Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald UK (Illustrated)

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

  When Fitz-Norman had been dead three years his son, Braddock, decided that the business had gone far enough. The amount of wealth that he and his father had taken out of the mountain was beyond all exact computation. He kept a note-book in cipher in which he set down the approximate quantity of radium in each of the thousand banks he patronised, and recorded the alias under which it was held. Then he did a very simple thing — he sealed up the mine.

  He sealed up the mine. What had been taken out of it would support all the Washingtons yet to be born in unparalleled luxury for generations. His one care must be the protection of his secret, lest in the possible panic attendant on its discovery he should be reduced with all the property-holders in the world to utter poverty.

  This was the family among whom John T. Unger was staying. This was the story he heard in his silver-walled living-room the morning after his arrival.

  V

  After breakfast, John found his way out the great marble entrance, and looked curiously at the scene before him. The whole valley, from the diamond mountain to the steep granite cliff five miles away, still gave off a breath of golden haze which hovered idly above the fine sweep of lawns and lakes and gardens. Here and there clusters of elms made delicate groves of shade, contrasting strangely with the tough masses of pine forest that held the hills in a grip of dark-blue green. Even as John looked he saw three fawns in single file patter out from one clump about a half-mile away and disappear with awkward gaiety into the black-ribbed half-light of another. John would not have been surprised to see a goat-foot piping his way among the trees or to catch a glimpse of pink nymph-skin and flying yellow hair between the greenest of the green leaves.

  In some such cool hope he descended the marble steps, disturbing faintly the sleep of two silky Russian wolfhounds at the bottom, and set off along a walk of white and blue brick that seemed to lead in no particular direction.

  He was enjoying himself as much as he was able. It is youth’s felicity as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the present, but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly imagined future — flowers and gold, girls and stars, they are only prefigurations and prophecies of that incomparable, unattainable young dream.

  John rounded a soft corner where the massed rosebushes filled the air with heavy scent, and struck off across a park toward a patch of moss under some trees. He had never lain upon moss, and he wanted to see whether it was really soft enough to justify the use of its name as an adjective. Then he saw a girl coming toward him over the grass. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

  She was dressed in a white little gown that came just below her knees, and a wreath of mignonettes clasped with blue slices of sapphire bound up her hair. Her pink bare feet scattered the dew before them as she came. She was younger than John — not more than sixteen.

  “Hallo,” she cried softly, “I’m Kismine.”

  She was much more than that to John already. He advanced toward her, scarcely moving as he drew near lest he should tread on her bare toes.

  “You haven’t met me,” said her soft voice. Her blue eyes added, “Oh, but you’ve missed a great deal!”… “You met my sister, Jasmine, last night. I was sick with lettuce poisoning,” went on her soft voice, and her eye continued, “and when I’m sick I’m sweet — and when I’m well.”

  “You have made an enormous impression on me,” said John’s eyes, “and I’m not so slow myself” — “How do you do?” said his voice. “I hope you’re better this morning.” — “You darling,” added his eyes tremulously.

  John observed that they had been walking along the path. On her suggestion they sat down together upon the moss, the softness of which he failed to determine.

  He was critical about women. A single defect — a thick ankle, a hoarse voice, a glass eye — was enough to make him utterly indifferent. And here for the first time in his life he was beside a girl who seemed to him the incarnation of physical perfection.

  “Are you from the East?” asked Kismine with charming interest.

  “No,” answered John simply. “I’m from Hades.”

  Either she had never heard of Hades, or she could think of no pleasant comment to make upon it, for she did not discuss it further.

  “I’m going East to school this fall” she said. “D’you think I’ll like it? I’m going to New York to Miss Bulge’s. It’s very strict, but you see over the weekends I’m going to live at home with the family in our New York house, because father heard that the girls had to go walking two by two.”

  “Your father wants you to be proud,” observed John.

  “We are,” she answered, her eyes shining with dignity. “None of us has ever been punished. Father said we never should be. Once when my sister Jasmine was a little girl she pushed him downstairs and he just got up and limped away.

  “Mother was — well, a little startled,” continued Kismine, “when she

  heard that you were from — from where you are from, you know.

  She said that when she was a young girl — but then, you see, she’s a

  Spaniard and old-fashioned.”

  “Do you spend much time out here?” asked John, to conceal the fact that he was somewhat hurt by this remark. It seemed an unkind allusion to his provincialism.

  “Percy and Jasmine and I are here every summer, but next summer Jasmine is going to Newport. She’s coming out in London a year from this fall. She’ll be presented at court.”

  “Do you know,” began John hesitantly, “you’re much more sophisticated than I thought you were when I first saw you?”

  “Oh, no, I’m not,” she exclaimed hurriedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t think of being. I think that sophisticated young people are terribly common, don’t you? I’m not all, really. If you say I am, I’m going to cry.”

  She was so distressed that her lip was trembling. John was impelled to protest:

  “I didn’t mean that; I only said it to tease you.”

  “Because I wouldn’t mind if I were,” she persisted, “but I’m not. I’m very innocent and girlish. I never smoke, or drink, or read anything except poetry. I know scarcely any mathematics or chemistry. I dress very simply — in fact, I scarcely dress at all. I think sophisticated is the last thing you can say about me. I believe that girls ought to enjoy their youths in a wholesome way.”

  “I do, too,” said John, heartily,

  Kismine was cheerful again. She smiled at him, and a still-born tear dripped from the comer of one blue eye.

  “I like you,” she whispered intimately. “Are you going to spend all your time with Percy while you’re here, or will you be nice to me? Just think — I’m absolutely fresh ground. I’ve never had a boy in love with me in all my life. I’ve never been allowed even to see boys alone — except Percy. I came all the way out here into this grove hoping to run into you, where the family wouldn’t be around.”

  Deeply flattered, John bowed from the hips as he had been taught at dancing school in Hades.

  “We’d better go now,” said Kismine sweetly. “I have to be with mother at eleven. You haven’t asked me to kiss you once. I thought boys always did that nowadays.”

  John drew himself up proudly.

  “Some of them do,” he answered, “but not me. Girls don’t do that sort of thing — in Hades.”

  Side by side they walked back toward the house.

  6

  John stood facing Mr. Braddock Washington in the full sunlight. The elder man was about forty, with a proud, vacuous face, intelligent eyes, and a robust figure. In the mornings he smelt of horses — the best horses. He carried a plain walking-stick of gray birch with a single large opal for a grip. He and Percy were showing John around.

  “The slaves’ quarters are there.” His walking-stick indicated a cloister of marble on their left that ran in graceful Gothic along the side of the mountain. “In my youth I was distracted for a while from the business of life by a period of absurd idealism. During that tim
e they lived in luxury. For instance, I equipped every one of their rooms with a tile bath.”

  “I suppose,” ventured John, with an ingratiating laugh, “that they used the bathtubs to keep coal in. Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy told me that once he — “

  “The opinions of Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy are of little importance, I should imagine,” interrupted Braddock Washington coldly. “My slaves did not keep coal in their bathtubs. They had orders to bathe every day, and they did. If they hadn’t I might have ordered a sulphuric acid shampoo. I discontinued the baths for quite another reason. Several of them caught cold and died. Water is not good for certain races — except as a beverage.”

  John laughed, and then decided to nod his head in sober agreement.

  Braddock Washington made him uncomfortable.

  “All these negroes are descendants of the ones my father brought North with him. There are about two hundred and fifty now. You notice that they’ve lived so long apart from the world that their original dialect has become an almost indistinguishable patois. We bring a few of them up to speak English — my secretary and two or three of the house servants.

  “This is the golf course,” he continued, as they strolled along the velvet winter grass. “It’s all a green, you see — no fairway, no rough, no hazards.”

  He smiled pleasantly at John.

  “Many men in the cage, father?” asked Percy suddenly.

  Braddock Washington stumbled, and let forth an involuntary curse.

  “One less than there should be,” he ejaculated darkly — and then added after a moment, “We’ve had difficulties.”

  “Mother was telling me,” exclaimed Percy, “that Italian teacher — “

  “A ghastly error,” said Braddock Washington angrily. “But of course there’s a good chance that we may have got him. Perhaps he fell somewhere in the woods or stumbled over a cliff. And then there’s always the probability that if he did get away his story wouldn’t be believed. Nevertheless, I’ve had two dozen men looking for him in different towns around here.”

  “And no luck?”

  “Some. Fourteen of them reported to my agent they’d each killed a man answering to that description, but of course it was probably only the reward they were after — “

  He broke off. They had come to a large cavity in the earth about the circumference of a merry-go-round, and covered by a strong iron grating. Braddock Washington beckoned to John, and pointed his cane down through the grating. John stepped to the edge and gazed. Immediately his ears were assailed by a wild clamor from below.

  “Come on down to Hell!”

  “Hallo, kiddo, how’s the air up there?”

  “Hey! Throw us a rope!”

  “Got an old doughnut, Buddy, or a couple of second-hand sandwiches?”

  “Say, fella, if you’ll push down that guy you’re with, we’ll show you a quick disappearance scene.”

  “Paste him one for me, will you?”

  It was too dark to see clearly into the pit below, but John could tell from the coarse optimism and rugged vitality of the remarks and voices that they proceeded from middle-class Americans of the more spirited type. Then Mr. Washington put out his cane and touched a button in the grass, and the scene below sprang into light.

  “These are some adventurous mariners who had the misfortune to discover El Dorado,” he remarked.

  Below them there had appeared a large hollow in the earth shaped like the interior of a bowl. The sides were steep and apparently of polished glass, and on its slightly concave surface stood about two dozen men clad in the half costume, half uniform, of aviators. Their upturned faces, lit with wrath, with malice, with despair, with cynical humour, were covered by long growths of beard, but with the exception of a few who had pined perceptibly away, they seemed to be a well-fed, healthy lot.

  Braddock Washington drew a garden chair to the edge of the pit and sat down.

  “Well, how are you, boys?” he inquired genially.

  A chorus of execration, in which all joined except a few too dispirited to cry out, rose up into the sunny air, but Braddock Washington heard it with unruffled composure. When its last echo had died away he spoke again.

  “Have you thought up a way out of your difficulty?”

  From here and there among them a remark floated up.

  “We decided to stay here for love!”

  “Bring us up there and we’ll find us a way!”

  Braddock Washington waited until they were again quiet. Then he said:

  “I’ve told you the situation. I don’t want you here, I wish to heaven I’d never seen you. Your own curiosity got you here, and any time that you can think of a way out which protects me and my interests I’ll be glad to consider it. But so long as you confine your efforts to digging tunnels — yes, I know about the new one you’ve started — you won’t get very far. This isn’t as hard on you as you make it out, with all your howling for the loved ones at home. If you were the type who worried much about the loved ones at home, you’d never have taken up aviation.”

  A tall man moved apart from the others, and held up his hand to call his captor’s attention to what he was about to say.

  “Let me ask you a few questions!” he cried. “You pretend to be a fair-minded man.”

  “How absurd. How could a man of my position be fair-minded toward you? You might as well speak of a Spaniard being fair-minded toward a piece of steak.”

  At this harsh observation the faces of the two dozen fell, but the tall man continued:

  “All right!” he cried. “We’ve argued this out before. You’re not a humanitarian and you’re not fair-minded, but you’re human — at least you say you are — and you ought to be able to put yourself in our place for long enough to think how — how — how — “

  “How what?” demanded Washington, coldly.

  “ — how unnecessary — “

  “Not to me.”

  “Well — how cruel — “

  “We’ve covered that. Cruelty doesn’t exist where self-preservation is involved. You’ve been soldiers; you know that. Try another.”

  “Well, then, how stupid.”

  “There,” admitted Washington, “I grant you that. But try to think of an alternative. I’ve offered to have all or any of you painlessly executed if you wish. I’ve offered to have your wives, sweethearts, children, and mothers kidnapped and brought out here. I’ll enlarge your place down there and feed and clothe you the rest of your lives. If there was some method of producing permanent amnesia I’d have all of you operated on and released immediately, somewhere outside of my preserves. But that’s as far as my ideas go.”

  “How about trusting us not to peach on you?” cried some one.

  “You don’t proffer that suggestion seriously,” said Washington, with an expression of scorn. “I did take out one man to teach my daughter Italian. Last week he got away.”

  A wild yell of jubilation went up suddenly from two dozen throats and a pandemonium of joy ensued. The prisoners clog-danced and cheered and yodled and wrestled with one another in a sudden uprush of animal spirits. They even ran up the glass sides of the bowl as far as they could, and slid back to the bottom upon the natural cushions of their bodies. The tall man started a song in which they all joined —

  ”Oh, we’ll hang the kaiser

  On a sour apple-tree — “

  Braddock Washington sat in inscrutable silence until the song was over.

  “You see,” he remarked, when he could gain a modicum of attention. “I bear you no ill-will. I like to see you enjoying yourselves. That’s why I didn’t tell you the whole story at once. The man — what was his name? Critchtichiello? — was shot by some of my agents in fourteen different places.”

  Not guessing that the places referred to were cities, the tumult of rejoicing subsided immediately.

  “Nevertheless,” cried Washington with a touch of anger, “he tried to run away. Do you expect me to take chances with any of you after an experie
nce like that?”

  Again a series of ejaculations went up.

  “Sure!”

  “Would your daughter like to learn Chinese?”

  “Hey, I can speak Italian! My mother was a wop.”

  “Maybe she’d like t’learna speak N’Yawk!”

  “If she’s the little one with the big blue eyes I can teach her a lot of things better than Italian.”

  “I know some Irish songs — and I could hammer brass once’t.”

  Mr. Washington reached forward suddenly with his cane and pushed the button in the grass so that the picture below went out instantly, and there remained only that great dark mouth covered dismally with the black teeth of the grating.

  “Hey!” called a single voice from below, “you ain’t goin’ away without givin’ us your blessing?”

  But Mr. Washington, followed by the two boys, was already strolling on toward the ninth hole of the golf course, as though the pit and its contents were no more than a hazard over which his facile iron had triumphed with ease.

  7

  July under the lee of the diamond mountain was a month of blanket nights and of warm, glowing days. John and Kismine were in love. He did not know that the little gold football (inscribed with the legend Pro deo et patria et St. Mida) which he had given her rested on a platinum chain next to her bosom. But it did. And she for her part was not aware that a large sapphire which had dropped one day from her simple coiffure was stowed away tenderly in John’s jewel box.

  Late one afternoon when the ruby and ermine music room was quiet, they spent an hour there together. He held her hand and she gave him such a look that he whispered her name aloud. She bent toward him — then hesitated.

  “Did you say ‘Kismine’?” she asked softly, “or — “