The Book of Wonder | Page 9

discovered this he

resented his birth bitterly, and made lamentation and alleged that he
was lost. He might have been seen then in any part of London haunting
curiosity-shops and places where they sold idols of ivory or of stone,
for he dwelt in London with others of his race though he was born in
Burmah among those who hold Ganges holy. On drizzly evenings of
November's worst his haggard face could be seen in the glow of some
shop pressed close against the glass, where he would supplicate some
calm, cross-legged idol till policemen moved him on. And after closing
hours back he would go to his dingy room, in that part of our capital
where English is seldom spoken, to supplicate little idols of his own.
And when Pombo's simple, necessary prayer was equally refused by
the idols of museums, auction-rooms, shops, then he took counsel with
himself and purchased incense and burned it in a brazier before his own
cheap little idols, and played the while upon an instrument such as that
wherewith men charm snakes. And still the idols clung to their
etiquette.
Whether Pombo knew about this etiquette and considered it frivolous in
the face of his need, or whether his need, now grown desperate,
unhinged his mind, I know not, but Pombo the idolater took a stick and
suddenly turned iconoclast.
Pombo the iconoclast immediately left his house, leaving his idols to be
swept away with the dust and so to mingle with Man, and went to an
arch-idolater of repute who carved idols out of rare stones, and put his
case before him. The arch-idolater who made idols of his own rebuked
Pombo in the name of Man for having broken his idols--"for hath not
Man made them?" the arch-idolater said; and concerning the idols
themselves he spoke long and learnedly, explaining divine etiquette,
and how Pombo had offended, and how no idol in the world would
listen to Pombo's prayer. When Pombo heard this he wept and made
bitter outcry, and cursed the gods of ivory and the gods of jade, and the
hand of Man that made them, but most of all he cursed their etiquette
that had undone, as he said, an innocent man; so that at last that
arch-idolater, who made idols of his own, stopped in his work upon an
idol of jasper for a king that was weary of Wosh, and took compassion
on Pombo, and told him that though no idol in the world would listen to

his prayer, yet only a little way over the edge of it a certain disreputable
idol sat who knew nothing of etiquette, and granted prayers that no
respectable god would ever consent to hear. When Pombo heard this he
took two handfuls of the arch-idolater's beard and kissed them joyfully,
and dried his tears and became his old impertinent self again. And he
that carved from jasper the usurper of Wosh explained how in the
village of World's End, at the furthest end of Last Street, there is a hole
that you take to be a well, close by the garden wall, but that if you
lower yourself by your hands over the edge of the hole, and feel about
with your feet till they find a ledge, that is the top step of a flight of
stairs that takes you down over the edge of the World. "For all that men
know, those stairs may have a purpose and even a bottom step," said
the arch-idolater, "but discussion about the lower flights is idle." Then
the teeth of Pombo chattered, for he feared the darkness, but he that
made idols of his own explained that those stairs were always lit by the
faint blue gloaming in which the World spins. "Then," he said, "you
will go by Lonely House and under the bridge that leads from the
House to Nowhere, and whose purpose is not guessed; thence past
Maharrion, the god of flowers, and his high-priest, who is neither bird
nor cat; and so you will come to the little idol Duth, the disreputable
god that will grant your prayer." And he went on carving again at his
idol of jasper for the king who was weary of Wosh; and Pombo
thanked him and went singing away, for in his vernacular mind he
thought that "he had the gods."
It is a long journey from London to World's End, and Pombo had no
money left, and yet within five weeks he was strolling along Last Street;
but how he contrived to get there I will not say, for it was not entirely
honest. And Pombo found the well at the end of the garden beyond the
end house of Last Street, and many thoughts ran through his mind as he