Grimus - By Salman Rushdie Page 0,15

to be near; but then Flapping Eagle was no decent woman. From Virgil Jones he learned what he had hoped to learn. This was the place Sispy had spoken of. An island of immortals who had found their longevity too burdensome in the outside world, yet had been unwilling to give it up; with Sispy’s guidance they had come to Calf Mountain to be with their own kind.

—Does the name Bird-Dog mean anything to you? he asked.

—Bird-Dog, said Virgil Jones. (Was that alarm or concentration on his face?) Is the lady a friend of yours?

—My sister, said Flapping Eagle.

—No, said Virgil Jones. No, it doesn’t.

Later that night Flapping Eagle suddenly realized it must have been a lie. How had Mr Jones known the name Bird-Dog was a woman’s name?

And more importantly: why had he denied knowing her?

He pressed the point the next morning.

—My dear Mr Eagle, said Virgil Jones, I feel very strongly you should bend all your energies to the recovery of your health. You have been greatly weakened by your misadventure. When you are well, you have my word that Mrs O’Toole and I will answer all your questions. It’s a complex matter; I would be happier if you were in as fit a condition as possible.

—All I want, said Flapping Eagle, is an answer to one question: are my sister and Mr Sispy on this island? The answer to that will not strain my health, I assure you.

—Very well, sighed Mr Jones, the answer is Yes; yes, they are. After a fashion. And now I’ll say no more. Do get well soon, dear Mr Eagle.

Flapping Eagle let the subject drop and drank another bowl of root-tea.

Dolores O’Toole had hobbled off to collect fruits and berries. Virgil sat by Flapping Eagle’s bedside watching with ill-concealed jealousy as the convalescent man worked at the jigsaw puzzle.

—You astonish me with your skill, he said, with as good grace as he could muster.

—Beginners’ luck, disclaimed Flapping Eagle. He really was doing very well.

—Dolores and I are very anxious to hear all about you, now that you’re so much better. You must have had quite a time on your way here. But upon consideration perhaps it would be polite if I told you a little about ourselves first, so as to put you at your ease. If you’d like to hear about us, that is.

—Please, said Flapping Eagle and fitted three more pieces into the puzzle.

Virgil Jones frowned. —I think that one goes at the top, he said, a shade abruptly. Flapping Eagle tried; it didn’t.

—O, I see, said Flapping Eagle; it fits here. The piece slid into place at the bottom of the puzzle.

—I always wanted to be an archaeologist, you know, said Virgil Jones, changing the subject. Unfortunately life has a way of sidetracking one’s greatest ambitions. Painters, would-be artists, end up whitewashing walls. Sculptors are forced to design toilets. Writers become critics or publicists. Archaeologists, like myself, can become gravediggers.

—You were a gravedigger? asked Flapping Eagle in genuine surprise. But it fitted: Mr Jones’ habitual lugubrious expression went well with that profession.

—For a time, said Mr Jones. For a time. Before events conspired to bring me here. It was pleasant enough work; the most pleasing aspect being that everyone one met was happy. The corpses were content enough, and so, usually, were the mourners. It was a source of lasting comfort to me, the sight of so many tears of joy, so freely shed,

—That’s a very cynical statement, said Flapping Eagle.

—Alas, poor Yorick, said Virgil Jones; the worms long ago gnawed his romanticism to shreds.

In the ensuing silence, Flapping Eagle fitted together all but three of the remaining pieces.

—There’s not much for a gravedigger to do on Calf Mountain, said Virgil Jones; so I have retired into my true love—contemplation.

—And Dolores? asked Flapping Eagle.

—Ah, Dolores; there is a sad tale. To love life so much under such a physical burden … it is my belief she lives alone, or, that is to say, with me, because she finds she can only love human beings in their absence.

—This last piece, said Flapping Eagle, doesn’t fit.

Virgil Jones smiled in satisfaction. —That’s my little joke, he said. The jigsaw cannot be completed.

X

AS VIRGIL JONES and Dolores O’Toole prepared the evening meal, Flapping Eagle could not help observe what a good team they made in their distorted way. They seemed to work at different planes of the room—Dolores low and stooping, Virgil gross but erect. For a moment Flapping Eagle had the illusion