— place in an uproar, many people almost hysterical with laughter, shouting and holding their sides, heads thrown back and chests and bosoms heaving -
— bartender shouting and pointing the very little man, the lee mahn, off, off off!. and he trying desperately either to run down the length of the bar or try jump down on the other side of it: but someone holding on to his coat-tails and preventing this, and the terrified lunging forward all unaware of what was holding him back and the tiny feet slipping on the slick-wet bar -
Jack had been looking at all this in the mirror behind the bar and of half a mind to intervene and yet more than half paralyzed with astonishment, ignorant of what could it all mean, and. even. by reason, perhaps, of his being a foreigner, perhaps by reason of. — Jack, looking in the mirror behind the bar saw something green and yellow and blue and red come peering and peeping up behind the low partition halfway back the bar-room: saw, at this moment, the very little man seem to go absolutely insane, great drops of sweat literally flying from frenzied face as he whipped it from side to side seeking escape, only escape: and then the mass of feather-colors came soaring through the air and the very little man crouched and piddled like a crouching dog and screamed and flung his arms over his head and hooted: there was no other word for it: hooted his terror. The bartender produced from nowhere a cricket- bat and brought it down with force. Once. Twice. A third time.
And all the while the pandaemonium of mad laughter went on.
And then it stopped.
As though waiting.
And in a very tiny voice the very tiny man with the very large hands and head asked, words a-tremble, “You keel eet, mon?”
And then it began again.
Slowly, slowly, the very little man uncovered his huge head and peered, oh so slowly and oh slow frightenedlv, from under one upflung arm. Shuddered. And shuddered. And shuddered. There on the bar was the shattered body of a parrot. It had been killed, all right. That is. well. anyway, it was dead. It had been, evidently, dead a while, and the sawdust with which it had been stuffed was scattered all around.
The feet, of course, were not there.
The very little man’s very large eyes blinked. His very large mouth opened. Closed. Opened. He swiveled round on the bar. Faced the silent crowd (now silent). Pointed a trembling finger at large. Said: “Ha. You try fi fool me. Ha. You w’only try fi fool me. Ha. But me no fool. Me w’only play And at this he started to stand up, slipped in his own urine, and came down with an immense soggy-slapping pratfall. The place at once erupted again with laughter loud as battle. And the very little man put his very large hands up across his very large face and began to weep, noisily, as a child might weep: a cry of purest sorrow, devoid alike of petulance or rage.
At once the mood of the mob changed. Where, a moment ago, he had fallen (slap) and sat alone, the lee mahn was now surrounded. Men clapped him on the back. Women kissed him. People shook both his hands, still wet with his own tears. And now loud murmurs arose, and angry looks and glances were cast. “ Who do dis t’ing? Which place he be?MehkIsee him. 1 w’only rip his reins out! Who go fi play dis trick on poor lee Willy Weekins? Bobboon’s bostard! Get-of- a-whore! Mehk I see which side he be!" — But the scoundrel had fled.
Now arose the only White woman in the place, she was a large White woman, not fat: large: a well-known and well-respected prostitute, with a face as richly colored (and as lineless) as that of an immense wax doll; she took from her vast purse now a vast lace handkerchief. In a voice indicating a touch of, only, well-bred concern, she said, “My. You’ve spilled your beer.” And began, in a most genteel manner, gently to dab and to mop. - And then, when Limekiller (now, and only now he noticed: on his feet) expected the place to burst out yet again in laughter: there was not a sound.
Until, after a second, only, “lee Willy Weekins” himself broke the silence. “Yes! Yes! (T’ank you, mah’m. T’ank you kindly.) I di spill me beer. Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Well, plenty more beer! Bartender! Hi, I say you: barkeep! Leff us hahve some beer! Who want beer? Rum? Whiskey-soda? Drinks!. I ahm Willy Wiggins, holding Government Lease Number 523 fi cut rosewood at Wild Hog Eddy — ho!” He clapped his huge hands as though summoning a host of servitors. „— ond I di sell ahl me cut stick ot highest price to Tropical Hardwood, L.T.D., ond so noew I want fi buy drink fi ahl me friend — nobody else money good today! Drinks ahl-roend! Drinks —”
Limekiller was outside. He had wanted another drink, but he didn’t want one now. Not of this round, not the next nor next.
At the door the poor were waiting; well, one of the poor was waiting: one of the Town’s official, i.e. tolerated, beggars; very ancient of days. You had to be very ancient of days to qualify for the free bed-and-breakfast at the Christian Armv Hostel for Elderly Men; but the funds for the Christian Army Hostel’s dole did not extend beyond bed-and-breakfast; automatically, Limekiller gave him a coin; was politely thanked. And the old, old man, who had evidently been looking in, said to Limekiller, in a tone of wonder, “Dat lee mahn, you know7, sah, he fright w’only fi parrot.”
Yes (thought Limekiller), he certainly was “fright for parrots” Why? Who could say why. Some men were afraid of heights. Or depths. Some were terrified of spiders. Or the dark. Some feared capital, and some feared labor. Some were afraid there was a God and some were afraid there wasn’t. The fright of one w as of life and the fright of the other one was of death. Some people fright in bush, fright fi bobboon,fi tiger, fi wild hog, fi jungle.
Wee Willy Wiggins was onlv fright for parrots.
It was less than a figure of speech to say that, until the stroke of ten, Limekiller was at loose ends, for Limekiller’s ends were never as loose as some people’s. Perhaps he might want solitude and quiet, if so, he did not loaf listlessly, he went where he knew he could find it. Some went to find it in one of the local cathedrals (small as King Town was, it had no less than three of these; of course, they were small, too), but, although Limekiller was not a scoffer, thinking there more to the lines Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau / Mock on, mock on, tis all in vain: / You throw the sand into the wind / And the wind but blows it back again… or however it went. than mere rhyme: still Limekiller did not usually go to a cathedral if he wanted solitude or quiet… or, as was usual, both: he went to the National Library. This was, he sometimes amused himself (rather easily, perhaps) by thinking that this was a Constitutional Library, just as the Monarchy was a Constitutional Monarchy. Nationals in general liked the idea of having both, but liked neither much to bother with, nor much be bothered by, either. So there was never any chance of crowd or noise at the National Library. He spent some while there, now browsing, now reading: mostly in old books about the country (there were few new ones).
He spent some time, after that, resuming the Great Bronze Nails Quest; the Quest for the Numinous Nails, one might call it; again, one might not. He thought it would be a good thing to have some bronze nails handy for his boat: Bronze does not rust. And the more the local hardware shop keepers shook their heads and announced, in a variety of accents, that There Was Nothing Like That, the more he persisted in seeking That.