Aurelio Aung y compania might extend credit once, he/they might (though less likely) extend credit twice, but after that appeals for credit would only send him/them back to the abacus. Hence see Limekiller, his boat moored up a creek by the mangroves brown, pacing the beach under cover of night. And what would George II have thought about it all?
Neither history nor poetry had been very kind to George III. One poet has perhaps summed it up:
George Third
Ought never to have occurred.
Such a blunder
Makes one wonder.
Deft, no? Eh?
Of George I, we retain dull memories that he, not being able to speak English, thus became the first British Sovereign not to attend cabinet meetings, to the great advantage of Constitutional Government. But of George II — well, what of George II? The answer must only be: nothing. Nothing much in England, nothing good in Scotland, nothing much good in Ireland, and certainly nothing at all in British Columbia. But in British Hidalgo: a great deal more than nothing: for when it came to the second George’s attention that the Spanish Viceroy of Mexico or perhaps Peru (history is a little blurry as to this) was caught out in sketching plans to invade the sea-coast of British Hidalgo (which was, in those days, almost all sea-coast), did not George II declare that, if this were done, “He vould, py Got, pompard der coasts of Shpain!”? This has been forgotten in Britain (it has probably been forgotten in Spain, both nations having had very long and very bad headaches from their respective and very disrespectful empires); it has never been forgotten in British Hidalgo; “the Spaniard” — as he is always called, collectively — having foreborne to make the planned invasion.
To this day, in fact, in Woodcutters Cove, that forgotten last refuge of the White Creoles, there is still a statue of this bristly little monarch. True, it is only half life-size, and the sculptor has pictured him wearing the armor and tunic of a Roman general, with the result that there is a subversive school of thought which maintains stubbornly that it is a statue of Queen Victoria in corset and petticoat. But that is neither here nor there; and, alas, increasingly, that is where one nowadays mostly finds the White Creoles of the Colony, to wit: neither here nor there. the principal exception being, of course, Woodcutters Cove. Darker and more vigorous races have in large part taken over, elsewhere. The children of Asia (of both ends and of the middle) run most of the shops. The civil service and police constabulary are mostly Bayfolk (which is to say, mostly Black or Tan). Most of the farming around there is done by Panyars, as the entirely Mestizo population is called. The Black Arawacks, who are culturally Amerindian, do most of the fishing. What then do the White Creoles do? They do what log-cutting is still being done thereabouts. Aniline dyes have swept away the demand for logwood, and the mahogany has long been exhausted. But when baulks of rosewood and spars of pine or Santa Maria, logs of serricoty, or emmory, are cut, it is the White Creoles who cut it. And w’hen not doing that, they sit upon their verandahs, drinking rum and watered lime-juice, and they murmur of Good King George’s Golden Davs. that Good King being, of course, George II.
“‘Tired of fish-tea and rice-and-beans’?” Ruddy — for Rudderick — Goforth repeated, as one should repeat, “'Tired of life?”’
“Pretty tired of’m, yes,” Limekiller agreed. He sipped from the bottom of his glass. There hadn’t been much rum to start with and it had been of low proof: but the lime-tree after all grew in the front yard, and even if one didn’t know much else, one knew that lime- juice kept away the dreaded scurvy. There was, this time, a different and a more bitter taste in the glass, but no mystery was involved. and neither was Angostura. idly he picked up the piece of paper which Ruddy had copied, he said, from an old book, and read once more the careful capitals.
A Sovran Cure for The Small Feaver. Take one small bottle of white Rum called by Ye Spaniard a chaparita and lay therein three twigs of the Yerb Contribo and lett it steep for three Dayes. Drink 7 oz? morning and one ozz Evening for 3 dayes and Ye maye see Ye Feaver abate. Canton [sic] do not use same Twiggs more than thrice.
It was an old “old book.” Ruddy asked how “Jock” was feeling. “Jock” shrugged. “I guess the fever’s gone down,” he said. “It wasn’t much of a fever anyway.”
Ruddy covered his long chin with his long hand, and took thought. “Well… if the fever has gone down. and you still hasn’t got no appetite
“Didn’t say that I have no appetite. Said that I have no appetite for fish-tea and rice-and-beans.”
Goforth looked upward, as though an information might be lodged on the ridge-pole of his house. From the outside, nothing looked trashier than the thatched roof of a “trash house,” at once shaggy and so soon shabby: from the inside, nothing looked more beautiful and more symmetricaclass="underline" compensation, this was called. John L. Limekiller could not see it, but evidently Rod. Goforth could, and — having found the information — took his hand away from his chin and slowly opened his mouth. Also in the yard were the purple-drooping jacaranda trees. The book said its flowers were blue. blue!. but any fool could see they were purple.
Almost as though determined to exhibit a prime feature of the classical old White Creole accent, R. Goforth said, “Vhat you vants to do is to elewate your wittles.” He gave a great nod.
“‘Elevate my —
“Get you a tin of carn-beef. Get you a tin of peas-with-salad- cream.”
He almost smacked his lips as he named these imported delicacies, and sounded rather like a physician of the previous century recommending a couple of dozen oysters, some canvas- back duck, and a pint of champagne.
His guest sighed. “What I’d like to get me is some back-bacon and a couple of eggs. But when I mentioned write-it-down to Domingo Aung,” the entire Aung extended family, to which Aurelio w'as Titular Uncle, maintained the tradition of Spanish- language given-names perhaps dating back to days when kings named Alfonso reigned over Manila as well as Malaga; “to Domingo Aung, he suddenly got very hard of hearing.”
R. Goforth signified by a sort of rictus that wrell he knew the occasional auricular difficulty of Aurelio Aung and Clan. Then, “I tells you vhat,” said he. “You vants to picquet the beach at night, and get you a few' tortle eggs; bock-bacon, forget about it until you gets rich again.”
And he told Jack this, and he toldjack that, and he toldjack a few other things; also he told Jack this. “Ond in case they should apprehend you, vhich I werv much doubts, as po-licemen doesn’t vant to poke around such places at night unless eat ease really big-time, but suppose they should:, here is vhat you remember: stout denial. You does understand that? Neh-wer confess! E-wen if ah dead body lie before you, stout. denial! Maybe it fool you, get up and valk avay, maybe somebody help it valk. The Lah of Ewwidence is ah chancy thing. This is a British country — this is not a Frinch country — not a Spaniard country — the police gots to produce ewwidence you are guilty. So —”
‘“Stout. denial.”'
“Stout. denial.“
Likely, (Limekiller was thinking, waiting on the log just above highwater mark) likely if his lovely lady, Felix, was hereabouts he would have found something better to do of nights. Also, Felix (nee Felicia) would have spurred him on to borrow a shotgun and go hunting gibnut, or maybe even armadillo. wild-hog. antelope (very w'elclass="underline" it was really a small dear, it ate well, didn’t it). But Felix and her cousin May w'ere in King Town, getting their residence permits renewed, shopping for piece goods and native arts and crafts, getting books out of the National Library: officially, Unoffidally: also going to parties and to events very generally called funs. Maybe he, Jack, did not altogether like this last notion, for who knows whom Felix might meet? But he did not own her, nor her gleaming copper-red hair, nor her lovely long body; and he could not control her goings or her doings. So.