AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART

Cape Town didn't appear all that promising a place for the ex-captain ofThe Dying Quail to settle down, especially once Captain Roberts figured out why he'd been tossed overboard and started looking for me with a gun, so I took my leave one fine morning at about two o'clock and headed on up the eastern coastline. My money held out just fine until I got to Durban, which had a mule track, horses being too expensive for that part of the country. I picked out a likely-looking one named Saint Andrew, placed my money down. and watched him go into the final turn leading by two lengths when a pride of lions raced out of the veldt and attacked the field.

The jockeys, most of whom were faster than their mounts anyway, jumped off and raced to safety, but none of the mules made it as far as the homestretch. The track, claiming that this was an act of God, refused to refund the bets, even though I, representing God, pointed out that what it mostly was was an act of lions. I could see we were likely to be arguing all day without solving anything, so I took the rest of my money and tried to put it all on a large black-maned lion who was just finishing off Saint Andrew. The track officials explained that it was against policy to make book on lions, and besides, they wouldn't give me more than three-to-five on the black-maned one.

We did some real quick haggling amongst ourselves and finally they laid nine-to-ten against my lion, with no place or show betting. As soon as I put up my money the lion got up, yawned, stretched, and ambled back into the bush.

“Off the course! Foul!” cried the steward. “Disqualified and placed last.”

“How come you didn't disqualify him for eating Saint Andrew?” I demanded.

“My dear sir,” said the steward in a patronizing voice, “he ran straight and true after Saint Andrew.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow you, brother,” I said.

“There is nothing in the rules about one participant eating another,” he continued. “But it clearly states that leaving the course is a foul.”

“Am I to understand, brother,” I said, “that you have no intention of refunding either of my bets?”

He nodded.

“Who's in charge here?” I demanded. “I want to see the owner.”

“The owner is Mrs. Emily Perrison,” said the steward, “but you won't find her here. She detests gambling.”

“Then why the hell does she own a racetrack?” I asked.

“For the same reason she owns almost everything else in this town: Her husband died and left it to her.”

“A widow, you say. Is she young?”

“Old enough to be your mother,” replied the steward. “And crazy as all get-out. Gives away most of her money to religious missions up north of here.”

“Where in particular?” I asked.

“Like I told you: up north.”

“The whole world's up north,” I pointed out.

“I don't know: Ethiopia, Chad, the Sudan. Somewhere up there.”

“How would I find this Mrs. Perrison?” I asked.

“I can't give out her address,” he said, “but if you'll just walk north and east you can't miss it.”

I left both the racetrack and my hundred pounds behind me without a second thought. I had a few shiIlings left in my pocket, and I spent them on a shave and a little hair grease, after which I started walking to the northeast. The steward hadn't been kidding about not being able to miss my destination, because I soon passed, in rapid succession, Perrison's Dry Goods, Perrison's General Store, Perrison's Slaughterhouse and Restaurant, and thePerrison Daily Press . When I finally reached the long roadway leading to the Perrison homestead it was twilight, and it was dark by the time I walked up to the huge old wooden farmhouse.

I spent a couple of minutes smoothing down my hair, brushing the dust off my clothes, and making sure the Good Book was prominently displayed, then knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a fat young man with a sullen face and piggy little eyes.

“What do you want?” he whined.

“Greetings,” I said pleasantly. “Is Emily Perrison at home?”

“Who wants to know?” he asked, picking on a pimple.

“What do you mean, who wants to know?” I said. “Iwant to know.”

“Who are you?” he asked, rubbing his stubby little nose.

“I am Doctor Lucifer Jones,” I said, forcing a friendly smile.

“My mum don't need a doctor,” he said sullenly.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” I said. “Why not get your mother and let her decide?”

He grunted, slammed the door in my face, and left me standing out there in the cold. A minute passed, then another, and finally the door opened again and I found myself facing Mrs. Emily Perrison.

She was the pinkest woman I ever did see. She wore her hair up in a bun, and her face and body looked like someone was trying to balance a small balloon atop a bigger one. She had blue eyes, a broad nose, and lots of shiny white teeth, and she looked like she would never walk when she could mince.

She reached out a ruffled arm and took my hand in hers.

“Doctor Jones?”

“The Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones,” I said, stooping over and kissing her fingers. They tasted of bread dough, and it reminded me that I hadn't eaten all day. “I'm back from your mission in Ethiopia to report on all the good work we've been doing with the money you so generously sent to us.”

“But I made no contributions to Ethiopia,” she said, looking puzzled.

“Well, theytold me I was in Ethiopia, but it could have been Chad.”

“Ido make donations to a number of missions in Chad,” she said.

“And right appreciative we are,” I said quickly. “It would just melt your heart to see all those little heathen children coming to church and singing hymns of a Sunday morning.”

Her face lit up at that, and she invited me into the living room, which had a flock of overstuffed Victorian chairs and loveseats covered by hundreds of little doilies. There were a batch of paintings on the wall, mostly of flowers and apples and stuff like that, but they didn't hold a candle to the painting of Nellie Willoughby in the altogether that hung over the bar in the New Stanley Hotel.

“By the way, who was that who met me at the door?” I asked.

“That was my son, Horace,” she said apologetically.

“A right charming lad he is,” I said quickly.

“Well, Doctor Jones,” she said with a fluttery little sigh, “I've heard Horace called a good many things, but that's the very first time the word charming has ever been mentioned.”

“All he needs is a little firm guidance from a Godfearing stepfather not unlike myself and he'll be right as rain.”

“I'm glad you agree,” she said.

“Agree with who and about what?” I asked.

“With me, about Horace. I've recently allowed a certain gentleman to come calling, mainly because I too feel that the boy needs a father.”

That wasn't exactly the solution I had in mind, but I just smiled and allowed as to how I'd like to meet such a lucky fellow before going back into the bush for another couple of quick rounds with Satan.

She told me that I was in luck because he was coming over for dinner that very night. Then she got me some tea and started asking about the natives in Chad. I told her whatever sounded likely, embellishing a little bit here and there about their fertility rites and other such rituals, and explaining that it was due to her and her alone that these sinful goings-on had been stopped.

Suddenly she reached out, grabbed my hand, and held it against her bosom, which was considerable when at rest but was throbbing to beat the band right then.

“It must have been terribly difficult for a cultured gentleman like yourself to rub shoulders with such savages!” she said.

“Somebody had to do it,” I said nobly. “And what Christian wouldn't gladly accept a little torture and some tropical diseases if it enabled him to spread the Word?” I shot her my saddest, most tragic smile. “And while I may have missed the companionship of a good Christian white woman during all them painful years, I couldn't have afforded to keep a wife or raise a family anyway, what with donating all my money to various leper colonies.”

“You poor dear!” she breathed. “You're penniless?”

I nodded. “But I ain't complaining, ma'am,” I said quickly. “I've got spiritual riches, and that's something I wouldn't trade with no one.”

“Where did you plan to spend the night?” she asked.

“I saw a real comfortable-looking bench behind the slaughterhouse,” I said. “And I'm sure in a week or two I can get used to the smell.”

“I won't hear of it!” she exclaimed. “You'll stay right here in the house as our guest until you're ready to go out and do the Lord's work again.”

“But ma'am,” I protested. “It just ain't right. Besides, I still get nightmares from the time they strung me up and tried to make me renounce Jesus. You wouldn't want to wake up during all that screaming. I mean, I know you feel deeply obligated because I've undergone all this suffering and privation for your pet charities, but...”

“You're staying, and that's that!” she said firmly.

I explained that it was morally wrong but that I was too weak and exhausted to argue with her anymore, so I'd have to abide by her decision. She was just reaching out to grab my face and press it on her bosom right next to my hand, and I took a deep breath on the assumption that there wasn't a lot of extra room there for air or anything else, when we were interrupted by a brisk knocking at the front door.

She stood up, slightly flushed and looking pinker than ever, and walked to the door. A moment later she returned with a familiar figure who was dressed all in black: shirt, tie, vest, suit, socks, shoes, hat, belt, probably even underwear.

“Doctor Jones,” said Emily, “I'd like to introduce you to my gentleman caller, Major Theodore Dobbins, late of His Majesty's armed forces.”

I'm not sure which of us looked more surprised, but he recovered first and extended his hand.

“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said. “How good it is to see you again!”

“You two know each other?” asked Emily.

“We've done a little missionary work together,” I said. “In fact, I think you could fairly say that the last time we got together we prevented a few hundred poor lost souls from becoming drug addicts.”

“Praise God!” she cried, looking all sort of uplifted.

“It's been a long time, Doctor Jones,” said the Major, seating himself on one of the uglier chairs. “I had never expected to see you again.”

“Isn't it a small world?” said Emily.

“Crowded is more the word for it,” I replied.

“Well, I'll leave you two to discuss old times while I check on dinner,” she said, scurrying out to the kitchen.

“What areyou doing here?” Major Dobbins hissed as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Just spreading the word of the Lord,” I replied. “And yourself?”

“You will doubtless find this difficult to comprehend,” he said, “but I am here because of an earnest affair of the heart.”

“Difficult ain't exactly the word I'd choose, Brother Dobbins,” I said. “How much is she worth?”

“What makes you think I'd know anything about her financial status?” he said with dignity. “I assure you, my friend, that such a question has never crossed my mind.”

“Thatmuch?” I said.

“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said, sitting down opposite me, “I think it best that we lay all our cards on the table. After our unfortunate meeting with Erich Von Horst in Dar-es-Salaam, certain business interests caused me to move my base of operations to South Africa in some degree of haste.”

“They issued another warrant for you?” I asked.

“Let us say that my interpretations of the finer points of the law differed in various respects from those of the authorities,” he replied. “Be that as it may, I found that I had insufficient capital to continue dealing in those perishable goods that had formed the staple of my livelihood for the past decade. Indeed, all seemed hopeless until I heard of the good Mrs. Perrison from an associate, and immediately moved my base once again, this time to Durban. I will confess that she does indeed possess a certain amount of wealth, though doubtless far less than you hope or suspect. I have been courting her assiduously for the past two months, and now stand upon the brink of being able to set the time and place for our nuptials.”

“It certainly beats leaving it all to Horace,” I said thoughtfully.

“I knew you would appreciate my position,” he said with a smile.

“I do more than appreciate it, Major,” I replied. “Ienvy it.”

“And so we come to the crux of the situation,” he said. “Exactly how much will it take to assuage your envy?”

“I sure wouldn't want to appear greedy or nothing,” I told him. “But I got a feeling that it would take more than you're willing to spend.”

“Two thousand pounds,” he offered.

“Come on, now, Major,” I said. “I walked by all those stores on the way up here.”

“They all have mortgages,” he replied. “Two thousand is a generous offer, Doctor Jones.”

“I never denied it,” I said. “Of course, it stands to reason that if two thousand is a generous offer, ten thousand is five times as generous.”

“That is simply out of the question,” he said. “Let's split it right down the middle: twenty-five hundred pounds.”

I shook my head. “Well, Major, it looks like we're going to be rivals for that poor lonesome widow lady's hand. May the best man win, so long as he ain't an Englishman with a price on his head.”

Emily rejoined us just then to inform us that dinner was on the table, and we followed her into the dining room, which, like the living room, was furnished with a batch of ugly Victorian items, in this case a china cabinet with a matching table and four dumpy chairs. Horace was sitting on one of the chairs, picking his nose thoughtfully, and the Major and I sat down at the head and foot of the table. Emily joined us a few seconds later.

“I'm sure you gentlemen had lots to talk about,” said Emily.

“More than you could imagine,” I assured her.

“Have you known each other long?” she asked.

“Oh, we go way back, ma'am,” I said. “Of course, Major Dobbins goes a lot farther back than I do, me being a young and vital God-fearing Christian gentleman in the very prime of life.”

“My dear Doctor Jones, you must learn not to feel so self-conscious about your unworldliness and lack of experience,” said the Major. “After all, immaturity is nothing to be ashamed of. You'll undoubtedly outgrow it at about the same time Horace does.”

With that, Horace got up from the table and stalked out of the room.

“Have I said something to offend him?” asked the Major with a certain degree of satisfaction.

“He's a very sensitive boy,” Emily replied.

“I could tell that right off the bat,” I interjected.

“He's still trying to find himself,” she confided.

“Has he tried looking in the kitchen?” I asked. “I mean, if I wanted to find Horace, that's the very first place I'd look for him.”

“You must excuse my friend,” said the Major. “I'm sure he doesn't mean to appear so boorish, but I must also point out that it is this very insensitivity that precludes his ever successfully raising a child.”

“Just because you've been littering Africa with children don't give you no monopoly on fatherly wisdom,” I shot back. “I could raise Horace as well as the next man, especially if the next man was you.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow what all this is about,” said Emily.

“Miss Emily,” I said, “I got to declare myself here and now. I've lost my heart to the radiance of your beauty, and want nothing more than to be a husband to you and a good father to Horace, teaching him the manly art of self-defense and taking him to rugby games of a Sunday afternoon.”

“This is so sudden!” she said, blushing. “But what about the Major?”

“He can go out and preach the Word amongst the heathen like I been doing,” I said. “It might do him a world of good.”

“I'll need time to think about this,” said Emily.

“My dear, I urge you not to listen to him,” said the Major. “If nothing else, think of Horace. Doctor Jones is probably even now wanted in some municipality or another for pederasty.”

“That's a lie!” I shouted. “I ain't never pretended to be a foot doctor in my life! Miss Emily, I put it to you: The only person at this table who has ever been arrested is the Major.”

“Is that true, Theodore?” she asked. .

“It was a very trivial matter, my dear,” he said.

“That's what all them naked ladies said too.”

Emily Perrison gasped and covered her face with her hands.

“By gad, sir, I will not be subjected to any further vilifications!” roared the Major. “Honor demands satisfaction!”

That brought back memories of a lively young girl I used to know back in the States named Honor Weinburger, but before I could share this drollery with them the Major was on his feet, pacing back and forth and thumping his fist into his palm.

“We'll meet at dawn!” he said at last. “Jones, choose your weapon!”

“How about silence at five hundred paces?” I suggested when I saw he was serious. “You could start now.”

“Pistols!” said the Major. “Pistols at the count of ten.”

“This is silly, Major,” I said. “I ain't never fired a pistol in my life, and you ain't never made close friends with anyone who could count all the way up to ten.”

“Humbug!” cried the Major. “You're trying to make a farce out of this just to hide your cowardice!”

“And you're trying to make a duel out of it because you know you ain't got a chance next to a handsome young buck like me,” I said. “Begging your pardon for being so immodest and truthful, ma'am.”

“May I say something?” asked Emily, who had been looking more and more upset.

“I'm afraid not, my dear,” said the Major. “This is anaffaire d'honneur now.”

“But what if I don't want to marry the winner?” she said.

“That's absolutely unheard of!” snapped Major Dobbins.

“I got to agree with the Major,” I said. “If I actually get around to risking my life for your hand, I'd just naturally expect the rest of you to come with it.

“It'smy hand,” she pointed out.

“But it'sour duel,” replied the Major. “Women simply don't understand these things.”

“Now just a minute!” said Emily hotly.

“Madame, I love you with a mad undying passion that admits of no doubt or weakness,” said the Major, placing a hand to his heart. “And I cannot in good conscience allow this scoundrel to turn your head and destroy your chance for happiness, to say nothing of the detrimental influence he would have on young Horace, of whom I could not be more fond if he were my own son.”

I must confess that I shared his sentiments about Horace, and would have been hard pressed to name a situation that could have made me any fonder of him either, especially if he were my own son.

Well, Miss Emily kind of softened when she hear the Major's declaration of love and high purpose, which forced me to make a similar one, and she finally agreed as to how sometimes affairs of honor were kind of honorable.

“But I do have one small request, Theodore,” she said.

“Whatever you wish, my dead,” he replied smoothly.

“Could you fight your duel at noon instead of sunrise?”

“Certainly,” he said. “But why?”

“I thought we might hold it at the racetrack and charge a little something extra for admission. The missions in Chad and the Sudan could surely use the money, and somehow all this won't seem so futile if it serves a good purpose.”

“Ah, what a rare treasure one of us is going to be marrying, eh?” smiled the Major.

“True,” I agreed. “And what a lovely woman comes with it.”

The Major harrumphed a couple of times and then got to his feet. “Excuse me, one and all, but I think I'd best be returning to my apartments,” he announced.

“But it's only eight o'clock,” protested Emily in hurt tones.

“True,” he acknowledged. “But I plan to have a hard day of butchery and bloodletting tomorrow, and I do that sort of thing best after a good night's sleep. Why not come along with me, Doctor Jones? We can toast one another's good if brief health a few times, and you won't be besmirching our dearly beloved lady's reputation by spending the night here without a chaperone.”

“I'd like to oblige you, Major,” I said, “but someone ought to stay here to protect our fragile flower from jungle beasts and other night critters. Don't feel badly about not thinking of it yourself, though; it's the kind of thought that would only occur to a decent and dedicated young missionary.”

He glared at me for a couple of minutes, then turned on his heel and left. By the time Emily and I got back to the dining room we found Horace sitting at the table, working on his fourth piece of pie.

“You gonna fight for my mum?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“It sure appears that that's the course the Lord has in mind for me,” I said. “Will you be rooting for me, Horace?”

“Don't know,” he said, downing a quart of milk in a single swallow. “Have to see the morning line first.”

“Horace!” said Emily.

“Just boyish enthusiasm,” I said, tousling his hair and dislodging a couple of flies in the process. “He'll outgrow it if he lives long enough.”

We went out to the parlor and had a sip or two of brandy, and then I was shown to my room. It seemed that my head had hardly hit the pillow before Horace was shaking me and telling me to hurry up or else I'd be late for the duel.

“Well, they can't start without me,” I muttered, sitting up on the bed.

“I laid twenty shillings on the Major at one-to-two,” said Horace, “and I don't win if you forfeit.”

I thanked the little ghoul for his concern, dressed as quickly as I could, and walked down to the kitchen, where Emily was frying up some eggs.

“No time for eating, Mum!” cried Horace, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the door. “We're late!”

“But...” said Emily.

“We'relate! ” repeated Horace, almost in a panic.

She sighed, shrugged, and followed us out to a carriage, which Horace had already attached to a couple of horses. We flew down the streets of Durban as if we were being pulled by Exterminator and Old Rosebud, and within twenty minutes or so we pulled up at the racetrack. Major Dobbins was waiting for us at the finish line with the track steward.

“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said, extending his hand as we approached him. “I trust you slept well. You know, I have been giving the matter considerable thought, and have concluded that this is really a rather barbaric way of settling our little dispute.”

“My own sentiments exactly,” I said.

“Would you consider some other means of so doing?” he asked.

“Such as?”

“We could cut a deck of cards,” he said, producing just such a deck.

“Now just a minute!” said Emily. “I'm not one to encourage bloodshed, Lord knows, but while I can see certain justifications for an affair of honor, cutting cards for my hand just doesn't qualify as such.”

“Besides,” said the steward, “we have charged all thousand spectators an extra shilling per head. We're likely to have a riot if you call the thing off.”

“Well, my friend,” said the Major, “it would seem that we have no choice.” He gestured to a track official, who walked up with a mahogany box containing two pistols.

I was offered first choice, and since they looked alike to me I just grabbed the one that was closer. Evidently I did it with such skill and swiftness that the crowd thought I knew what I was doing, because a little murmur of approval spread through them. The Major took the other one and we stood back-to-back at the finish line.

“At my signal,” said the steward, “you will each take ten paces, turn, and fire. Any fouls and/or disqualifications will be at the discretion of the track's governing board. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said the Major.

“I suppose so,” I said.

“Good,” said the steward. “Proceed.”

The Major must have taken quicker steps than me, because I heard two shots before I got to my tenth step.

“False start!” cried the steward.

“Now what?” I asked, turning around.

“You do it again until you get it right,” said the steward.

So we did it again, and this time we turned and faced each other at the same instant. I heard a lot of shots coming from the Major's direction, and I just closed my eyes, pointed the gun toward him, and kept firing until I was out of bullets.

“Halt!” cried the steward.

“What now?” demanded the Major.

“You wounded nine spectators and killed a mule,” said the steward disgustedly. “Are you sure you want to continue with this?”

“Absolutely,” said the Major.

“All right, then,” said the steward as we re-loaded our weapons. “This time get back to back and only go five paces. Maybethat will help.”

Well, to make a long story short, we each fired off six more bullets, and nothing much happened except that we took the head off a Guinea hen that had wandered onto the track by mistake. The crowd started getting ugly then, and one of them threw a rock that grazed the Major's skull.

“Foul!” he cried, and fell to the dirt track.

“How is he?” I asked, moseying over.

“'Tis a far far better thing I do than I have ever done,” said the Major.

“Oh, get up!” snapped the steward. “I've seen fly bites draw more blood than that!”

The Major got uneasily to his feet and waved a victory sign to the crowd, which booed in return.

“May I make a suggestion?” said the steward.

“Shoot,” I said, and the Major hit the ground again. “What's the matter now?” I asked, helping him to his feet.

“You might select your words a little more carefully,” he said sternly.

“My suggestion?” said the steward impatiently.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“Since you two are not the most skillful marksmen I have ever seen, I suggest that we might bring this unhappy affair of honor to a conclusion a mite quicker if you switched to swords.”

“A capital suggestion!” cried the Major enthusiastically.

A moment later a couple of military sabers were brought out. They had to show me how to hold mine, but the Major grabbed his like it was an old friend and started swishing it through the air as if he was slicing mosquitoes in half.

“Are you ready?” asked the steward.

“Not by a long shot,” I said, still trying out how to hold it without sticking my thumb over the bell.

“Too damned bad,” said the steward. “Proceed.”

The Major gave me a great big grin and a great big salute with his sword, and I figured that me and the Lord would be hobnobbing in person in just a couple more seconds. Then he lunged forward at me, and I heard something that sounded like a gunshot, only louder.

“Owww!” he screamed, and I noticed that he was standing still as a statue, which was kind of difficult since he was all stretched out, one leg dragging behind him and one arm extended toward me.

“What happened?” I asked him, putting my sword down and staring at him with my hands on my hips.

“I must have thrown my back out!” he grated. “I can't move!”

Well, me and the steward called time out and tried to straighten the Major up, but he sure enough wasn't kidding about being stuck in that position. After about ten minutes we gave up and I walked over to Emily Perrison.

“Miss Emily,” I said, “I just don't think I'd feel right about killing the Major under these conditions, him being helpless and all—and especially not with so many witnesses.”

“I understand,” she said, patting my hand. “It's your Christian goodness rising to the fore.”

“I'm glad nobody got killed,” I said.

“So am I,” she smiled.

“I'm not,” said Horace sullenly.

“Well, then,” I said, “if you'll just name the happy date, Miss Emily, I'll announce our nuptials to all and sundry.”

“I've been giving the matter some serious thought during these past few minutes, Lucifer,” she said slowly, “and I have decided to give myself in marriage to Major Dobbins.”

“But why?” I said. “I mean, I could go over and slice him up a little if that's all that stands in the way of our getting hitched.”

“It's more than that, Lucifer,” she said. “You're so good and pure and true, such a Christian gentleman, that you'd never be happy tied down to a family in a dull little city like Durban when you could be off converting cannibals and lepers and the like. Whereas Major Dobbins, on the other hand, has a certain weakness of the spirit that makes his salvation a real challenge to me.”

“But Miss Emily,I can be just as weak ashe can!” I protested.

“No, I won't hear of it,” she said firmly. “You're too good for me, Lucifer. It's the Major who wanted my money, while you only wanted to serve our God.”

“Suppose I wanted your money, too,” I said. “Would that make a difference to you?”

“Don't be silly!” she laughed. “You're too fine and pure to think such sordid thoughts.”

“I am?” I asked unhappily.

“Absolutely. Now you and the Major will each get what you want, and I'll have made both of you happy.”

“But...”

“Onward Christian Soldier!” she cried with a wild evangelical gleam in her eye.

I took one last look at Horace and decided that staying single might not be the worst of all possible fates, so I took my leave of Durban while they were still trying to decide whether to take the Major to a doctor or coat him over with paint and use him as a lawn statue.

I camped north of town that night and had a little heart-to-heart with my Silent Partner, who pointed out that He had littered South Africa with diamonds and other baubles and that, as long as I was here anyway, this might not be a bad time to look for them.

It sounded good to me, and I headed inland in search of my fortune, determined to keep no diamonds under eighteen carats.