Authors: Thomas Pynchon
"And...t'would be merely to say 'Whatcheer,' inquire after the Weather, perhaps pass a few Spiritual Remarks, I presume,— not to issue commands tha must already know I'd never o-bey."
"I'll send your Thoughts along. You don't seem eager for this."
"Ask Mr. Emerson. I'm but a county Surveyor,— not really at m' best upon the grand and global type of expedition, content here at home, old Geordie a-slog thro' the darts, now and then, as if by magic, able to calculate lines that may not be chain'd,— the Surveyor's form of walking upon Water.—
May your Lancashire Lalande prove more boldly dispos'd...?"
Emerson lifts his head, the ends of his Hair a-sop with Ale, and leers at the Priest. "We had a wager upon this very Topick, I believe."
"No,— " gesturing with his own head at Dixon, "this is the one, William, God's Instrument if ever I saw one. I'm not ready to concede,”
"Hold,— am I a horse, in a horse-race, here? Friend Emerson's bet upon a sure thing then, for I don't fancy working for Jesuits,— no more than having others believe it's what I'm doing."
"You see?" Emerson beams, " Tis the Coldness, if you ask me,— aye, more than anything,— that absence of Pity."
"Pity? Oh, as to Pity,— " The Phiz of the Jesuit, who hasn't been missing too many Rounds, may be observ'd now in a certain state of Beefiness.
"You are twiddling about with that Wig," mutters Emerson, "so as to draw attention. Pray moderate it, Coz."
"You wonder why I'm stuck over in Flanders, with a herd of Boys, all of them with Erections more or less twenty-four hours a day? a sinners' Paradise to some,— to others a form of Penance. Yea, 'tis Penance I do, for having once or twice, when it matter'd, unreflectively shewn an instant of this Pity whose value you cry up so... ? well, I have learn'd, 'tis not for any of us to presume to act as Christ alone may,— for Christ's true Pity lies so beyond us, that we may at best jump and whimper like Dogs who cannot quite catch the Trick of it."
"What a Relief!" cries Dixon, "Whoo! no more Pity? Eehh, where's me Pistols, then...."
"The simpler explanation," Emerson with a distinct uvular component in his Sigh, "may be that none of you people has ever known a moment of Transcendence in his life, nor would re-cognize one did it walk up and bite yese in the Arse,— and in the long sorry Silence, grows the suspicion that Jesuits are but the latest instance of a true Christian passion evaporated away, leaving no more than the usual hollow desires for Authority and mindless O-bedience. Poh, Cousin,— Poh, Sir."
In now strolls Lud Oafery's friend and occasional Translator Mr. Whike, crying, "Eeh! were we having a little discussion as to the,— surely I heard the word,— Jesuits? not them again? that, that same secret cabal of traitorous Serpents, who seek ever to subvert our blessed England before the Interests of Rome, and the Whore-House they call a Church,— those Jesuits? Why, here we'd thought there was no deep Conversation at The Cudgel and Throck."
"Hullo, Whike, I'm told Lud's been asking for me.”
"His Mum, actually. Lud had to go down to Thornton-le-Beans, but he'll be back. Who's your not quite credibly turn'd-out Friend here? (Tis the Wig, Sir,— needs the immediate Attentions of a Professional....) Just when I imagin'd I'd had all you lot sorted out at last!"
"Did I forget to introduce yese? And ordinarily I've the manners of a Lord."
"Which Lord was that?"
"Hadn't plann'd on this so early in the Day," Dixon in a low voice to Maire. To Whike, "Shall we get the Festivities going now, do tha guess, or would tha rather wait for thy Friend Lud,— 'tis all the same to me."
"Was yere Stu-dent ever like this, Sir? One of these big Lads that needs to be thumping away so at us smaller, wee-er folk? Sad, it is."
"Some might find it amusing, Whike," Emerson replies.
"Jeremiah. I am astonish'd. Were you actually planning to strike this perfectly pleasant, tho' strangely idle, young man? And I thought London taverns were quarrelsome!"
"Years ago, once and once only,— all in a spirit of Scientifick Inquiry,— I did, well, take hold of him,—
Jumping back apprehensively, "Didn't ask me, did you?"
"Nor have tha let me forget it,— I only wish'd to pick him up, and throw him at that very Dart-Board over there, to see if his Head, which seem'd pointed enough, might stick...? And he's been on about it ever since,— all right then, Whike? Whike, I admit 'twas the improper way to test thee for Cranial Acuity,— I ought to have ta'en the Board from the Wall, brought it to thee, and then clash'd it upon thy Nob,— tha Bugger."
"I knew one day he'd feel remorse," carols Whike. "I accept yeer Apology most Graceful, Sir."
"Apology!" Dixon's face, as all would swear to later, having com-menc'd to glow in the Murk. "Why, You little— "
All light from the outside vanishes, as something fills the Doorway. "Gaahhrrhh!" it says.
'' 'Here then, don't be laying a finger on my Mate,' " Whike translates,— for 'tis Lud, back from Thornton-le-Beans, and his Mother, Ma Oafery, with him.
In the days of the '45,— guessing that the Young Pretender would
travel ev'rywhere he could by way of those secret Tunnels known to
Papists from ancient times, which ran from most parish Churches away to other points of interest,— thro' that wond'rous Summer, Lads after Adventure haunted these dank passages, all over England, day and night, Dixon among them, walking his own Patrol up and down the Tunnel that ran from Raby Castle to Staindrop Church, down amid whose elegant Stone Facing and Root-Aromas he and Lud Oafery first met. Dixon was carrying a Torch,— Lud was not.
"Why bother," Lud explain'd, "when there's enough like you, who've brought their own light...? How much light can anyone need, just to get thro' a Tunnel, unless of course one stops to admire the Mason-work. Which is what you're doing, ain't it." He had a look. "This dates back to the time when Staindrop was the Metropolis of Stayndropshire with a y, and the very Pearl of Wearside. Right clash amid the best pool of Boring talent in England,— outside the House of Lords, of course,— where would this ancient Drift have gone, if not between Castle and Church?— either of which could afford it easily, for far less than a single Week's revenue—"
Lud in his ramblings claim'd to've been up and down ev'ry Tunnel in the County Palatinate of Durham,— some of them connected one to another, he said, so that any who truly needed to keep out of a Day-light so often perilous, might travel for great Distances, all under Ground.
"Ahrahr AHR, ahr-ahrahr," adds Lud, years later, in The Cudgel and Throck.
"Very old, these Diggings,— " reports Whike, "yet never wandering about under Ground, all bearing true as an Italian Miner's Compass between their Termini."
A Knowledge of Tunneling became more and more negotiable, as more of the Surface succumb'd to Enclosure, Sub-Division, and the simple Exhaustion of Space,— Down Below, where no property Lines existed, lay a World as yet untravers'd, that would clearly belong to those Pioneers who possess'd the Will, and had master'd the Arts of Pluto,— with the Availability of good Equipment besides, ever a Blessing. So, beneath the surfaces of English Parish-Towns, Bands of Pickmen once came a-stir like giant Worms, addressing themselves to Faces that would take them where they must.. .Fire-lit Earth Walls that betray'd nothing of what might lie a Shovel-ful away. Sometimes, 'twas told, a lucky Spade-
man might find buried Treasure,— "Huzzah, no more of this Earth-worming for me, tell the Master I'm off to London and the High Life, and oh yes here's a shilling for your Trouble,— " And sometimes, 'twas told, the Devil sent his own Dodmen, to lead the Diggers in grisly play 'round the Corner again and into the Church-yard, where Death in its full unpleasantness waited them, a Skull, in the instant of any Spade's burden, emerging from the Mud just at Eye-Level, smiling widely as in recognition, the Torches all at that instant guttering in some Vile breath out of the suburbs of Hell.
"The Diggers never knew what was likely to be ahead. They had to trust the Surveyors who kept above. Remember when I told you, Jere, that they were the Conscience of the Community, you pip'd up, that that was what ye'd be. And damme, so ye were!" Thus Whike's Version. Lud's merriment, even at half-voice, acts less to invite, than to intimidate.
"Is thah' what he said?" Emerson blinking his way into the Discussion.
"Thanking Whike for his good Faith, 'tis it, to the Comma. Lud, tha predicted then, solemnly, that our Ways would part,— that I would find my Destiny above, upon the Surface of the Earth,— whilst your own must lie quite the other way."
"Bit further down," nods Lud.
"How's Business been, down there?"
"Brisk as ever it gets upon thy Surface," replies Ma Oafery. "And thoo, Jere Dixon,— 'tis said tha'll be going to America, to build them a Visto of an Hundred Leagues or more...?"
"Sort of long Property-Line, Ma. Both sides want the Trees out of the way. Easier for getting Sights, tho' Ah wouldn't call it a Visto, exactly."
Lud beams. "When tha're down there in the Tunneling and can't see a thing...?" as Whike puts it, "tha feel ever one Foot-fall, ever one Turning, from collecting the Scheme Altogether." They whisper together, casting quick Glances at Father Maire. "Lud wishes to know," Whike relays at last, "Mr. Emerson's Cousin's Views, upon the Structure of the World."
"A Spheroid, the last I heard of it, Sir."
"Ahr Ahr ahr, 'ahr ahhrr!"
" 'And I say, 'tis Flat,' " the Jesuit smoothly translates. "Why of course, Sir, flat as you like, flat as a Funnel-Cake, flat as a Pizza, for all that— “
"Apologies, Sir,— " Whike all Unctuosity, "the foreign Word again, was...?"
"The apology is mine,— Pizza being a Delicacy of Cheese, Bread, and
Fish ubiquitous in the region 'round Mount Vesuvius
In my Distrac
tion, I have reach'd for the Word as the over-wrought Child for its Doll."
"You are from Italy, then, sir?" inquires Ma.
"In my Youth I pass'd some profitable months there, Madam."
"Do you recall by chance how it is they cook this 'Pizza'? My Lads and Lasses grow weary of the same Daily Gruel and Haggis, so a Mother is ever upon the Lurk for any new Receipt."
"Why, of course. If there be a risen Loaf about...?"
Mrs. Brain reaches 'neath the Bar and comes up with a Brown Batch-Loaf, rising since Morning, which she presents to "Cousin Ambrose," who begins to punch it out flat upon the Counter-Top. Lud, fascinated, offers to assault the Dough himself, quickly slapping it into a very thin Disk of remarkable Circularity.
"Excellent, Sir," Maire beams, "I don't suppose anyone has a Tomato?"
"A what?"
"Saw one at Darlington Fair, once," nods Mr. Brain.
"No good, in that case,— eaten by now."
"The one I saw, they might not have wanted to eat...?"
Dixon, rummaging in his Surveyor's Kit, has come up with the Bottle of Ketjap, that he now takes with him ev'rywhere. "This do?"
"That was a Torpedo, Husband."
"That Elecktrickal Fish? Oh.. .then this thing he's making isn't eleck-trical?"
"Tho' there ought to be Fish, such as those styl'd by the Neopolitans,
Cicinielli
"
"Will Anchovy do?" Mrs. Brain indicates a Cask of West Channel 'Chovies from Devon, pickl'd in Brine.
"Capital. And Cheese?"
"That would be what's left of the Stilton, from the Ploughman's Lunch."
"Very promising indeed," Maire wringing his Hands to conceal their trembling. "Well then, let us just...”
By the Time what is arguably the first British Pizza is ready to come out of the Baking-Oven beside the Hearth, the Road outside has gone quiet and the Moorland dark, several Rounds have come and pass'd, and Lud is beginning to show signs of Apprehension. "At least 'tis cloudy tonight, no Moonlight'll be getting thro'," his Mother whispers to Mr. Emerson.
"Canny Luck, it may have bought us Time." As both Teacher and resolute Rationalist, Pace Bourquelet and Nynauld, Emerson is convinc'd that the ancient popular belief in Were-Wolves, if it does not stem from, is at least reinforced by, the alarm'd reactions of mothers to the onset of Puberty in their sons. Once, at his first sight of it, he was alarm'd, too. Hair sprouting ev'rywhere, voices deepening, often to Growls, Boys who once went to bed early, now grown nocturnal. Mysterious absences occur. The family dog begins acting peculiar. Unusual Attention is paid
to the Roast, just before it's popp'd in the Oven
"Lord's sake, Betsy,
what're you saying, that our Ludowick's a werewolf? Get a grip on y'self, woman!"
"Well there's none of it upon my side, is there."
"Oh, I see,— poor Uncle Lonsdale again,— who was releas'd, as you'll recall, with all apologies, the Blood proving to be, but from a hapless Chicken in the Road...."
"Yet the Vicar did testify, Dear, at the Assizes, that for five generations past,—
"RRRR!"
"— oh good evening, Lud, my one would scarcely recognize you...."
"And that was when I said, 'We must go to Dr. Emerson,— he'll knaah whah' to do...?'
"Lud says, that he cannot tell, if you did know what to do. He adds, do not worry, for it amuses him."
"Lud, you're alive, are you not?"
"That wasn't quite his Question," Ma declares. "Would you pass me one of those pointed things?"
"Where's that bright Light coming from?" someone asks.
"The Clouds!" Ma Oafery running out to look. "Where'd they go? Oh, no! Look at that, will yese!" "That" being the Full Moon, just rising into a cloudless Night.
"Quick, the Shutters," squeals Whike, running to and fro.
"Lud, look ye what's over here, more 'Pizza,'—
"Too late!" For Lud has seen the Full Moon, and now pursues it out into the Street, Whike at his Heels.
"I can't bear it when the Change conies," Ma laments. "It's getting harder for me even to look, tho' his own Mum must, mustn't she?—
"He's changing," Whike calls back indoors to the rest of them, - first, the Teeth, aye, and the Snout, and Claws,— now there goes the Hair, good, and he's, yes he's up on two legs now,— he's tying his Stock, fixing a Buckle, and here he is,— Master Ludowick,—