Free Palace of the Peacock by Wilson Harris Page B

fruitage and inheritance lay yet in the future and time.
    Everyone paid silent tribute in the breakfastless empty morning. None dared to say anything yet knowing their common speech was the debased coinage and currency of the dreaming folk. Silence seemed golden now and superior to the universal mask and ironic disavowal of principle in the nameless indestructible soul. The broken speech of the crewdied awhile on their lips though in their affections they still heard themselves speak in the old manner of distortion and debasement. It was the inevitable and unconscious universe of art and life that still harassed and troubled them.
    DaSilva broke the golden silence and expressed his misgivings aloud. “Is how much further we got to go?” He spoke to himself, forgetting his destination and turning helplessly to the old Arawak woman. There was no interpreter now Schomburgh had gone. A wrench had uprooted the instrument of communication he had always trusted in himself. And yet he knew it was a mortal relief to face the truth which lay farther and deeper than he dreamed. This deathblow of enlightenment robbed him of a facile faith and of a simple translation and memory almost.
    “Is how much farther we got to go?” he cried in his helpless dull way. “The Buck woman can’t speak a word.”
    Donne started unrolling his plan quickly. The country ahead was mysterious and little known he said. A long series of dangerous rapids marked the map in his hands. The neighbouring country was mountainous and crude, the trails secret and hidden. One day had passed since they left Mariella. And today – the second of the allotted seven before them – had started with an omen of good fortune, strange and shattering as it seemed. They were on the threshold of the folk. They must cling to that knowledge since – he had never seen it so clear before – it was all they had.
    He felt the clearest keenest perception of their need and security. Remember – he said – when they entered the world ahead – the world of the second day – they had passed the door of inner perception like a bird of spirit breaking the shell of the sky which had been the only conscious world all knew. In the death of their comrades, the cross of father-and-son, Donne said pedantically and sorrowfully, they had started on the way to overcoming a sacred convention of evil proprietorship and gain.
    The crew drew around as he turned to practical issues inhand. “Today we will reach here ,”he pointed to a little indentation where he proposed to camp next. “ Tomorrow …” his voice droned on and on.
    “One shear pin snap in that water and all gone,” Jennings sang out. He was frowning. He pushed his way until he stood face to face with Donne. “All this is a lot of balls,” he said.
    “You can stay here if you wish,” Donne said calmly. “I will drive the motor, Vigilance will bow and Wishrop – on whom I feel I can lean more than ever – will steer. The three of us alone will go if need be, come what may. And as a matter-of-fact the daSilvas and Cameron are still with us I believe? We can do with their help.” He turned to the crew. They nodded a little.
    Jennings was partly taken aback. “O, you want to leave me here, you do?” he shouted.
    “Matter entirely for you,” said Donne.
    Jennings laughed. Fine lines of sweat – customary to him – stood out again. His laugh resounded like a trumpet. Clearly – it came like a revelation – whatever the beads on his brow – he was without fear. A stubborn nameless streak rose and sweated him into a man who wanted a fight. Irritation and resentment boiled within him against all authority and responsibility. He saw too clearly and harshly the strength of his mechanical arm and position and the farce and guile and deception he had always experienced. The knowledge burned him and invigorated him at the same time with the honey of justification and leisure and laziness in palate and nostril. He was as