at him and at last he reached the door. All this time he was talking to himself or somebody.
When poor Eddie (who three days ago was so fine and strong and knowledgeable and sober, shinning skilfully up the great firs and monumental cedars on the sloping shores of Knight Inlet) began to progress along Powell Street towards the docks, he found the going hard. He addressed the passers-by, but they, silent as fishes, swam noiselessly past and vanished. He spoke to them loudly, greeting them, telling them what he thought of them for passing him silently like fishes, and telling them that he had lost his suitcase. They did not care and continued to swim past him past him swimming past him. He beckoned and waved to them but they, suddenly multiplying to three or four apiece and then vanishing, neither saw nor heard him. They saw and heard him all right, but found it more convenient to appear blind and deaf to Eddie Hansen. As Eddie weaved along he discovered that one side of the pavement of Powell Street was no good. That was, really, the kerb side. The other side was good and there was something hard which responded to you by holding you up. That was a house or a shop. So tall Eddie travelled along, leaning against this something solid from time to time, and it was as he took his ease against The Fishermen’s Book Shop andharangued the shadows that slid by him without caring that he had lost his suitcase, that he saw as in a wavering cloud the good face of his friend Mort Johnson.
Eddie lunged out awkwardly and seized Mort strongly by some part of him and a great gladness filled him, and before he told Mort about going down to the dock to find his suitcase, he pumped Mort’s arm up and down and told him again and again how fine it was to see him; and Morty was just as glad to see old Eddie, his big friend the high rigger, Paul Bunyan of Jervis Inlet, good old Eddie, drunk or sober.
TWELVE
J ust before the moment when Eddie Hansen, looking with glazed eyes at the passers-by, suddenly saw looming up the pleasant sight of the face of his friend Mort Johnson, Vicky Tritt, on the other side of Powell Street, minced along on her way to her Wednesday evening service at St. James Church, wishing that she had not put on her good hat with a veil, as the rain had now begun to drizzle. The hat with a veil did not suit her as well as her everyday hat – no hat could be said to suit her – but the good hat was part of her going to church. Because Mrs. Ravoli had borrowed her umbrella, she had no umbrella with her. As Eddie leaned against the Fishermen’s Book Shop, and Victoria May, mincing along on the opposite side of Powell Street, saw across the road a huge drunken logger leaning against the Book Shop and addressing the passers-by, they both converged upon a moment in the life of Morty Johnson whom Vicky then saw swaggering genially down Powell Street in the direction of this drunken man whom Morty had not yet seen. Victoria May slowed up and looked across at Morty walking with his easy swagger and roll, seeming very much pleased with things, and she thought Oh,Morty does look nice! and Morty was indeed a contrast, one might think, to the fair drunken giant who leaned against the shop making large gestures to no one in particular. Vicky slowed up, watching her cousin by marriage Mort Johnson walking cheerfully along, looking full of contented thoughts, which he was. So Vicky saw Mort sober approaching Eddie drunk and did not suspect a connection between the two. Then she saw Mort sober stop dead in his tracks and hail the drunken giant, and the drunken giant almost fell upon Mort, and the two of them swayed about in a kind of ecstasy of greeting that looked Vicky thought, for all the world as though they were wrastling. She wondered if this friend of Mort’s could be that Eddie Hansen of whom she had heard Myrtle speak so unfavourably. She then saw a kind of argument develop in which both men talked at the same time and each seemed
When poor Eddie (who three days ago was so fine and strong and knowledgeable and sober, shinning skilfully up the great firs and monumental cedars on the sloping shores of Knight Inlet) began to progress along Powell Street towards the docks, he found the going hard. He addressed the passers-by, but they, silent as fishes, swam noiselessly past and vanished. He spoke to them loudly, greeting them, telling them what he thought of them for passing him silently like fishes, and telling them that he had lost his suitcase. They did not care and continued to swim past him past him swimming past him. He beckoned and waved to them but they, suddenly multiplying to three or four apiece and then vanishing, neither saw nor heard him. They saw and heard him all right, but found it more convenient to appear blind and deaf to Eddie Hansen. As Eddie weaved along he discovered that one side of the pavement of Powell Street was no good. That was, really, the kerb side. The other side was good and there was something hard which responded to you by holding you up. That was a house or a shop. So tall Eddie travelled along, leaning against this something solid from time to time, and it was as he took his ease against The Fishermen’s Book Shop andharangued the shadows that slid by him without caring that he had lost his suitcase, that he saw as in a wavering cloud the good face of his friend Mort Johnson.
Eddie lunged out awkwardly and seized Mort strongly by some part of him and a great gladness filled him, and before he told Mort about going down to the dock to find his suitcase, he pumped Mort’s arm up and down and told him again and again how fine it was to see him; and Morty was just as glad to see old Eddie, his big friend the high rigger, Paul Bunyan of Jervis Inlet, good old Eddie, drunk or sober.
TWELVE
J ust before the moment when Eddie Hansen, looking with glazed eyes at the passers-by, suddenly saw looming up the pleasant sight of the face of his friend Mort Johnson, Vicky Tritt, on the other side of Powell Street, minced along on her way to her Wednesday evening service at St. James Church, wishing that she had not put on her good hat with a veil, as the rain had now begun to drizzle. The hat with a veil did not suit her as well as her everyday hat – no hat could be said to suit her – but the good hat was part of her going to church. Because Mrs. Ravoli had borrowed her umbrella, she had no umbrella with her. As Eddie leaned against the Fishermen’s Book Shop, and Victoria May, mincing along on the opposite side of Powell Street, saw across the road a huge drunken logger leaning against the Book Shop and addressing the passers-by, they both converged upon a moment in the life of Morty Johnson whom Vicky then saw swaggering genially down Powell Street in the direction of this drunken man whom Morty had not yet seen. Victoria May slowed up and looked across at Morty walking with his easy swagger and roll, seeming very much pleased with things, and she thought Oh,Morty does look nice! and Morty was indeed a contrast, one might think, to the fair drunken giant who leaned against the shop making large gestures to no one in particular. Vicky slowed up, watching her cousin by marriage Mort Johnson walking cheerfully along, looking full of contented thoughts, which he was. So Vicky saw Mort sober approaching Eddie drunk and did not suspect a connection between the two. Then she saw Mort sober stop dead in his tracks and hail the drunken giant, and the drunken giant almost fell upon Mort, and the two of them swayed about in a kind of ecstasy of greeting that looked Vicky thought, for all the world as though they were wrastling. She wondered if this friend of Mort’s could be that Eddie Hansen of whom she had heard Myrtle speak so unfavourably. She then saw a kind of argument develop in which both men talked at the same time and each seemed
Similar Books
