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131 pages

English

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. One side of the street glittered like a brilliant eruption with the light from a row of shops; the other, lined with houses, was almost deserted, for the people, drawn like moths by the glare, crowded and jostled under the lights.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819949848
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Jonah
by
Louis Stone
PART 1
LARRIKINS ALL
CHAPTER 1
SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE CORNER
One side of the street glittered like a brillianteruption with the light from a row of shops; the other, lined withhouses, was almost deserted, for the people, drawn like moths bythe glare, crowded and jostled under the lights.
It was Saturday night, and Waterloo, by immemorialhabit, had flung itself on the shops, bent on plunder. For an hourpast a stream of people had flowed from the back streets intoBotany Road, where the shops stood in shining rows, awaiting theconflict.
The butcher's caught the eye with a flare of colouras the light played on the pink and white flesh of sheep, guttedand skewered like victims for sacrifice; the saffron and redquarters of beef, hanging like the limbs of a dismembered Colossus;and the carcasses of pigs, the unclean beast of the Jews, pallid asa corpse. The butchers passed in and out, sweating and greasy,hoarsely crying the prices as they cut and hacked the meat. Thepeople crowded about, sniffing the odour of dead flesh, hungry andbrutal— carnivora seeking their prey.
At the grocer's the light was reflected from the gaylabels on tins and packages and bottles, and the air was heavy withthe confused odour of tea, coffee and spices.
Cabbages, piled in heaps against the door-posts ofthe greengrocer's, threw a rank smell of vegetables on the air; thefruit within, built in pyramids for display, filled the nostrilswith the fragrant, wholesome scents of the orchard.
The buyers surged against the barricade of counters,shouting their orders, contesting the ground inch by inch as theyfought for the value of a penny. And they emerged staggering underthe weight of their plunder, laden like ants with food for hungrymouths— the insatiable maw of the people.
The push was gathered under the veranda at thecorner of Cardigan Street, smoking cigarettes and discussing theweightier matters of life— horses and women. They were all young—from eighteen to twenty-five— for the larrikin never grows old.They leaned against the veranda posts, or squatted below thewindows of the shop, which had been to let for months.
Here they met nightly, as men meet at their club— aterror to the neighbourhood. Their chief diversion was to guy thepedestrians, leaping from insult to swift retaliation if oneresented their foul comments.
“Garn! ” one was saying, “I tell yer some 'orsesknow more'n a man. I remember old Joe Riley goin' inter the stableone day to a brown mare as 'ad a derry on 'im 'cause 'e flogged 'ercrool. Well, wot does she do? She squeezes 'im up agin the side o'the stable, an' nearly stiffens 'im afore 'e cud git out. My oath,she did! ”
“That's nuthin' ter wot a mare as was runnin' leaderin Daly's 'bus used ter do, ” began another, stirred by thatrivalry which makes talkers magnify and invent to cap a story; buthe stopped suddenly as two girls approached.
One was short and fat, a nugget, with square, sullenfeatures; the other, thin as a rake, with a mass of red hair thatfell to her waist in a thick coil.
“'Ello, Ada, w'ere you goin'? ” he inquired, with afacetious grin. “Cum 'ere, I want ter talk ter yer. ”
The fat girl stopped and laughed.
“Can't— I'm in a 'urry, ” she replied.
“Well, kin I cum wid yer? ” he asked, with anothergrin.
“Not wi' that face, Chook, ” she answered,laughing.
“None o' yer lip, now, or I'll tell Jonah wot yerwere doin' last night, ” said Chook.
“W'ere is Joe? ” asked the girl, suddenly serious.“Tell 'im I want ter see 'im. ”
“Gone ter buy a smoke; 'e'll be back in a minit.”
“Right-oh, tell 'im wot I said, ” replied Ada,moving away.
“'Ere, 'old 'ard, ain't yer goin' ter interdooce yercobber? ” cried Chook, staring at the red-headed girl.
“An' 'er ginger 'air was scorchin' all 'er back, ”he sang in parody, suddenly cutting a caper and snapping hisfingers.
The girl's white skin flushed pink with anger, hereyes sparkled with hate.
“Ugly swine! I'll smack yer jaw, if yer talk ter me,” she cried.
“Blimey, 'ot stuff, ain't it? ” inquired Chook.
“Cum on, Pinkey. Never mind 'im, ” cried Ada, movingoff.
“Yah, go 'ome an' wash yer neck! ” shouted Chook,with sudden venom.
The red-headed girl stood silent, searching her mindfor a stinging retort.
“Yer'd catch yer death o' cold if yer washed yerown, ” she cried; and the two passed out of sight, tittering. Chookturned to his mates.
“She kin give it lip, can't she? ” said he, inadmiration.
A moment later the leader of the Push crossed thestreet, and took his place in silence under the veranda. A firstglance surprised the eye, for he was a hunchback, with the uncannylook of the deformed— the head, large and powerful, wedged betweenthe shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down, the humpprojecting behind, monstrous and inhuman. His face held you with apair of restless grey eyes, the colour and temper of steel, deepwith malicious intelligence. His nose was large and thin, curvedlike the beak of an eagle. Chook, whose acquaintance he had madeyears ago when selling newspapers, was his mate. Both carriednicknames, corrupted from Jones and Fowles, with the rude wit ofthe streets.
“Ada's lookin' fer yous, Jonah, ” said Chook.
“Yer don't say so? ” replied the hunchback, raisinghis leg to strike a match. “Was Pinkey with 'er? ” he added.
“D'ye mean a little moll wi' ginger hair? ” askedChook.
Jonah nodded.
“My oath, she was! Gi' me a knockout in one act, ”said Chook; and the others laughed.
“Ginger fer pluck! ” cried someone.
And they began to argue whether you could tell awoman's character from the colour of her hair; whether red-hairedwomen were more deceitful than others.
Suddenly, up the road, appeared a detachment of theSalvation Army, stepping in time to the muffled beat of a drum. Theprocession halted at the street corner, stepped out of the way oftraffic, and formed a circle. The Push moved to the kerbstone, and,with a derisive grin, awaited the performance.
The wavering flame of the kerosene torches, toppedwith thick smoke, shone yellow against the whiter light of thegas-jets in the shops. The men, in red jerseys and flat caps, heldthe poles of the torches in rest. When a gust of air blew the thickblack smoke into their eyes, they patiently turned their heads. Thesisters, conscious of the public gaze, stood with downcast eyes,their faces framed in grotesque poke-bonnets.
The Captain, a man of fifty, with the knotty,misshapen hands of a workman, stepped into the centre of the ring,took off his cap, and began to speak.
“Oh friends, we 'ave met 'ere again tonight toinquire after the safety of yer everlastin' souls. Yer pass by,thinkin' only of yer idle pleasures, w'en at any moment yer mightbe called to judgment by 'Im Who made us all equal in 'Is eyes. Yerpass by without 'earin' the sweet voice of Jesus callin' on yer tobe saved this very minit. For 'E is callin' yer to come an' besaved an' find salvation, as 'E called me many years ago. I wasthen like yerselves, full of wickedness, an gloryin' in sin. But I'eard the voice of 'Im Who died on the Cross, an' saw I was rushin''eadlong to 'ell. An' 'Is blood washed all my sins away, an' mademe whiter than snow. Whiter than snow, friends— whiter than snow!An' 'E'll do the same fer you if yer will only come an' be saved.Oh, can't yer 'ear the voice of Jesus callin' to yer to come an'live with 'Im in 'Is blessed mansions in the sky? Oh, come tonightan' find salvation! ”
His arms were outstretched in a passionate gestureof appeal, his rough voice vibrated with emotion, the common faceflamed with the ecstasy of the fanatic. When he stopped for breathor wiped the sweat from his face, the Army spurred him on withcries of “Hallelujah! Amen! ” as one pokes a dying fire.
The Lieutenant, who was the comedian of the company,met with a grin of approval as he faced the ring of torches like anactor facing the footlights, posing before the crowd that hadgathered, flashing his vulgar conceit in the public eye. And hepraised God in a song and dance, fitting his words to the latestcraze of the music-hall:
"Oh! won't you come and join us?
Jesus leads the throng, "
snapping his fingers, grimacing, cutting capers thatwould have delighted the gallery of a theatre.
“Encore! ” yelled the Push as he danced himself to astandstill, hot and breathless.
The rank and file came forward to testify. The menstammered in confusion, terrified by the noise they made, shrinkingfrom the crowd as a timid bather shrinks from icy water, driven tothis performance by an unseen power. But the women were shrill andself-possessed, scolding their hearers, demanding an instantsurrender to the Army, whose advantages they pointed out with aglib fluency as if it were a Benefit Lodge.
Then the men knelt in the dust, the women coveredtheir faces, and the Captain began to pray. His voice rose inshrill entreaty, mixed with the cries of the shopmen and the noiseof the streets.
The spectators, familiar with the sight, listened innonchalance, stopping to watch the group for a minute as they wouldlook into a shop window. The exhibition stirred no religiousfeeling in them, for their minds, with the tenacity of childhood,associated religion with churches, parsons and hymn-books.
The Push grew restless, divided between a desire toupset the meeting and fear of the police.
“Well I used ter think a funeral was slow, ”remarked Chook, losing patience, and he stepped behind Jonah.
“'Ere, look out! ” yelled Jonah the next minute, as,with a push from Chook, he collided violently with one of thesoldiers and fell into the centre of the ring.
“'E shoved me, ” cried Jonah as he got up, pointingwith an injured air to the grinning Chook. “I'll gi' yer a kick inthe neck, if yer git me lumbered, ” he added, scowling withcounterfeit anger at his mate.
“If yer was my son, ” said the Captain severely— “Ifyer was my son. . . ” he repeated, halting for words.
“I should 'ave trotte