The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy - Mervyn Peake [539]
The thick grey hands had withdrawn, taking their fingers with them – but a moment later something arose to take their place. It was the head of a man.
THIRTY-SIX
Little did he know – this riser-out-of-flagstones – that his head was that of a batter’d god – nor that with such a visage, he was, when he spoke, undermining his own grandeur, for no voice could be tremendous enough for such a face.
‘Be not startled,’ he whined, and his accents were as soft as dough. ‘All is well; all is lovely; all is as it should be. Accept me. That is all I ask you. Accept me. Old Crime they call me. They will have their little jokes. Dear boys, they are. Ha ha! That I have come to you through a hole in the floor is nothing. Put down that chair leg, friend.’
‘What do you want?’ said Titus.
‘Listen to him,’ replied the soft voice. ‘“What do you want?” he says. I want nothing, dear child. Nothing but friendship. Sweet friendship. That is why I have come to see you. To initiate you. One must help the helpless, mustn’t one? And pour out balm, you know: and bathe all kinds of bruises.’
‘I wish to hell you had left me alone,’ said Titus savagely. ‘You can keep your balm.’
‘Now is that nice?’ said Old Crime. ‘Is that kind? But I understand. You are not used to it: are you? It takes some time to love the Honeycomb.’
Titus stared at the leonine head.
The voice had robbed it of all grandeur, and he placed the chair leg on the table within reach.
‘The Honeycomb? What’s that?’ said Titus at last. The man had been staring at him intently.
‘It is the name we give, dear boy, to what some would call a prison. But we know better. To us it is a world within a world – and I should know, shouldn’t I? I’ve been here all my life – or nearly all. For the first few years I lived in luxury. There were tiger-skins on the scented floorboards of our houses: and golden cutlery and golden plates. Money was like the sands of the sea. For I come from a great line. You have probably heard of us. We are the oldest family in the world – we are the originals.’ He edged forward, out of the hole.
‘Do you think that because I am here, in the Honeycomb, I am missing anything? Do you think I am jealous of my family? Do you think I miss the golden plates and the tiger-skins? No! Nor the reflections in the polished floor. I have found my luxury here. This is my joy. To be a prisoner in the Honeycomb. So, my dear child, be not startled. I came to tell you there’s a friend below you. You can always tap to me. Tap out your thoughts. Tap out your joys and sorrows. Tap out your love. We will grow old together.’
Titus turned his face sharply. What did he mean, this vile, unhealthy creature.
‘Leave me alone,’ cried Titus, ‘– leave me alone!’
The man from the cell below stared at Titus. Then he began to tremble.
‘This used to be my cell,’ he said. ‘Years and years ago. I was a fire-raiser. “Arson” they called it. I did so love a fire. The flames make up for everything.
‘Bring on the rats and mice! Bring on my skinning-knife. Bring on the New Boys.’
He moved a step towards Titus who, in his turn, moved a little nearer to the chair-leg weapon.
‘This is a good cell. I had it once,’ whined Old Crime. ‘I made something out of it, I can tell you. I learned the nature of it. I was sad to leave it. This window is the finest in the prison. But who cares about it now? Where are the frescoes gone? My yellow frescoes. Drawings, you understand. Drawings of fairies. Now they have been covered up and nothing is left of all my work. Not a trace.’
He lifted his proud head and but for the shortness of his legs he might well have been Isaiah.
‘Put that chair leg on the table, boy. Forget yourself. Eat up your crumbs.’
Titus looked down at the old lag and the craggy grandeur of his upturned face.
‘You’ve come to the right place,’ said Old Crime. ‘Away from the filthy thing called Life. Join