Colin Greenland - A Passion For Lord Pierrot

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A Passion for Lord Pierrot
a short story by Colin Greenland
Introduction
I wrote this story for David Garnett's Zenith 2 anthology, as another
in
the series of portraits of nasty men that includes Tarven Guille the
taxidermist in Other Voices and Isa's father the mad inventor in 'The
Wish'. What they share is a mastery of dubious science, an appalling
attitude towards women and an infinite capacity for arrogant, romantic
self-delusion. Mortimer Lychworthy, twenty-eighth Earl of Io and Master
of
the Guild of Aether Pilots, is obviously another of the same
fellowship.
Why I've been compelled to pillory these grotesque examples of extreme
tendencies in my own sex is a mystery to me. Presumably it's in some
sense
the other side of the more prominent mystery, which people always seize
upon and question me about when I'm on stage: why are all my novels
about
women?
Actually, I don't think it is a mystery, unless there's an equivalent
mystery in Mary Shelley writing about Victor Frankenstein or Ruth
Rendell
writing about Inspector Wexford. The mystery is perhaps why more men
haven't done it. That doesn't mean I know why I do it, though. I can
tell
you that it's not a matter of decision. The character always comes
first,
as a whole person, whose story I am to tell. What that story actually
is,
is a matter of many, many decisions, as is how I am to tell it. For
this
piece I adopted the Commedia dell'Arte imagery and elegiac,
bitter-sweet
tone I first encountered in works by Michael Moorcock, the chronicles
of
Jerry Cornelius and of the Dancers at the End of Time. The narrative
voice, detached, anonymous, but still quite personal, I also borrowed
from
Mike, before learning that he had also borrowed it, from George
Meredith.
It was one sentence in this story, the one about 'the gala concert on
Artemisia to celebrate the opening of the new Trans-Galactic Passage',
that gave me my first glimpse into the universe of Harm's Way.
-- CG
A Passion for Lord Pierrot
In the land of Anise, on the planet of Triax, it is the hour after
dinner.
Lord Pierrot sits alone in his apartment, playing the accordion. He
reclines on a couch and plays a slow, sad tango. A melancholy fit is
upon
him, for he remembers the past, the years before he came into his
inheritance.
He is thinking of other nights, nights of gaiety when he sauntered with
his comrades through yellow gardens on the moon, the same moon that now
shines on the lake, turning it the colour of fine honey. On those
nights
he had not a care to his name, and the songs he sang were merry. He was
young then, Lord Pierrot, and now he is old, as they reckon such things
on
the planet of Triax.
Lord Pierrot's whole apartment is most sumptuously appointed. The
furnishings are made of velvet, the floor of glossy yellow hardwood
imported all the way from Peru, on Earth. Splendid specimens of the
local
wildlife decorate the walls, represented by their severed heads. But
tonight Lord Pierrot is not comforted by luxuries, nor by the trophies
of
his skill in the slaughter. Tonight there will be no comfort for him
but
in the arms of his paramour, Daphne Dolores.
He will go to her now, this minute. He rises and tucks the accordion
under
his arm, to entertain her, later, with some music. With this thought he
steps from his chamber into the shaft and goes down, out of the front
door
into the stifling night.
Lord Pierrot crosses the lake by means of his little rowing boat. The
moon
is bright. Tomorrow night, he thinks, it will be full. Across the water
he
sees a light in the window of the lodge that stands upon the other
shore.
Moon or no moon, that is his beacon, his guiding star.
He moors below the lodge, in the lee of a black rock that shelves out
like
a parapet over the water. The rock was brought back from the Horsehead
Nebula by Lord Pierrot's father, at a time when society admired such
actions. Lord Pierrot climbs upon it now and stands gazing at the
moonlit
lodge. A languid breeze toys with his pale hair.
In the silence he hears the door of the lodge open, and then he sees
her,
sees Daphne Dolores, running to greet him.
'Daphne Dolores!' cries Lord Pierrot, and he springs from the rock. At
once she is in his arms. He holds her very tightly, though not
inconsiderately. He feels the beating of her heart, that splendid
organ.
Its rhythm betrays only a slight sign of exertion -- or is that
passion,
passion for Lord Pierrot?
'Daphne Dolores,' murmurs Lord Pierrot ardently. 'My love.'
'My darling,' Daphne Dolores replies, in rapture.
Daphne Dolores is slight and becomingly small of stature. She looks up
at
Lord Pierrot and presses the palm of her hand to his breast in a way
that
he finds irresistible. Her blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight. At this
moment he would do anything for her, anything she asked. At this moment
he
would give up his wife, his house, his lands, his laboratories, and
take
her away on a journey to another star, a journey to last a lifetime.
Fortunately, Daphne Dolores does not ask him to do so. She does not ask
him for anything. It is not in her nature to ask for things.
The most she will ever ask him is: 'Are you pleased to see me?'
Colin Greenland - A Passion For Lord Pierrot.pdf

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：17 页 大小：38.49KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-11-24

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