The Enormous Room E. E. Cummings (snow like ashes TXT) đ
- Author: E. E. Cummings
Book online «The Enormous Room E. E. Cummings (snow like ashes TXT) đ». Author E. E. Cummings
The promenaders had been singularly noisy, I thought. Now they were mounting to the room making a truly tremendous racket. No sooner were the doors opened than in rushed half a dozen frenzied friends, who began telling me all at once about a terrific thing which my friend the noir had just done. It seems that The Trick Raincoat had pulled at Jeanâs handkerchief (Luluâs gift in other days) which Jean wore always conspicuously in his outside breast pocket; that Jean had taken the Raincoatâs head in his two hands, held it steady, abased his own head, and rammed the helpless T. R. as a bull would doâ âthe impact of Jeanâs head upon the otherâs nose causing that well-known feature to occupy a new position in the neighbourhood of the right ear. B. corroborated this description, adding the Raincoatâs nose was broken and that everyone was down on Jean for fighting in an unsportsmanlike way. I found Jean still very angry, and moreover very hurt because everyone was now shunning him. I told him that I personally was glad of what heâd done; but nothing would cheer him up. The T. R. now entered, very terrible to see, having been patched up by Monsieur Richard with copious plasters. His nose was not broken, he said thickly, but only bent. He hinted darkly of trouble in store for le noir; and received the commiserations of everyone present except Mexique, The Zulu, B. and me.
The Zulu, I remember, pointed to his own nose (which was not unimportant), then to Jean, and made a moue of excruciating anguish, and winked audibly.
Jeanâs spirit was broken. The well-nigh unanimous verdict against him had convinced his minutely sensitive soul that it had done wrong. He lay quietly, and would say nothing to anyone.
Some time after the soup, about eight oâclock, the Fighting Sheeney and The Trick Raincoat suddenly set upon Jean le NĂšgre apropos of nothing; and began pommelling him cruelly. The conscience-stricken pillar of beautiful muscleâ âwho could have easily killed both his assailants at one blowâ ânot only offered no reciprocatory violence but refused even to defend himself. Unresistingly, wincing with pain, his arms mechanically raised and his head bent, he was battered frightfully to the window by his bed, thence into the corner (upsetting the stool in the pissoir), thence along the wall to the door. As the punishment increased he cried out like a child: âLaissez-moi tranquille!ââ âagain and again; and in his voice the insane element gained rapidly. Finally, shrieking in agony, he rushed to the nearest window; and while the Sheeneys together pommelled him yelled for help to the planton beneath.â â
The unparalleled consternation and applause produced by this one-sided battle had long since alarmed the authorities. I was still trying to break through the five-deep ring of spectators (among whom was The Messenger Boy, who advised me to desist and got a piece of advice in return)â âwhen with a tremendous crash open burst the door; and in stepped four plantons with drawn revolvers, looking frightened to death, followed by the Surveillant who carried a sort of baton and was crying faintly: âQuâest-ce que câest!â
At the first sound of the door the two Sheeneys had fled, and were now playing the part of innocent spectators. Jean alone occupied the stage. His lips were parted. His eyes were enormous. He was panting as if his heart would break. He still kept his arms raised as if seeing everywhere before him fresh enemies. Blood spotted here and there the wonderful chocolate carpet of his skin, and his whole body glistened with sweat. His shirt was in ribbons over his beautiful muscles.
Seven or eight persons at once began explaining the fight to the Surveillant, who could make nothing out of their accounts and therefore called aside a trusted older man in order to get his version. The two retired from the room. The plantons, finding the expected wolf a lamb, flourished their revolvers about Jean and threatened him in the insignificant and vile language which plantons use to anyone whom they can bully. Jean kept repeating dully âlaissez-moi tranquille. Ils voulaient me tuer.â His chest shook terribly with vast sobs.
Now the Surveillant returned and made a speech, to the effect that he had received independently of each other the stories of four men, that by all counts le nĂšgre was absolutely to blame, that le nĂšgre had caused an inexcusable trouble to the authorities and to his fellow-prisoners by this wholly unjustified conflict, and that as a punishment the nĂšgre would now suffer the consequences of his guilt in the cabinot.â âJean had dropped his arms to his sides. His face was twisted with anguish. He made a childâs gesture, a pitiful hopeless movement with his slender hands. Sobbing he protested: âIt isnât my fault, monsieur le Surveillant! They attacked me! I didnât do a thing! They wanted to kill me! Ask himââ âhe pointed to me desperately. Before I could utter a syllable the Surveillant raised his hand for silence: le nĂšgre had done wrong. He should be placed in the cabinot.
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