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 Post subject: tropicalise
PostPosted: Fri Feb 17, 2006 7:18 am 
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 17, 2006 10:32 pm 
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PostPosted: Sat Feb 18, 2006 11:31 pm 
Shelled Plebeian

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Hey kids! It's 1920's literature time!

The Terrible Old man
By H.P. Lovecraft
Quote:
It was the design of Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva to call on the Terrible Old Man. This old man dwells all alone in a very ancient house on Water Street near the sea, and is reputed to be both exceedingly rich and exceedingly feeble; which forms a situation very attractive to men of the profession of Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva, for that profession was nothing less dignified than robbery.

The inhabitants of Kingsport say and think many things about the Terrible Old Man which generally keep him safe from the attention of gentlemen like Mr. Ricci and his colleagues, despite the almost certain fact that he hides a fortune of indefinite magnitude somewhere about his musty and venerable abode. He is, in truth, a very strange person, believed to have been a captain of East India clipper ships in his day; so old that no one can remember when he was young, and so taciturn that few know his real name. Among the gnarled trees in the front yard of his aged and neglected place he maintains a strange collection of large stones, oddly grouped and painted so that they resemble the idols in some obscure Eastern temple. This collection frightens away most of the small boys who love to taunt the Terrible Old Man about his long white hair and beard, or to break the small-paned windows of his dwelling with wicked missiles; but there are other things which frighten the older and more curious folk who sometimes steal up to the house to peer in through the dusty panes. These folk say that on a table in a bare room on the ground floor are many peculiar bottles, in each a small piece of lead suspended pendulum-wise from a string. And they say that the Terrible Old Man talks to these bottles, addressing them by such names as Jack, Scar-Face, Long Tom, Spanish Joe, Peters, and Mate Ellis, and that whenever he speaks to a bottle the little lead pendulum within makes certain definite vibrations as if in answer.

Those who have watched the tall, lean, Terrible Old Man in these peculiar conversations, do not watch him again. But Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva were not of Kingsport blood; they were of that new and heterogeneous alien stock which lies outside the charmed circle of New England life and traditions, and they saw in the Terrible Old Man merely a tottering, almost helpless grey-beard, who could not walk without the aid of his knotted cane, and whose thin, weak hands shook pitifully. They were really quite sorry in their way for the lonely, unpopular old fellow, whom everybody shunned, and at whom all the dogs barked singularly. But business is business, and to a robber whose soul is in his profession, there is a lure and a challenge about a very old and very feeble man who has no account at the bank, and who pays for his few necessities at the village store with Spanish gold and silver minted two centuries ago.

Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva selected the night of April 11th for their call. Mr. Ricci and Mr. Silva were to interview the poor old gentleman, whilst Mr. Czanek waited for them and their presumable metallic burden with a covered motor-car in Ship Street, by the gate in the tall rear wall of their host’s grounds. Desire to avoid needless explanations in case of unexpected police intrusions prompted these plans for a quiet and unostentatious departure.

As prearranged, the three adventurers started out separately in order to prevent any evil-minded suspicions afterward. Messrs. Ricci and Silva met in Water Street by the old man’s front gate, and although they did not like the way the moon shone down upon the painted stones through the budding branches of the gnarled trees, they had more important things to think about than mere idle superstition. They feared it might be unpleasant work making the Terrible Old Man loquacious concerning his hoarded gold and silver, for aged sea-captains are notably stubborn and perverse. Still, he was very old and very feeble, and there were two visitors. Messrs. Ricci and Silva were experienced in the art of making unwilling persons voluble, and the screams of a weak and exceptionally venerable man can be easily muffled. So they moved up to the one lighted window and heard the Terrible Old Man talking childishly to his bottles with pendulums. Then they donned masks and knocked politely at the weather-stained oaken door.

Waiting seemed very long to Mr. Czanek as he fidgeted restlessly in the covered motor-car by the Terrible Old Man’s back gate in Ship Street. He was more than ordinarily tender-hearted, and he did not like the hideous screams he had heard in the ancient house just after the hour appointed for the deed. Had he not told his colleagues to be as gentle as possible with the pathetic old sea-captain? Very nervously he watched that narrow oaken gate in the high and ivy-clad stone wall. Frequently he consulted his watch, and wondered at the delay. Had the old man died before revealing where his treasure was hidden, and had a thorough search become necessary? Mr. Czanek did not like to wait so long in the dark in such a place. Then he sensed a soft tread or tapping on the walk inside the gate, heard a gentle fumbling at the rusty latch, and saw the narrow, heavy door swing inward. And in the pallid glow of the single dim street-lamp he strained his eyes to see what his colleagues had brought out of that sinister house which loomed so close behind. But when he looked, he did not see what he had expected; for his colleagues were not there at all, but only the Terrible Old Man leaning quietly on his knotted cane and smiling hideously. Mr. Czanek had never before noticed the colour of that man’s eyes; now he saw that they were yellow.

Little things make considerable excitement in little towns, which is the reason that Kingsport people talked all that spring and summer about the three unidentifiable bodies, horribly slashed as with many cutlasses, and horribly mangled as by the tread of many cruel boot-heels, which the tide washed in. And some people even spoke of things as trivial as the deserted motor-car found in Ship Street, or certain especially inhuman cries, probably of a stray animal or migratory bird, heard in the night by wakeful citizens. But in this idle village gossip the Terrible Old Man took no interest at all. He was by nature reserved, and when one is aged and feeble, one’s reserve is doubly strong. Besides, so ancient a sea-captain must have witnessed scores of things much more stirring in the far-off days of his unremembered youth.


I expect a report on the importance of the bottles by next Friday.


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PostPosted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 4:31 am 
Worthy Tortoise

Joined: Sun Nov 20, 2005 7:21 am
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Not a bad little tale. I don't read much H.P. Lovecraft, but I thought its mood definitely fit the situation.

As for the significance of the bottles, that's an interesting question. The story is a bit vague on the details, so I'm sure that opinions range the gamut, however, I'll try my best to assert an educated interpretation.

As I said I haven’t read much Lovecraft (or other horror literature of the era for that matter), so I don't know what his conventions in symbology or metaphor are, but he did make a point of drawing the readers attention to the bottles even though he did not resolve their purpose in the conclusion (to create speculation I presume). At first I thought the bottles somehow allowed the terrible old man communication with his deceased shipmates (which is likely what the author wanted you to think at first glance). However, the story's sinister tone, and the fact that the pendulums where suspended in bottles, changed my opinion of them by the end of the tale.

As far as I can recall, pendulums were a relatively common device employed in séances to commune with spirits. While this reinforces the theory that the bottles allow communication with spirits, it doesn't explain why the pendulums are confined within bottles, unless those bottles contain those very souls with which the pendulums allow communication. So why would he bind the souls of his shipmates to bottles? Perhaps, as the story states he is just a 'terrible old man'. But then why draw the reader's attention to these otherwise unimportant objects? If I had to make a guess I'd say that within the bottles are not the souls of his former shipmates, but those of thieves, brigands, and pirates who at one time or other crossed the terrible old man. Now, having slain them in a grisly fashion, he enjoys tormenting the souls of these captive offenders (possibly just taunting, but perhaps more) for all of eternity (for as the story suggests, he could be far older than any ordinary mortal, and thus potentially even without end himself).

Overall a nice cautionary tale, in the bogey tradition, against those ‘Messrs’ who would break into another’s domain in hopes of coercing money out of them (make you're own assertions on how that relates to spammers :twisted: ).

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