Chapter 53 five three

Behold, there is Captain Bruno, cried she, one day, when I was putting together in my mind the fragments of the story Tiare told me about Strickland.This man knew Strickland well.He had been to where Strickland lived. What I saw was a Frenchman past middle age, with a large black beard, much of it graying, with a tanned face and large, shining eyes.He was wearing a neat canvas suit.In fact, I had already noticed him during lunch. Alin, a Chinese waiter at the hotel, told me that he came from Baumotus Island, and the boat he took had just landed that day.Tiare introduced me to him; he handed me a card.It was a large card with his name, René, printed on it.Bruno, the small print below is the captain of Dragon Valley.I was sitting with Tiare on a little lanai outside the kitchen, and Tiare was cutting a dress for one of her girls.Captain Bruno sat down with us.

Yes, I knew Strickland very well, he said, I like to play chess, and he also played with a chess player whenever he found a chess friend.I come to Tahiti three or four times a year for business matters, and if he happens to be in Papeete, he always asks me to come and play a few games.Later, he got married, and Captain Bruno smiled and shrugged his shoulders when he said the word married. Before going to live in the country with the girl Tiare introduced to him, he invited me to have a chance to see her. he.I was one of the guests on the day of the wedding.He glanced at Tiare, and they both smiled.After his marriage he seldom came to Papeete.About a year later, I happened to be in the neighborhood where he lived, for what I forget.When the business was over, I said to myself: Well, why don't I go and see poor Strickland?I asked one or two local people if they knew of such a person, and I found out that he lived not more than five kilometers away from my place.So I went.I will never forget the impression of my visit this time.My home is on Coral Island, a low ring-shaped island surrounded by a saltwater lake.The beauty of that place is the beauty of the sea and the sky.It is the changing color of the lake and the swaying of the coconut trees.But the place where Strickland lives is another kind of beauty, as if living in the Garden of Eden.Gee, I wish I could describe to you the deception.A secluded corner isolated from the world, with a blue sky overhead and lush trees all around.There are endless colors to watch, fragrant fragrances, and cool air with shade.Words cannot describe this paradise on earth.He just lived there, not caring about the world, and the world completely forgot about him.To European eyes, I thought, the place might look a bit too squalid; the houses were shabby and not at all kept clean.As soon as I approached the house, I saw three or four locals lying on the verandah.You know people here always like to get together.I saw a young man lying sprawled on the ground, smoking a cigarette, wearing nothing but a palio.

The so-called palio is a long strip of red or blue cotton cloth printed with white patterns, which is wrapped around the waist and draped over the knees. A girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old, is weaving a straw hat out of pineapple leaves, and an old woman is squatting on the ground smoking a pipe.I saw Ata later, she was nursing a newborn baby, and another baby, bare bottom, was playing at her feet.When Ata saw me, she called to Strickland.Strickland went from the house to the door.He also wears only a palio.He had a big red beard, and his hair was matted, and his chest was covered with hair, and he looked really strange.His feet were calloused and scarred. I could tell he never wore shoes.To be honest, he is simply more localized than the locals.He seemed glad to see me, and told Ata to kill a chicken for me.He led me into the house and showed me a picture he had been working on when I arrived.In one corner of the room stood a bed, and in the center was an easel with a canvas nailed to it.Because I thought he was quite pitiful, I bought some of his paintings for a small amount of money.I have sent most of these paintings to friends in France.Although I bought these paintings out of sympathy for him, after a long time, I still like them.I found a strange beauty in these paintings.People said I was crazy, but it turns out I was right.I am the first person in this area to appreciate his paintings.

He smiled gleefully at Tiare.And again Tiares recounted to us the old story of how, when the estate of Strickland was auctioned off, she paid no attention to his paintings, and bought them for only twenty-seven francs. An American kerosene stove. Do you still have these paintings?I asked. Yes.I still have it.I will sell it when my daughter reaches the age of marriage and give her a dowry. He went on to tell us about his visit to Strickland. I will never forget the evening I spent with him.Originally I wanted to stay with him only an hour, but he insisted on keeping me overnight.I hesitated for a moment; to tell the truth, I did not like the straw mat on which he proposed to spend the night.But in the end I shrugged my shoulders and agreed to stay.When I built myself a house on Baumotus, for weeks I slept out in the open on a bed much harder than this straw mat, covered only with grass leaves.When it comes to biting bugs, my hard, thick skin is really the best defense.

While Ata was getting us supper, Strickland and I went down to the creek and had a bath.After dinner, we sat on the terrace to enjoy the shade.We smoked and chatted.The young man I saw when I came had an accordion, and what he played were all the pieces that were popular in the concert hall more than ten years ago.On a tropical night, in a place thousands of miles away from human civilization, the tunes had an eerie quality to them.I asked Strickland if he found it repulsive to live with all kinds of people in such a random way.He replied no; he liked that his model was right in front of him.After a while, the locals all yawned loudly and went to bed, and Strickland and I were alone on the terrace.I cannot describe to you how still the night is.On our island of Baumotus the night is never so silent as here.There are a thousand kinds of small animals rustling on the seashore.All kinds of small things with shells crawled around forever, and crabs that lived on land crawled across.Sometimes you could hear fish jumping in the lagoon, and other times a brown shark would startle the other fish and make the lake crackle and splash.But overriding all this noise was the rumble of the sea against the rocks, which, like time, never ends.But here there was no sound at all, and the air was filled with the scent of white flowers that bloom at night.The night here is so beautiful, your soul seems to be unable to bear the shackles of the body.You feel that at any moment your soul might soar into ethereal emptiness, and that the face of death is as familiar as your dear friend.

Tiari sighed. Ah, I wish I was fifteen again. At this time, she suddenly saw a cat stealing prawns from the kitchen table. Following a series of cursing like a cannonball, she neatly and accurately threw a book on the tail of the fleeing cat. I asked him if he was happy with Ata. She doesn't bother me, he said, she cooks for me and looks after the kids.She does whatever I tell her to do.Everything I ask a woman, she gives me. Did you never regret leaving Europe?Do you sometimes miss the lights on the streets of Paris or London?Miss your friend, partner?And something else I don't know, the theatre, the newspaper, the sound of a stagecoach rumbling over the cobblestones?

For a long, long time, he didn't say a word.Finally he said: I am willing to stay here until I die. But you never get bored, never feel lonely?I asked. He giggled a few times. My poor friend, he said, it is evident that you do not know what it is to be an artist. Captain Bruno turned his head and smiled at me, with a strange gleam in his kindly black eyes. It's so unfair of him to say that, because I also know what it means to have a dream.I have fantasies myself.In a way, I am an artist myself. We didn't speak for a long time.Tiari took a handful of cigarettes from her wide pocket and handed us each one.All three of us started smoking.At last she spoke:

Since this gentleman is interested in Strickland, why don't you take him to see Dr. Coutras?He could tell him things, how Strickland fell ill, how he died, and so on. I am willing to.The captain looked at me and said. I thank him.He looked at his watch. It's past six o'clock now.If you will come with me, I think he will be at home at this time. Without saying a word, I stood up immediately; we both walked to the doctor's house immediately.Kutras lives outside the city, and the Flower Hotel is on the edge of the city, so within a few steps, we have already reached the countryside.The road is wide, and the pepper trees shade it all the way.The road is lined with coconut and vanilla plantations.A small bird, known locally as a pirate bird, chirped among the palm tree leaves.On our way we passed a shallow stream with a stone bridge over it; we stood for a while on the bridge and watched local children playing in the water.They laughed, shouted, and chased each other in the water, their little brown bodies dripping with water and glistening in the sun.