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By Root 8922 0

before. I love the sea, the pure Norwegian sea. My disillusionment once more is a pose. What am I trying to prove by all this? Accept it; one is a sentimentalist, a muddler, a realist, a dreamer, coward, hypocrite, hero, an Englishman in short, unable to follow out his own metaphors. Tufthunter and pioneer in disguise. Iconoclast and explorer. Undaunted bore undone by trivialities! Why, one asks, instead of feeling stricken in that pub, didn't I set about learning some of those songs, those precious revolutionary songs. What is to prevent one's learning more of such songs now, new songs, different songs, anyhow, if only to recapture some early joy in merely singing, and playing the guitar? What have I got out of my life? Contacts with famous men... The occasion Einstein asked me the time, for instance. That summer evening, strolling towards the tumultuous kitchen of St John's--who is it that behind me has emerged from the rooms of the Professor living in D4? And who is it also strolling towards the Porter's lodge--where, our orbits crossing, asks me the time? Is this Einstein, up for an honours degree? And who smiles when I say I don't know... And yet asked me. Yes: the great Jew, who has upset the whole world's notions of time and space, once leaned down over the side of his hammock strung between Aries and the Circlet of the Western Fish, to ask me, befuddled ex-anti-Semite, and ragged freshman huddled in his gown at the first approach of the evening star, the time. And smiled again when I pointed out the clock neither of us had noticed--)

"--better than having them perform their public functions in private anyhow, I should have thought," Hugh said.

"You might have hit on something there. That is, those birds referred to are not police in the strict sense. As a matter of fact the regular police are--"

"I know, they're on strike."

"So of course they must be democratic from your point of view... Just like the army. All right, it's a democratic army... But meantime these other cads are throwing their weight about a bit. It's a pity you're leaving. It might have been a story right down your alley. Did you ever hear of the Unión Militar?"

"You mean the pre-war thingmetight, in Spain?"

"I mean here in this state. It's affiliated to the Military Police, by which they're covered, so to speak, because the Inspector-General, who is the Military Police, is a member. So is the Jefe de Jardineros, I believe."

"I heard they were putting up a new statue to Diaz in Oaxaca."

"--Just the same," pursued the Consul, in a slightly lowered tone, as their conversation continued in the next room, "there is this Unión Militar, sinarquistas, whatever they're called, if you're interested, I'm not personally--and their headquarters used to be in the policía de Seguridad here, though it isn't any longer, but in Parián somewhere, I heard."

Finally the Consul was ready. The only further help he had required was with his socks. Wearing a freshly pressed shirt and a pair of tweed trousers with the jacket to them Hugh had borrowed and now brought in from the porch, he stood gazing at himself in the mirror.

It was most surprising, not only did the Consul now appear fresh and lively but to be dispossessed of any air of dissipation whatsoever. True, he had not before the haggard look of a depraved worn-out old man: why should he indeed, when he was only twelve years older than Hugh himself? Yet it was as though fate had fixed his age at some unidentifiable moment in the past, when his persistent objective self, perhaps weary of standing askance and watching his downfall, had at last withdrawn from him altogether, like a ship secretly leaving harbour at night. Sinister stories as well as funny and heroic had been told about his brother, whose own early poetic instincts clearly helped the legend. It occurred to Hugh that the poor old chap might be, finally, helpless, in the grip of something against which all his remarkable defences could avail him little. What use were his talons and fangs to the dying tiger? In the clutches, say, to make matters