The Polyglots by William Gerhardie

Author:William Gerhardie
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781612191898
Publisher: Melville House
Published: 1925-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

37

EXODUS OF THE POLYGLOTS

AFTER THE BALL COUNT VALENTINE CALLED TO TENDER his congratulations on the occasion of the birthday of his Majesty the King of the Belgians, and incidentally enquired if he could not have a Sam Browne belt like mine. General ‘Pshe-Pshe’ also called.

Closeted with Aunt Teresa, ‘I am not understood,’ he said, ‘not understood by my family. But here in your midst I can rest, here I’m at home.’ He brushed his prickly moustache against her slender hand. Tears came into his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

The wedding was to take place immediately a portion of my uncle’s brood had left for England. The first batch of Diabologhs—comprising mostly sons-in-law and married daughters, nurses, sucklings, Theo among them—sailed on Thursday. At the station while we waited for the train, another babe came up to Theo, and in the simple way that babies have, bit him on the brow. The second batch of Diabologhs sailed on Saturday. My red-haired cousin sailed. The first clean-up, the first big sweep had been made, and one began to see one’s way in the remaining mass, discern familiar faces. It looked as if at last Sylvia and I could marry in God’s name and live in our own flat without encumbrance. Uncle Lucy remained with Aunt Molly and the small children. He walked about with a long face, swinging a hammer and trying to be useful, but looking thoroughly out of his element. Poor man! It was not the fault of his face: he had a soul that didn’t smile. Also he had purchased roubles—and his pessimism on that count alone would seem rational enough. And already news had dribbled through that the first batch of Diabologhs had arrived in England and that my elder cousin, the artist of a modern school, for lack of other suitable subsistence, was now engaged in painting bicycles in Sussex; but still we two were not married. The War Office had obviously been losing interest in our adventure. Pickup was recalled. This was the first sign. And then, one day, there came a missive foreshadowing our complete withdrawal before long from the Far East. As I passed on the news at dinner Aunt Teresa’s breath seemed to catch in her throat, and she looked a little pale. ‘But what will you do? You cannot leave us all alone? And we cannot go to Europe with you as we have no means! Can’t you write and tell them this at the War Office?’

‘Can I be——’ The last word was not spoken.

‘Can’t he, Emmanuel?’

‘Ah, mais non, alors!’ exclaimed Uncle Emmanuel, in tones of outraged military propriety.

‘Strange! These people at the War Office understand nothing!’

The wedding had been fixed provisionally for April the 13th, but Aunt Teresa seemed sad, reluctant, and avoided all discussion tending towards any definite decision on this point. ‘You never think of me, you never think of your poor ailing Aunt Teresa,’ she complained, insinuating that my impending theft of her one remaining child was hard on her.

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