By A. E. Coppard Adam and Eve and Pinch Me AND in the whole of his days, vividly at the end of the afternoon——he re- peated it again and again to him- self——the kind country spaces had never absorbed quite so rich a glamour of light, so miraculous a bloom of clarity. He could feel streaming in his own mind, in his bones, the same crystalline bright- ness that lay upon the land. Thoughts and images went floating through him as easily and amiably as fish swim in their pools; and as idly, too, for one of his speculations took up the theme of his family name. There was such an agreeable oddness about it, just as there was about all the luminous sky today, that it touched him as just a little remarkable. What did such a name connote, signify, or symbolize? It was a rann of a name, but it had euphony! Then again, like the fish, his ambulating fancy flashed into other shallows, and he giggled as he paused, peering at the buds in the brake. Turning back towards his house again he could see, beyond its roofs, the spire of the Church tinctured richly as the vane: all round him was a new grandeur upon the grass of the fields, and the square trees and shadows below that seemed to support them in the man- ner of a plinth, more real than themselves, and the dikes and any chance heave of the level fields were underlined, as if for special em- phasis, with long shades of mys- terious blackness. With a little drift of emotions that had at other times assailed him in the wonder and ecstasy of pure light, Jaffa Codling pushed through the slit in the black hedge and stood within his own garden. The gardener was at work. He could hear the voices of the children about the lawn at the other side of the house. He was very happy, and the place was beautiful, a fine white many- windowed house rising from a lawn bowered with plots of mold, turreted with shrubs, and overset with a vast walnut tree. This house had deep clean eaves, a roof of faint-colored slates that, after rain, glowed dully, like onyx or jade, under the red chimneys, and halfway up at one end was a balcony set with black balusters. He went to a French window that stood open and stepped into the dining room. There was no one within, and, on that lonely in- stant, a strange feeling of emptiness dropped upon him. The clock ticked almost as if it had been caught in some indecent act; the air was dim and troubled after that glory out- side. Well, now, he would go up at once to the study and write down for his new book the ideas and images he had accumulated—— beautiful and rich thoughts they were—— during that wonderful afternoon. He went to mount the stairs and he was passed by one of the maids; humming a silly song she brushed past him rudely, but he was an easygoing man——maids were un- teachably tiresome——and reaching the landing he sauntered towards his room. The door stood slightly open and he could hear voices within. He put his hand upon the door . . . it would not open any further. What the devil . . . he pushed——like the bear in the tale—— and he pushed, and he pushed—— was there something against it on the other side? He put his shoulder to it . . . some wedge must be there, and that was extraordinary. Then his whole apprehension was swept up and whirled as by an avalanche ——Mildred, his wife, was in there; he could hear her speaking to a man in fair soft tones and the rich phrase that could be used only by a woman yielding a deep affection for him. Codling kept still. Her words burned on his mind and thrilled him as if spoken to himself. There was a movement in the room, then utter silence. He again thrust savagely at the partly open door, but he could not stir it. The silence within continued. He beat upon the door with his fists, crying: "Mildred, Mildred!" There was no response, but he could hear the rocking arm- chair commence to swing to and fro. Pushing his hand round the edge of the door he tried to thrust his head between the opening. There was not space for this, but he could just peer into the corner of a mirror hung near, and this is what he saw: the chair to one end of its swing, a man sitting in it, and upon one arm of it Mildred, the beloved woman, with her lips upon the man's face, caress- ing him with her hands. Codling made another effort to get into the room——as vain as it was violent. "Do you hear me, Mildred? he shouted. Apparently neither of them heard him; they rocked to and fro while he gazed stupefied. What, in the name of God . . . What was this . . . was she bewitched . . . were there such things after all as magic, devilry! He drew back and held himself quite steadily. The chair stopped swaying, and the room grew awfully still. The sharp ticking of the clock in the hall rose upon the house like the tongue of some perfunctory mocker. Couldn't they hear the clock? . . . Couldn't they hear his heart? He had put his hand upon his heart, for, surely, in that great silence inside there, they could hear its beat, growing so loud now that it seemed almost to stun him! Then in a queer way he found himself re- flecting, observing, analyzing his own actions and intentions. He found some of them to be just a little spurious, counterfeit. He felt it would be easy, so perfectly easy to flash in one blast of anger and annihilate the two. He would do nothing of the kind. There was no occasion for it. People didn't really do that sort of thing, or, at least, not with a genuine passion. There was no need for anger. His curiosity was satisfied, quite satisfied, he was certain, he had not the remotest interest in the man. A welter of unexpected thoughts swept upon his mind as he stood there. As a writer of books he was often stimulated by the emo- tions and impulses of other people, and now his own surprise was begin- ning to intrigue him, leaving him, O, quite unstirred emotionally, but in- teresting him profoundly. He heard the maid come stepping up the stairway again, humming her silly song. He did not want a scene, or to be caught eavesdrop- ping, and so turned quickly to an- other door. It was locked. He sprang to one beyond it; the handle would not turn. "Bah! what's up with 'em?" But the girl was now upon him, carrying a tray of coffee things. "O, Mary!" he exclaimed casually, "I . . ." To his astonishment the girl stepped past him as if she did not hear or see him, tapped open the door of his study, entered, and closed the door behind her. Jaffa Codling then got really angry. "Hell! were the blasted servants in it!" He dashed to the door again and tore at the handle. It would not even turn, and, though he wrenched with fury at it, the room was utterly sealed against him. He went away for a chair with which to smash the effrontery of that door. No, he wasn't angry, either with his wife or this fellow——Gilbert, she had called him——who had a strangely familiar aspect as far as he had been able to take it in; but when one's servants . . . faugh! The door opened and Mary came forth smiling demurely. He was a few yards further along the corridor at that moment. "Mary!" he shouted, "leave the door open!" Mary care- fully closed it and turned her back on him. He sprang after her with bad words bursting from him as she went towards the stairs and flitted lightly down, humming all the way as if in derision. He leaped down- wards after her three steps at a time, buts she trotted with amazing swiftness into the kitchen and slammed the door in his face. Codling stood, but kept his hands carefully away from the door, kept them behind him. "No, no," he whispered cunningly, "there's some- thing fiendish about door handles to- day, I'll go and get a bar, or a butt of timber," and, jumping out into the garden for some such thing, the miracle happened to him. For it was nothing else than a miracle, the un- believable, the impossible, simple and laughable if you will, but have- ing as much validity as any miracle ever can invoke. It was simple and laughable because by all the known physical laws he should have col- lided with his gardener, who happened to pass the window with his wheelbarrow as Codling jumped out on to the path. And it was unbelievable that they should not, and impossible that they did not collide; and it was miraculous, because Codling stood for a brief moment in the garden path and the wheelbarrow of Bond, its contents, and Bond himself passed apparently through the figure of Codling as if he were so much air, as if he were not a living breathing man but just a common ghost. There was no im- pact, just a momentary breathless- ness. Codling stood and looked at the retreating figure going on utterly unaware of him. It is interesting to record that Codling's first feelings were mirthful. He giggled. He was jocular. He ran along in front of the gardener, and let him pass through him once more; then after him again; he scrambled into the man's barrow, and was wheeled about by this incomprehensible thickheaded gardener who was dead to all his master's efforts to engage his attention. Presently he dropped the wheelbarrow and went away, leaving Codling to cogitate upon the occurrence. There was no room for doubt, some essential part of him had become detached from the ob- viously not less vital part. He felt he was essential because he was responding to experience, he was reacting in the normal way to normal stimuli, although he hap- pened for the time being to be in- visible to his fellows and unable to communicate with them.How had it come about——this queer thing? How could he discover what part of him had cut loose, as it were? There was no question f this being death; death wasn't funny, it wasn't a joke; he had still all his human instincts. You didn't get angry with a faithless wife or joke with a fool of a gardener if you were dead, cer- tainly not! He had realized enough of himself to know he was the usual man of instincts, desires, and prohibi- tions, complex and contradictory; his family history for a million or two years would have denoted that, not explicitly——obviously impossible—— but suggestively. He had found him- self doing things he had no de- sire to do, doing things he had a desire not to do, thinking thoughts that had no contiguous meaning, no meanings that could be related to his general experience. At odd times he had been called——aye, and even agreeably surprised——at the im- mense potential evil in himself. But still, this was no mere Jekyll and Hyde affair, that a man and his own ghost should separately inhabit the same world was a horse of quite another color. The other part of him was alive and active somewhere . . . as alive . . . as alive . . . yes, as he was, but dashed if he knew where! What a lark when they got back to each other and compared notes! In his tales he had brooded over so many imagined personalities, fol- lowed in the track of so many psychological enigmas that he had felt at times a stranger to himself. What if, after all, that brooding had given him the faculty of projecting this figment of himself into the world of men. Or was he some un- realized latent element of being without its natural integument, doomed now to drift over the ridge of the world forever. Was it his per- sonality, his spirit? Then how was the dashed thing working? Here was he with the most wonderful happen- ing in human experience, and he couldn't differentiate or disinter things. He was like a new Adam flung into some old Eden. There was Bond tinkering about with some plants a dozen yards in front of him. Suddenly his three children came round from the other side of the house, the youngest boy leading them, carrying in his hand a small sword which was made, not of steel, but of some more brightly shining material; indeed it seemed at one moment to be of gold, and then again of flame, transmuting everything in the neighborhood into the likeness of flame, the hair of the little girl Eve, a part of Adam's tunic; and the fingers of the boy Gabriel as he held the sword were like pale tongues of fire. Gabriel, the youngest boy, went up to the gardener and gave the sword into his hands, saying: "Bond, is this sword any good?" Codling saw the gardener take the weapon and examine it with a careful sort of smile; his great gnarled hands became immediately transparent, the blood could be seen moving diligently about the veins. Codling was so interested in the sight that he did not gather in the garden- er's reply. The little boy was dissat- isfied and repeated his question, "No, but Bond, is this sword any good?" Codling rose, and stood by invisible. The three beautiful children were grouped about the great angular figure of the gardener in his soiled clothes, looking up now in his face, and now at the sword, with anxiety in all their puckered eyes. "Well, Marse Gabriel," Codling could hear his reply. as far as a sword goes, it may be a good un, or it may be a bad un, but, good as it is, it can never be anything but a bad thing." He then gave it back to them; the boy Adam held the haft of it, and the girl Eve rubbed the blade with curious fingers. The younger boy stood looking up at the gardener with unsatisfied gaze. "But, Bond, can't you say if this sword's any good?" Bond turned to his spade and trowels. "Mebbe the shape of it's wrong, Marse Gabriel, though it seems a pretty handy size." Saying this he turned to his brother and sister and took the sword from them: they all followed after the gardener and once more Gabriel made enquiry: "Bond, is this sword any good?" The gardener again took it and made a few passes in the air like a valiant soldier at exercise. Turning then, he lifted a bright curl from the head of Eve and cut it off with a sweep of the weapon. He held it up to look at it critically and then let it fall to the ground. Codling sneaked be- hind him and, picking it up, stood stupidly looking at it. "Mebbe, Marse Gabriel," the gardener was saying, "it ud be better made of steel, but it has a smartish edge on it." He went to pick up the barrow, but Gabriel seized at it with a spasm of anger, and cried out: No, no, Bond, will you say, just yes or no, Bond, is this sword any good?" The gardener stood still, and looked down at the little boy, who repeated his question—— "just yes or no, Bond!" "No, Marse Gabriel!" "Thank you, Bond!" re- plied the child with dignity, "that's all we wanted to know," and calling to his mates to follow him, he ran away to the other side of the house. Codling stared again at the beauti- ful lock of hair in his hand, and felt himself grow so angry that he picked up a strange-looking flowerpot at his feet and hurled it at the retreating gardener. I struck Bond in the mid- dle of the back and, passing clean through him, broke on the wheel of his barrow, but Bond seemed to be quite unaware of this catastrophe. Codling rushed after, and, taking the gardener by the throat, he yelled, "Damn you, will you tell me what all this means?' But Bond proceeded calmly about his work unnoticing, carrying his master about as if he were a clinging vapor, or a scarf hung upon his neck. In a few moments, Codling dropped exhausted to the ground. "What . . . O hell . . . what, what am I to do?" he groaned. "What has happened to me? What shall I do? What can I do?" He looked at the broken flowerpot. "Did I invent that?" He pulled out his watch. "That's a real watch, I hear it ticking, and it's six o'clock." Was he dead or disembodied or mad? What was this infernal lapse of identity? And who the devil, yes, who was it upstairs with Mildred? He jumped to his feet and hurried to the win- dow; it was shut; to the door, it was fastened; he was powerless to open either. Well! well! this was experi- mental psychology wit a vengeance, and he began to chuckle again. He'd have to write to McDougall about it. Then he turned and saw Bond wheeling across the lawn towards him again. "Why is that fellow always shoving that infernal green barrow around?" he asked, and, the fit of fury seizing him again, he rushed towards Bond, but, before he reached him, the three children danced into the garden again, crying, with great excitement, "Bond, O Bond!" The gardener stopped and set down the terrifying barrow; the children crowded about him, and Gabriel held out another shining thing, asking: "Bond, is this box any good?" The gardener took the box and at once his eyes lit up with in- terest and delight. "O, Marse Gabriel, where'd ye get it? Where'd ye get it?" "Bond," said the boy impatiently, is the box any good?" "Any good?" echoed the man. "Why, Marse Gabriel, Marse Adam, Miss Eve, look yere!" Holding it down in front of them, he lifted the lid from the box and a bright-colored bird flashed out and flew round and round above their heads. "O," screamed Gabriel with delight, "it's a kingfisher!" "That's what it is," said Bond, "a kingfisher!" "Where?" asked Adam. "Where?" asked Eve. "There it flies——round the fountain——see it? see it!" "No," said Adam. "No," said Eve. "O, do, do, see it," cried Gabriel, "here it comes, it's coming!" and, holding his hands on high, and standing on his toes, the child cried out as happy as the bird which Codling saw flying above them. "I can't see it," said Adam. "Where is it, Gaby?" asked Eve. "Oh, you stupids," cried the boy. There it goes. There it goes . . . there . . . it's gone!" He stood looking brightly at Bond, who replaced the lid. "What shall we do now?" he ex- claimed eagerly. For reply, the gar- dener gave the box into his hand, and walked off with the barrow. Gabriel took the box over to the fountain. Codling, unseen, went after him, almost as excited as the boy; Eve and her brother followed. They sat upon the stone tank that held the falling water. It was difficult for the child to unfasten the lid; Codling attempted to help him, but he was powerless. Gabriel looked up into his father's face and smiled. Then he stood up and said to the others: "Now, do watch it this time." They all knelt carefully beside the water. He lifted the lid and, behold, a fish like a golden carp, but made wholly of fire, leaped from the box into the fountain. The man saw it dart down into the water, he saw the water bubble up behind it, he heard the hiss that the junction of fire and water produced, and saw a little track of steam follow the bubbles about the tank until the figure of the fish was consumed and disappeared. Gabriel, in ecstasies, turned to his sister with blazing happy eyes, ex- claiming: "There! Evey!" "What was it?" asked Eve, non- chalantly, "I didn't see anything." "More didn't I," said Adam. "Didn't you see that lovely fish?" "No," said Adam. "No," said Eve. "Oh, stupids, cried Gabriel, "it went right past the bottom of the water." "Let's get a fishin' hook," said Adam. "No, no, no," said Gabriel, re- placing the lid of the box. "O no." Jaffa Codling had remained on his knees staring at the water so long that, when he looked around him again, the children had gone away. He got up and went to he door, and that was closed; the windows, fastened. He went moodily to a gar- den bench and sat on it with folded arms. Dusk had begun to fall into the shrubs and trees, the grass to grow dull, the air chill, the sky to muster its gloom. Bond had overturned his barrow, stalled his tools in the lodge, and gone to his home in the village. A curious cat came round the house and surveyed the man who sat chained to his seven-horned dilemma. It grew dark and fearfully silent. Was the world empty now? Some small thing, a snail, perhaps, crept among the dead leaves in the hedge, with a sharp irritating noise. A strange flood of mixed thoughts poured through his mind until at last one idea disentangled itself, and he began thinking with tremendous fixity of little Gabriel. He wondered if he could brood or meditate, or "will" with sufficient power to bring him into the garden again. The child had just vaguely recognized him for a moment at the waterside. He'd try that dodge, telepathy was a mild kind of a trick after so much of the miraculous. If he'd lost his blessed body, at least the part that ate and smoked and talked to Mildred . . . He stopped as his mind stumbled on a strange recognition. . . . What a joke, of course . . . idiot . . . not to have seen that. He stood up in the garden with joy . . . of course, he was upstairs with Mildred, it was him- self, the other bit of him, that Mil- dred had been talking to. What a howling fool he'd been. He found himself concentrating his mind on the purpose of getting the child Gabriel into the garden once more, but it was with a curious mood that he endeavored to establish this relationship. He could not fix his will into any calm intensity of power, or fixity of purpose, or pleasurable mental ecstasy. The utmost force seemed to come with a malicious threatening splenetic "entreaty." That damned snail in the hedge broke the thread of his meditation; a do began to bark sturdily from a distant farm; the faculties of his mind became joggled up like a child's picture puzzle, and he brooded unintelligibly upon such things as skating and steam engines, and Elizabethan drama so lapped about with themes like jealousy and chastity. Really now, Shakespeare's Isabella was the most consummate snob in . . . He looked up quickly to his wife's room and saw Gabriel step from the window to the balcony as if he were fearful of being seen. The boy lifted up his hands and placed the bright box on the rail of the bal- cony. He looked up at the faint stars for a moment or two, and then care- fully released the lid of the box. What came out of it and rose into the air appeared to Codling to be just a piece of floating light, but as it soared above the roof he saw it grow to be a little ancient ship, with three masts all of faint primrose flame color. It cleaved through the air, rolling slightly as a ship through the wave, in widening circles above the house, making a curving ascent until it lost the shape of a vessel and became only a moving light hurrying to some sidereal shrine. Codling glanced at the boy on the balcony, but in that brief instant something had happened, the ship had burst like a rocket and released three colored drops of fire which came falling slowly, leaving beautiful gray furrows of smoke in their track. Gabriel leaned over the rail with outstretched palms, and, catching the green star and the blue one as they drifted down to him, he ran with a rill of laughter back into the house. Codling sprang forward just in time to catch the red star; it lay vividly blasting his own palm for a monstrous second, and then, slipping through, was gone. He stared at the ground, at the balcony, the sky, and then heard an exclamation . . . his wife stood at his side. "Gilbert! How you frighten me!" she cried. "I thought you were in your room; come along in to dinner." She took his arm and they walked up the steps into the dining room together. "Just a moment," said her husband, turning to the door of the room. His hand was upon the handle, which turned easily in his grasp, and he ran upstairs to his own room. He opened the door. The light was on, the fire was burning brightly, a smell of cigarette smoke about, pen and paper upon his desk, the Japanese book knife, the gilt matchbox, everything all right, no one there. He picked up a book from his desk. . . . Monna Vanna. His bookplate was in it——Ex Libris——Gil- bert Cannister. He put it down beside the green dish; two yellow oranges were in the green dish, and two most deliberately green Canadian apples rested by their side. He went to the door and swung it backwards and forwards quite easily. He sat on his desk trying to piece the thing together, glaring at the print and the bookknife and the smart matchbox, until his wife came up behind him exclaiming: "Come along, Gilbert!" "Where are the kids, old man?" he asked her, and, before she replied, he had gone along to the nursery. He saw the two cots, his boy in one, his girl in the other. He turned whimsically to Mildred, saying, There are only two, are there?" Such a question did not call for reply, but he confronted her as if expecting some assuring answer. She was staring at him with her bright beautiful eyes. "Are there?" he repeated. "How strange you should ask me that now!" she said. . . . "If you're a very good man . . . perhaps . . ." "Mildred!" She nodded brightly. He sat down in the rocking chair, but got up again saying to her gently——"We'll call him Gabriel." "But, suppose———" "No, no," he said, stopping her lovely lips, "I know all about him." And he told her a pleasant little tale.
rlweb bitcoin generator 2016; con mua ngang qua beat buy bitcoin; bitcoin mining reward halved meaning; abanlex bitcoin mining; 28 million bitcoin chart; winklevoss twins back bitcoin as bubble bursts of laughter; bitcoin coinsetter; decentral bitcoin atm nyc; jouke hoffman bitcoin value; how to invest in bitcoin technology news POPPER: Bitcoin has reached the point where all the bitcoins out there in the world - if, you know, you sold them at the price right now, they would be worth something like $160, $170 billion. Cryptocurrency, we have heard a lot about this in the past year with bitcoin’s value skyrocketing to 13,000 USD. There are genuine questions being raised about this currency stature and its valuation in the market. People are more actively trading virtual currency and making a lot of money. But the question remains, are bitcoins a bubble? The laughter is justified not only for the illogic of this, but the fact that this is somehow a good reason to buy Bitcoin. strypey on May 9, 2018 Debit cards aren't cash. r/Bitcoin: A community dedicated to Bitcoin, the currency of the Internet. Bitcoin is a distributed, worldwide, decentralized digital money …
[index]          
Bitcoin and Cryptocurrencies have just crashed, losing around 40% of the total market cap in January 2018 alone. In this video, we explain why we think the market has crashed, why we believe the ... The bitcoin price tends to bounce off a price level. But if it breaks through that support, a rapid crash usually follows. And that’s just what’s happening right now. But does this mean the ... For the past few months the BitCoin community has been telling everyone that if you don't understand how great BitCoin is then you are ignorant and stupid. Yesterday what was until recently the ... Bitcoin price soar to a historic high of 11,000 USD. How safe is investment in cryptocurrencies and how does it function? Is this just a bubble which is bound to burst? Find out all you need to ... The bubble will burst. It could take 5 years, it could happen tomorrow. One of the golden rules when dealing with any financial instrument is that you should sell when your neighbour starts investing.