Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Germ Growers: An Australian story of adventure and mystery by Robert Potter (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: Robert Potter
Book online «The Germ Growers: An Australian story of adventure and mystery by Robert Potter (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📖». Author Robert Potter
After we had gone, as I thought, a few miles, Signor Davelli changed the direction of the paddles and swept round in a longish curve, until the forward part of the car was turned to our starting point. When we had travelled about half way back he turned the valve again and refilled the balloons, and then he stopped the paddles and we lay floating in the air, rising very slowly and gently. Then he bade me look to the west and say if I saw anything. I could see nothing at all, [127] the day was quite cloudless. Then he bade me look downward, but still to the west. Then I saw a shadow, as I thought, of a great bird, but I could see no bird to cast the shadow. The sun was now declining a little, and he bade me turn and look downward again, but now to the east. Then I saw the shadow of our own car, and although the point of view was not the same, there was no room to doubt but that the other shadow was cast by a car like ours. The moment I saw the likeness my old Welsh experience came with a flash to my mind. These were just the same queer sort of shadows that I had seen long ago at Penruddock the day James Redpath had disappeared; yes, and surely the evening before the day we reached the valley, the evening of the day that we lost poor Gioro I had seen just the same sort of shadow. And—— Could it be? Yes, it surely was—the dreadful face that I recognised yesterday was no other than James Redpath’s own! How it was that I did not identify him before I do not know, but now I knew very surely that I had seen himself indeed. Such was the tumult of mixed feelings that now took possession of me that although we moved rapidly forward again until we had passed quite over the valley and then wheeled round once more, I took no notice of our movements until I found that we were [128] descending to the spot where we had started, the front of the car facing southward as before. I looked at Signor Davelli, and I read in his face an expression of gratified pride and a strong sense of power. There was nothing repulsive in his aspect now, at least nothing repulsive to me. I felt also that I was being somehow dominated by his will, and that I was not altogether unwilling that it should be so. I felt certainly some remnant of the horror with which I had looked yesterday on his face and the faces of his men, but I was conscious that my horror was rapidly merging into simple wonder. I felt something of the sort of awe which the suspected presence of the supernatural produces in most minds; but the feeling which dominated for the present all other feelings in me was a devouring curiosity. Just then the sacred allegory of the Fall passed before my mind rather as if presented than recalled. In my mind’s eye I saw the very Tree itself which was to be desired to make one wise, and the legend written under it—
but neither device nor motto seemed to have any other effect upon me than to stimulate my curiosity.
Just then we touched ground, and I started, as if [129] coming to my senses, and looked over at Jack. His face was partly turned away, and I could see little more than his side face. He wore an abstracted air, such as I had never seen him wear before. There was also a sweetness and earnestness of expression about him which were certainly not foreign to his face, but which I had never before seen there in such intense degree. Strange to say, there came upon me for the moment a sort of contempt for his understanding which seemed strongly to repel me from him. This, I have now no doubt, was produced by some evil influence acting I know not how, for assuredly there was nothing in my knowledge of him that it could build upon, and all that happened after justified it, if possible, even less. Just then he turned and looked upon me, and there was in his eyes so much care and kindness, kindness to me and care on my account, that my heart was touched and awakened at once. I cannot analyze or account for the effect which this look produced on me; I can only say that as I stepped from the car the tumult of mixed feelings, which so disturbed me, seemed to pass away like a bad dream that might or might not return.
After a few words of courteous inquiry as to our necessities and comforts, Signor Davelli made an [130] appointment to meet us next day on the square where we had met this morning; and then we parted from him for the night, and Jack and I slowly returned to our place.
“Jack,” said I, as we were going down, “what do you think of it all?”
“We won’t talk of it now,” he replied, “we are too tired, and perhaps excited; we had better sleep over it. To-morrow we must rise early, look out a quiet place, and talk the matter all round.”
Nothing more but some words of course passed between us until the morning.
[Footnote 3: I discovered afterwards that it was not metallic.] Return to text
SIGNOR DAVELLI.
Early the next morning Jack and I were ready for a scramble over the cliff. We wished to have a quiet talk together, and we wished farther, although we had not yet named the wish one to another, to ascertain as far as possible whether or not we were in effect prisoners. There was one fact which told heavily against any such notion. That was the large quantity of portable provisions which had been deliberately put in our way. For we could each carry, without inconvenience, enough to last us for a long time, quite long enough to enable us to push westward as far as the coast, or to go back eastward as far as the wire. Nevertheless, I was firmly of opinion that we would not be permitted to escape, and that if we attempted to our lives would not be worth much. As I learned afterwards, Jack was of the same opinion. The [132] events of this morning removed all doubt on the subject.
We found quite a practicable ascent of the cliff on the side of the stair which was further from the platform. And, after climbing this, we found a fairly even space of several hundred yards, and then an easy descent upon the other side. We did not, however, attempt the descent, but sat down and talked. Jack began—
“Bob,” he said, “we must keep cool, for we are playing for very high stakes.”
“For life and death, you think.”
“More than that, perhaps. I wonder what selling your soul meant in the old times?”
“I suppose,” I said, “whatever else it meant, it meant acting dishonourably or treacherously for the sake of some personal gain.”
“But some fellows have sold their souls who could never be persuaded to act either treacherously or dishonourably for the sake of any personal gain.”
“I daresay,” said I, not seeing nor caring what he was driving at.
“Now, Bob, if I were the devil, and if I wanted to get you to sell me your soul, I know what I should do.”
[133] I was getting a little vexed, but I replied simply—“Well, what would you do?”
“I would endeavour to pique your curiosity, and then I would show you that you could gratify it by putting yourself in my power, and then I would have your body even if you still insisted on keeping your soul.”
“And which do you think it would be?”
“Well, I should have to be satisfied with your body, except in one event.”
“And, pray, what would that be?”
“I might by the exhibition of some special or unaccounted-for power gain such influence over you as to get you to put your conscience at my disposal. Then you would be mine soul and body.”
I was beginning to get vexed, partly because I suppose I saw more truth in what he said than I liked, so I said shortly—
“What do you mean just now by all this?”
“I think our friend, the signor, is the devil himself. I don’t mean any fee-faw-fum. I daresay there are a good many other men as much devils as he is, but he has all the power which great and special practical knowledge gives a man, and he is as full of malice as an egg is full of meat, and he is up to some very big [134] villainy and, what is more to the purpose, he has a design upon you.”
“He has done us no harm that I can see.”
“He has done us a great deal of harm; he is persuading you to trust yourself to him, and he is worthy of no trust whatever, d—n him.”
Now this from Jack was rather startling; for he was not in the least prone to use bad language. I never heard “the Englishman’s prayer” from his lips before or since. But his earnestness irritated me more than his profanity surprised me.
“Don’t you see,” I said rather sullenly, “that if your hypothesis is correct your prayer is rather superfluous?”
“Well, yes, it is superfluous,” he said with a harsh laugh quite unlike him; “he is damned already sure enough.”
“I don’t see much sign of damnation about him,” I said, “not if misery be an essential part of damnation.”
“Well, yes, the misery that comes of malice, and if ever malice and misery were written in a man’s face, they were written in his yesterday when they missed those men. And mark me,” Jack added, raising his voice, “his damnation has got something to do with the loss of those men.”
[135] I was now getting very angry, so I rose to my feet and said hastily—“If we have nothing to talk about, don’t you think that we may as well go back?”
Jack rose and said, “No, Bob, we’ll not go back yet awhile. Don’t be vexed with me, old fellow. You are in more danger than I am, but your danger is mine.” As he said this I saw the same expression on his face which I had seen yesterday, an expression of kindness and anxiety, and it had much the same effect on me now.
“Jack,” I said, “forgive me, I declare I believe you are partly right; I believe there is some devilish influence at work trying to set me against you. I caught myself yesterday despising you for not being clever, and there were two devils in that, for you are twice as clever as I am, and even if you were not you are ten times as good.”
“Ah, Bob, my boy, there is plenty of reason to suspect me of stupidity without supposing that the devil is in the dance.
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