Sword Blades and Poppy Seed Part 14

Softly he knocked against the cas.e.m.e.nt, wide It flew, and a cracked voice his business there Demanded. The door opened, and inside Max stepped. He saw a candle held in air Above the head of a gray-bearded Jew.

"Simeon Isaacs, Mynheer, can I serve You?" "Yes, I think you can. Do you keep arms?

I want a pistol." Quick the old man grew Livid. "Mynheer, a pistol! Let me swerve You from your purpose. Life brings often false alarms--"

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"Peace, good old Isaacs, why should you suppose My purpose deadly. In good truth I've been Blest above others. You have many rows Of pistols it would seem. Here, this s.h.a.green Case holds one that I fancy. Silvered mounts Are to my taste. These letters 'C. D. L.'

Its former owner? Dead, you say. Poor Ghost!

'Twill serve my turn though--" Hastily he counts The florins down upon the table. "Well, Good-night, and wish me luck for your to-morrow's toast."

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Into the night again he hurried, now Pale and in haste; and far beyond the town He set his goal. And then he wondered how Poor C. D. L. had come to die. "It's grown Handy in killing, maybe, this I've bought, And will work punctually." His sorrow fell Upon his senses, shutting out all else.

Again he wept, and called, and blindly fought The heavy miles away. "Christine. I'm well.

I'm coming. My Own Wife!" He lurched with failing pulse.

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Along the d.y.k.e the keen air blew in gusts, And gra.s.ses bent and wailed before the wind.

The Zuider Zee, which croons all night and thrusts Long stealthy fingers up some way to find And crumble down the stones, moaned baffled. Here The wide-armed windmills looked like gallows-trees.

No lights were burning in the distant thorps.

Max laid aside his coat. His mind, half-clear, Babbled "Christine!" A shot split through the breeze.

The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse.

Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris

Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray.

Open your golden cas.e.m.e.nt high, And lean way out beyond the sky.

I am so little, it may be A task for you to harken me.

O Lady Mary, I have bought A candle, as the good priest taught.

I only had one penny, so Old Goody Jenkins let it go.

It is a little bent, you see.

But Oh, be merciful to me!

I have not anything to give, Yet I so long for him to live.

A year ago he sailed away And not a word unto today.

I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall But never does he come at all.

Other s.h.i.+ps have entered port Their voyages finished, long or short, And other sailors have received Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved.

My heart is bursting for his hail, O Virgin, let me spy his sail.

_Hull down on the edge of a sun-soaked sea Sparkle the bellying sails for me.

Taut to the push of a rousing wind Shaking the sea till it foams behind, The tightened rigging is shrill with the song: "We are back again who were gone so long."_

One afternoon I b.u.mped my head.

I sat on a post and wished I were dead Like father and mother, for no one cared Whither I went or how I fared.

A man's voice said, "My little lad, Here's a bit of a toy to make you glad."

Then I opened my eyes and saw him plain, With his sleeves rolled up, and the dark blue stain Of tattooed skin, where a flock of quail Flew up to his shoulder and met the tail Of a dragon curled, all pink and green, Which sprawled on his back, when it was seen.

He held out his hand and gave to me The most marvellous top which could ever be.

It had ivory eyes, and jet-black rings, And a red stone carved into little wings, All joined by a twisted golden line, And set in the brown wood, even and fine.

Forgive me, Lady, I have not brought My treasure to you as I ought, But he said to keep it for his sake And comfort myself with it, and take Joy in its spinning, and so I do.

It couldn't mean quite the same to you.

Every day I met him there, Where the fisher-nets dry in the sunny air.

He told me stories of courts and kings, Of storms at sea, of lots of things.

The top he said was a sort of sign That something in the big world was mine.

_Blue and white on a sun-shot ocean.

Against the horizon a glint in motion.

Full in the grasp of a shoving wind, Trailing her bubbles of foam behind, Singing and shouting to port she races, A flying harp, with her sheets and braces._

O Queen of Heaven, give me heed, I am in very utmost need.

He loved me, he was all I had, And when he came it made the sad Thoughts disappear. This very day Send his s.h.i.+p home to me I pray.

I'll be a priest, if you want it so, I'll work till I have enough to go And study Latin to say the prayers On the rosary our old priest wears.

I wished to be a sailor too, But I will give myself to you.

I'll never even spin my top, But put it away in a box. I'll stop Whistling the sailor-songs he taught.

I'll save my pennies till I have bought A silver heart in the market square, I've seen some beautiful, white ones there.

I'll give up all I want to do And do whatever you tell me to.

Heavenly Lady, take away All the games I like to play, Take my life to fill the score, Only bring him back once more!

_The poplars s.h.i.+ver and turn their leaves, And the wind through the belfry moans and grieves.

The gray dust whirls in the market square, And the silver hearts are covered with care By thick tarpaulins. Once again The bay is black under heavy rain._

The Queen of Heaven has shut her door.

A little boy weeps and prays no more.

After Hearing a Waltz by Bartok

But why did I kill him? Why? Why?

In the small, gilded room, near the stair?