Sorrow in Sunlight
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Ronald Firbank
Arthur Annesley Ronald Firbank was born in London in 1886 and was an experimental novelist. Throughout his career he has been championed by English novelists including E.M. Forster, Evelyn Waugh, Alan Hollinghurst and Simon Raven, writing novels such as Valmouth and The Flower Beneath the Foot and six other short novels. He died in Rome in 1926 and is buried in the Campo Verano cemetery.
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Sorrow in Sunlight - Ronald Firbank
Ronald Firbank
Sorrow in Sunlight
Sharp Ink Publishing
2022
Contact: info@sharpinkbooks.com
ISBN 978-80-282-0242-2
Table of Contents
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VII
VIII
IX
X
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XII
XIII
XIV
I
Table of Contents
Looking gloriously bored, Miss Miami Mouth gaped up into the boughs of a giant silk-cotton-tree. In the lethargic noontide nothing stirred: all was so still, indeed, that the sound of someone snoring was clearly audible among the cane-fields far away.
After dose yams an’ pods an’ de white falernum, I dats way sleepy too,
she murmured, fixing heavy, somnolent, eyes upon the prospect that lay before her.
Through the sun-tinged greenery shone the sea, like a floor of silver glass strewn with white sails.
Somewhere out there, fishing, must be her boy, Bamboo!
And, inconsequently, her thoughts wandered from the numerous shark-casualties of late to the mundane proclivities of her mother; for to quit the little village of Mediavilla for the capital was that dame’s fixed obsession.
Leave Mediavilla, leave Bamboo! The young negress fetched a sigh.
In what, she reflected, way would the family gain by entering Society, and how did one enter it, at all? There would be a gathering, doubtless, of the elect (probably armed), since the best Society is exclusive, and difficult to enter. And then? Did one burrow? Or charge? She had sometimes heard it said that people pushed
... and closing her eyes, Miss Miami Mouth sought to picture her parents, assisted by her small sister, Edna, and her brother, Charlie, forcing their way, perspiring, but triumphant, into the highest social circles of the city of Cuna-Cuna.
Across the dark savannah country the city lay, one of the chief alluring cities of the world: The Celestial city of Cuna-Cuna, Cuna, city of Mimosa, Cuna, city of Arches, Queen of the Tropics, Paradise—almost invariably travellers referred to it like that.
Oh, everything must be fantastic there, where even the very pickneys put on clothes! And Miss Miami Mouth glanced fondly down at her own plump little person, nude, but for a girdle of creepers that she would gather freshly twice a day.
It would be a shame, sh’o, to cover it,
she murmured drowsily, caressing her body; and moved to a sudden spasm of laughter, she tittered: No! really. De ideah!
II
Table of Contents
Silver bean-stalks, silver bean-stalks, oh hé, oh hé,
down the long village street from door to door, the cry repeatedly came, until the vendor’s voice was lost on the evening air.
In a rocking chair, before the threshold of a palm-thatched cabin, a matron with broad, bland features, and a big untidy figure, surveyed the scene with a nonchalant eye.
Beneath some tall trees, bearing flowers like flaming bells, a few staid villagers sat enjoying the rosy dusk, while, strolling towards the sea, two young men passed by with fingers intermingled.
With a slight shrug, the lady plied her fan.
As the Mother of a pair of oncoming girls, the number of ineligible young men, or confirmed bachelors around the neighbourhood was a constant source of irritation....
Sh’o, dis remoteness bore an’ weary me to death,
she exclaimed, addressing someone through the window behind; and receiving no audible answer, she presently rose, and went within.
It was the hour when, fortified by a siesta, Mrs. Ahmadou Mouth was wont to approach her husband on general household affairs, and to discuss, in particular, the question of their removal to the town; for, with the celebration of their Pearl-wedding, close at hand, the opportunity to make the announcement of a change of residence to their guests, ought not, she believed, to be missed.
We leave Mediavilla for de education ob my daughters,
she would say; or, perhaps: "We go to Cuna-Cuna for de finishing ob mes filles!"
But, unfortunately, the reluctance of Mr. Mouth to forsake his Home seemed to increase from day to day.
She found him asleep, bolt upright, his head gently nodding, beneath a straw-hat beautifully browned.
Say, nigger, lub,
she murmured, brushing her hand featheringly along his knee, say, nigger, lub, I gotta go!
It was the tender prelude to the storm.
Evasive (and but half-awake), he warned her. Let me alone; Ah’m thinkin’.
Prancing Nigger, now come on!
Ah’m thinkin’.
Tell me what for dis procrastination?
Exasperated, she gripped his arm.
But for all reply, Mr. Mouth drew a volume of revival hymns towards him, and turned on his wife his back.
You ought to shame o’ you-self, sh’o,
she caustically commented, crossing to the window.
The wafted odours of the cotton-trees without, oppressed the air. In the deepening twilight, the rising moonmist, already obscured the street.
Dis place not healthy. Dat damp! Should my daughters go off into a decline ...
she apprehensively murmured, as her husband started softly to sing.
"For ebber wid de Lord!
Amen; so let it be;
Life from de dead is in dat word,
’Tis immortality."
If it’s de meeting-house dats de obstruction, dair are odders, too, in Cuna-Cuna,
she observed.
"How often