Lost trumpet
(127)
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THE LOST TRUMPET 127
that the boy was in agony. He had been drinking
himself to death, I guessed, in the brothels of the
Wagh el Berka. Knowing the hopelessness of the
attempt, I could yet do no more than make it, with
Pelagueya standing there wide-eyed.
“Leave Cairo. Go away from this place. Other¬
wise you are finished.’J
He staggered, shaking off my hand from his
shoulder. He stared at me glassily. “Go away ? Go
where ?”
Anywhere out of Cairo. Go out to the desert.
Go a walking tour by Abu Zabal,” I added at random.
The boy dropped his hands from his head.
“Walking-tour. Out to the desert. Right. Sheik.
I’ll be a sheik. Right.”
And, catching every now and then at the street-
wall as he went, he turned and swayed away down
the Wagh el Berka. The policeman made a move¬
ment to follow, thought better of it, walked away
in the opposite direction. I turned to Pelagueya.
She was looking past me.
“He’s coming back.”
Out to the desert. Eight. I’m damn drunk,
else I d like to know you. Both of you. Look as
though you had guts. Both of you. Here, read this.
Book of mine that’ll make you sick. Write care of
my publishers and tell me how sick you feel. Right.
Out to the desert.”
that the boy was in agony. He had been drinking
himself to death, I guessed, in the brothels of the
Wagh el Berka. Knowing the hopelessness of the
attempt, I could yet do no more than make it, with
Pelagueya standing there wide-eyed.
“Leave Cairo. Go away from this place. Other¬
wise you are finished.’J
He staggered, shaking off my hand from his
shoulder. He stared at me glassily. “Go away ? Go
where ?”
Anywhere out of Cairo. Go out to the desert.
Go a walking tour by Abu Zabal,” I added at random.
The boy dropped his hands from his head.
“Walking-tour. Out to the desert. Right. Sheik.
I’ll be a sheik. Right.”
And, catching every now and then at the street-
wall as he went, he turned and swayed away down
the Wagh el Berka. The policeman made a move¬
ment to follow, thought better of it, walked away
in the opposite direction. I turned to Pelagueya.
She was looking past me.
“He’s coming back.”
Out to the desert. Eight. I’m damn drunk,
else I d like to know you. Both of you. Look as
though you had guts. Both of you. Here, read this.
Book of mine that’ll make you sick. Write care of
my publishers and tell me how sick you feel. Right.
Out to the desert.”
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (127) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205191128 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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