Friday, March 20, 2015

the open window by Saki



    "My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

     Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.

     "I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

     Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

     "Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

     "Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

     He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

     "Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

     "Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

     "Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

     "Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.

     "You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

     "It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

     "Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window - "

     She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

     "I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

     "She has been very interesting," said Framton.

     "I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"

     She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

     "The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

     "No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.

     "Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

     Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

     In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

     Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.

     "Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

     "A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

     "I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

     Romance at short notice was her speciality.

I hadn't read any Saki stories in a long time before I happened upon them in this handy collection. I drew the picture because I couldn't resist.

17 comments:

marja-leena said...

Oh, what a tale! I thought it was yours at first. A beautiful illustration very much in your personal style that I think I'd recognize anywhere. Thanks for sharing, Susan

gfid said...

I read this with Mr. Dog curled atop my feet, tucked cozily abed in my attic hideaway. This story has me begging fore more! And the illustration! Many thanks for yet another delightful bedtime story. I hope you're able to be 'Oot 'n aboot' by now.

Halle said...

Romance at short notice indeed! You captured it so well.

Tom said...

Ooooh! I felt a strange thrill when I began to read this post. There was something very familiar about the opening lines, and then I remembered that I read this 'ghost story' to Lucy over the Christmas period. So lovely to see it arise from part of a life lived once more.

susan said...

I was really surprised to discover that Edward Gorey hadn't illustrated many Saki stories since they match up so well. So I tried (in my fashion) to make up for that lack. I'm very glad you enjoyed the story (and you thought it was mine!) and the picture.

susan said...

I'm very delighted to know you and Maestro are comfortably ensconced. There are several other Saki stories I may (possibly) try illustrating - one about a very good little girl comes to mind :)

Yes, despite another three feet of snow this week we did find our way to the park yesterday. It was amazingly beautiful.

susan said...

I'm delighted to know you enjoyed it, Halle.

susan said...

Yes, rediscovering Saki provides such a welcome respite from modern cares. It's good to know you and Lucy were there just a few months ago. While I wished I'd been able to do more justice to the period, I'm glad the picture provided a decent hint.

Should Fish More said...

On the minutia: I love the very Edwardian/Victorian loveseat, the feet particularly. And the way the mischievous young lady is gesticulating. What was your intent with the carpet or floor...it made made me curious.

I've read Munro's stories before, but not this one. Either of my two daughters could have done this same thing.

Very nice post.

Mike

susan said...

I like the loveseat too, Mike. I had the guy seated on an undetermined flat surface to begin with and when he was drawn reasonably well the lounge grew naturally - I wanted it formal but not uniform. The carpet is evidence of me being too worn out (read: lazy) to draw a pattern of figures while at the same time needing something to focus the viewer's attention toward the characters. A shag carpet would never have been acceptable in an Edwardian drawing room :)

I'm glad the story reminded you of your daughters.

Lindsay Byrnes said...

Hi Susan
Lovely Saki story and your picture is so much in tune with the characters and setting that I could imagine that I’m sure you could have worked with him in concert had it been another time.
Best wishes

susan said...

Thanks, Lindsay, I'm very glad you enjoyed reading the story again as well as appreciating the picture I drew to accompany it. From what I've read about H.H. Munro it seems he was a pretty cynical and not particularly cheerful man (he had a pretty brutal upbringing). I hope he'd like the illustration, but I'd never count on that reaction.
All the best

Ol'Buzzard said...

You could do a collection of black and white drawings and market them as a coloring book - they are popular now even among adults.
the Ol'Buzzard

Ol'Buzzard said...

I come up with ideas but never carry them through - years ago I made my wife a set of ear rings from moose droppings dipped in acrylic - I called them moose pearl ear rings... a few years later I saw the same thing selling at L.L. Beans.
Anyway, a great picture: and I do like Saki.
the Ol'Buzzard

susan said...

The truth is I'm no better at marketing than you are, OB. Moose pearl earrings? Yikes!

I'm glad you like the picture and it's always good to know there are still fans of Saki.

Lydia said...

Well, you know me and that I will admit when I have been heretofore unaware of something I learn here at your blog. Saki, for instance. This is my introduction, right here, along with the most perfect drawing to accompany it. Susan, you are a wonder and a constant source of enrichment in my life.

susan said...

Hi Lydia! I'm very glad I've been able to introduce you to the witty and ironic world of Saki. I'm glad you liked the picture too :)