The Blue Man | Page 2

Lord touched them.
Only Asiatics realize the power of odors. The sense of smell is lightly
appreciated in the Western world. A fragrance might be compounded
which would have absolute power over a human being. We get wafts of
scent to which something in us irresistibly answers. A satisfying
sweetness, fleeting as last year's wild flowers, filled the whole cove. I
thought of dead Indian pipes, standing erect in pathetic dignity, the
delicate scales on their stems unfurled, refusing to crumble and pass
away; the ghosts of Indians.

The blue man parted his large lips and moved them several instants;
then his voice followed, like the tardy note of a distant steamer that
addresses the eye with its plume of steam before the whistle is heard. I
felt a creepy thrill down my shoulders--that sound should break so
slowly across the few yards separating us! "Are you also waiting,
madame?"
I felt compelled to answer him as I would have answered no other
person. "Yes; but for one who never comes."
If he had spoken in the pure French of the Touraine country, which is
said to be the best in France, free from Parisianisms, it would not have
surprised me. But he spoke English, with the halting though clear
enunciation of a Nova Scotian.
"You--you must have patience. I have--have seen you only seven
summers on the island."
"You have seen me these seven years past? But I never met you
before!"
His mouth labored voicelessly before he declared, "I have been here
thirty-five years."
How could that be possible!--and never a hint drifting through the
hotels of any blue man! Yet the intimate life of old inhabitants is not
paraded before the overrunning army of a season. I felt vaguely
flattered that this exclusive resident had hitherto noticed me and
condescended at last to reveal himself.
The blue man had been here thirty-five years! He knew the childish joy
of bruising the flesh of orange-colored toadstools and wading amid
long pine-cones which strew the ground like fairy corncobs. The white
birches were dear to him, and he trembled with eagerness at the first
pipe sign, or at the discovery of blue gentians where the eastern forest
stoops to the strand. And he knew the echo, shaking like gigantic organ
music from one side of the world to the other.

In solitary trysts with wilderness depths and caves which transient
sight-seers know nothing about I had often pleased myself thinking the
Mishi-ne-macki-naw-go were somewhere around me. If twigs crackled
or a sudden awe fell causelessly, I laughed--"That family of Indian
ghosts is near. I wish they would show themselves!" For if they ever
show themselves, they bring you the gift of prophecy. The Chippewas
left tobacco and gunpowder about for them. My offering was to cover
with moss the picnic papers, tins, and broken bottles, with which man
who is vile defiles every prospect. Discovering such a queer islander as
the blue man was almost equal to seeing the Mishi-ne-macki-naw-go.
Voices approached; and I watched his eyes come into his face as he
leaned forward! From a blurr' of lids they turned to beautiful clear balls
shot through with yearning. Around the jut of rook appeared a bicycle
girl, a golf girl, and a youth in knickers having his stockings laid in
correct folds below the knee. They passed without noticing us. To see
his looks dim and his eagerness relax was too painful. I watched the
water ridging against the horizon like goldstone and changing swiftly to
the blackest of greens. Distance folded into distance so that the remote
drew near. He was certainly waiting for somebody, but it could not be
that he had waited thirty-five years: thirty-five winters, whitening the
ice-bound island; thirty-five summers, bringing all paradise except
what he waited for.
Just as I glanced at the blue man again his lips began to move, and the
peculiar tingle ran down my back, though I felt ashamed of it in his
sweet presence.
"Madame, it will--it will comfort me if you permit me to talk to you."
"I shall be very glad, sir, to hear whatever you have to tell."
"I have--have waited here thirty-five years, and in all that time I have
not spoken to any one!"
He said this quite candidly, closing his lips before his voice ceased to
sound. The cedar sapling against which his head rested was not more
real than the sincerity of that blue man's face. Some hermit soul, who

had proved me by watching me seven years, was opening himself, and I
felt the tears come in my eyes.
"Have you never heard of me, madame?"
"You forget, sir, that I do not even know your name."
"My name is probably forgotten on the island now. I stopped here
between steamers