The Desert Islander | Page 3

almost all Anglo-Saxons are--by the opportunity
of dispensing food and drink.
"I can tell you my Zigzag idea while I eat," said Constantine, leading
the way towards the table at the other end of the room. "Are you not
eating too?"
"I'm not in the habit of eating a meat meal at ten o'clock at night."
"Is 'not being in the habit' a reason for not doing it now?"
"To me it is."
"Oh--oh--oh--I wish I were like you," said Constantine vehemently. "It
is so tiring being me--having no guide. I do like you."
"Help yourself to spinach," said Mr. White crossly.
"Now shall I tell you my Zigzag idea?"
"If you can eat as well as talk."
Constantine was exceedingly hungry; he bent low over his plate,
though he sat sideways to the table, facing Mr. White, ready to launch a
frontal attack of talk. His mouth was too full for a moment to allow him
to begin to speak, but quick, agonized glances out of his black eyes
implored his host to be silent till his lips should be ready. "You know,"
he said, swallowing hurriedly, "I always think of a zigzag as going
downwards. I draw it in the air, so ... a straight honest line, then--see--a
diagonal subtle line cuts the air away from under it--so ... Do you see
what I mean? I will call the zig a to, and the zag a from. Now---"
"Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?" asked Mr. White.
"It is bandaged. Now, I think of this zigzag as a diagram of human
minds. Always human minds are zigs or zags--a to or a from--the brave
zig is straight, so ... the cleverer, crueller zag cuts away below. So are
men's---"

"But why is it bandaged?"
"It was kicked by a horse. Well, so are men's understandings. Here I
draw the simple, faithful understanding--and here--zag--the easy, clever
understanding that sees through the simple faith. Now below
that--see--zig once more--the wise, the serene, and now a zag
contradicts once more; this is the cynic who knows all answers to
serenity. Then below, once more---"
"May I see your leg?" asked Mr. White. "I was in an ambulance unit
during the war."
"Oh, what is this talk of legs?" cried Constantine. "Legs are all the
same; they belong to millions. All legs are made of blood and bone and
muscle--all vulgar things. Your ambulance cuts off legs, mends legs,
fits bones together, corks up blood. It treats men like bundles of bones
and blood. This is so dull. Bodies are so dull. Minds are the only
onliness in men."
"Yes," said Mr. White. "But minds have to have legs to walk about on.
Let me see your leg."
"Very well, then, let us talk of legs. We have at least legs in common,
you and I."
"Hadn't you got more sense than to put such a dirty rag round an open
wound?"
"It is not dirty; it is simply of a grey colour. I washed it in a rice field."
Constantine spoke in a muffled voice from somewhere near his
knee-cap, for he was now bent double, wholeheartedly interested in his
leg. "I washed the wound too, and three boils which are behind my
knee. This blackness is not dirt; it is a blackness belonging to the
injury."
Mr. White said nothing, but he rose to his feet as though he had heard a
call. Constantine, leaving his puttee in limp coils about his foot like a
dead snake, went on eating. He began to talk again about the zigzag

while he stuffed food into his mouth, but he stopped talking soon, for
Mr. White was walking up and down the long room and not pretending
to listen. Constantine, watching his host restively pacing the far end of
the room, imagined that he himself perhaps smelled disagreeable, for
this was a constant fear of his--that his body should play his rare
personality this horrid trick. "What is the matter?" he asked anxiously,
with a shamed look. "Why are you so far?"
Mr. White's lazy, mild manner was quite changed. His voice seemed to
burst out of seething irritation. "It's a dam nuisance just now. It couldn't
happen at a worse time. I've a great deal of work to do--and this
fighting all over the province makes a journey so dam---"
"What is so dam?" asked Constantine, his bewilderment affecting his
English.
"I'll tell you what," said Mr. White, standing in front of Constantine
with his feet wide apart and speaking in an angry voice. "You're going
to bed now in my attic, and to-morrow at daylight you're going to be
waked up and driven down in my car, by me (damn it!) to Lao-chow, to
the hospital--a two days' drive--three