looking pretty blooming yourself, Barberina.’

Lamont was about to add something to this compliment, when everyone’s attention was all at once directed to another matter. Jilson, perhaps suffering one of his attacks of dizziness, had been following the other two down the side of the parapet at a slower rate. His care possibly made its insecure surface more risky to negotiate than Henchman’s slapdash approach. For that reason or another Jilson was less lucky in reaching the ground. He seemed to have caught one foot in a crevice used as a step down, losing his balance, pitching forward, finally descending the rest of the way on his face. At the bottom of the slope he picked himself up in some disorder.

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