Leonora's Voice
:
The Blue Germ
"My theory," said the policeman, "is that collectin'--and by that I mean
all sorts of collection, including that of money--comes from a craving
to 'ave something what other people 'aven't got. It comes from a kind o'
pride which is foolish. Take a man like Morgan, for instance. Now he
spent his life collecting dollars, and he never once stopped to ask
'imself why he was doin' it. I 'eard a friend of mine, a socialist he
was, saying as 'ow no one had wasted his life more than Morgan. At the
time it struck me as a silly kind of thing to say. But now I seem to see
it in a different light." He meditated for some minutes. "It's the
reason why--that's what we 'aven't thought of near enough."
I was about to reply when a motor-car stopped before us. It was a large
green limousine. It drew up suddenly, with a scraping of tyres, and a
woman got out of it. I recognized her at once. It was Leonora. She was
wearing a motoring-coat of russet-brown material, and her hat was tied
with a veil.
"Alexis!" she exclaimed.
Sarakoff roused himself. He stood up and bowed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Leonora," he said, "I am so glad to see you. We are just taking the
air, and discussing a few matters of general interest." He patted her on
the shoulder. "I congratulate you, Leonora. You are an Immortal. It
suits you very well."
She was certainly one of the Immortals. The stain in her eyes was
wonderfully vivid, but it did not produce a displeasing effect, as I had
fancied it would. Indeed, her eyes had lost their hard restless look,
and in place of it was an expression of bewilderment.
"What has happened to me?" she exclaimed. "Alexis, what is this that you
have done to me?"
"What I told you about at the Pyramid Restaurant. You have got the germ
in you and now you are immortal. Sit down, Leonora. I find it warmer
when I am sitting. My friend and I had to leave Harley Street somewhat
hurriedly, and I had not time to dress."
She sat down and loosened her veil.
"Last night a dreadful thing happened," she said. "And yet, although it
was dreadful, I do not feel upset about it. I have been trying to feel
upset--as I should--but I can't. Let me tell you about it. I lay down
yesterday afternoon in my room after tea to rest. I always do that when
I can. I think I fell asleep for a moment. Then I felt a curious light
feeling, as if I had suddenly been for a long holiday, and I got up.
Alexis, when I saw myself in the glass I was horrified. I had the Blue
Disease."
"Of course," said Sarakoff. "You were bound to get it. You knew that."
"I didn't know what to do. I wasn't very upset, only I felt something
dreadful had happened. Well, I went to the Opera as usual and everyone
was very sympathetic, but I said I was all right. But when my call came
I suddenly knew--quite calmly, but certainly--that I could not sing
properly. I went on the stage and began, but it was just as if I were
singing for the first time in my life. They had to ring the curtain
down. I apologized. I was quite calm and smiling. But there the fact
remained--I had lost my voice. I had failed in public."
"Extraordinary," muttered Sarakoff. "Are you sure it was not just
nervousness?"
"No, I'm certain of that. I felt absolutely self-possessed; far more so
that I usually do, and that is saying a lot. No, my voice has gone. The
Blue Disease has destroyed it. And yet I somehow don't feel any
resentment. I don't understand. Richard, tell me what has happened."
I shook my head.
"I don't know," I said. "I can't explain. The germ is doing things that
I never foresaw."
"I ought to be furious with you," she said.
"Try to be--if you can," smiled Sarakoff. "That's one of the strange
things. I can't be furious. I have only two emotions--perfect calmness,
or violent, horrible fear."
"Fear?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, fear of the worst kind conceivable."
"I understand the perfect calmness," she said, "but the fear--no."
"You will understand in time."
The policeman listened to our conversation with grave attention. Leonora
was sitting between Sarakoff and me, and did not seem to find the
presence of the visitor surprising. The green limousine stood in the
road before us, the chauffeur sitting at the wheel looking steadily in
front of him. The Heath seemed remarkably empty. The mist over London
was lifting under the influence of the sun.
I was revolving in my mind a theory as to why Leonora had lost her
voice. I already knew that the germ produced odd changes in the realm of
likes and dislikes. I remembered Sarakoff's words that the germ was
killing desire. My thoughts were clear, easy and lucid, and the problem
afforded by Leonora's singular experience gave me a sense of quiet
enjoyment. If the germ really did do away with desire, why should it at
the same time do away with Leonora's wonderful voice? I recalled with
marvellous facility everything I knew about her. My memory supplied me
with every detail at the dinner of the Pyramid Restaurant. The words of
Sarakoff, which had at the time seemed coarse, came back to me. He had
called her a vain ambitious cold-hearted woman, who thought that her
voice and her beauty could not be beaten.
My reflections were interrupted by the policeman.
"The lady," he remarked, "has lost her voice sudden-like. Now I lost my
'abit of arresting people sudden-like too. I lost it this morning. Any
other time I should have taken the gentleman in the dressing-gown in
charge for being improperly dressed. But this morning it don't come
natural to me. If he wants to wear a dressing-gown on the Spaniard's
Walk, he presumably 'as his own reasons. It don't concern me."
"It seems to me that the germ takes ambition out of us," said Sarakoff.
"Ambition?" said the policeman. "No, that ain't right. I've got ambition
still--only it's a different kind of ambition."
"I have no ambition now," said Leonora at length. "Alexis is right. This
malady has taken the ambition out of me. I may be Immortal, but if I am,
then I am an Immortal without ambition. I seem to be lost, to be
suddenly diffused into space or time, to be a kind of vapour. Something
has dissolved in me--something hard, bright, alert. I do not know why I
am here. The car came round as usual to take me for my morning run. I
got in--why I don't know."
Sarakoff was studying her attentively.
"It is very strange," he said. "You used to arouse a feeling of strength
and determination in me, Leonora. You used to stimulate me intensely.
This morning I only feel one thing about you."
"What is that?"
"I feel that I have cheated you."
"Cheated her?" exclaimed the policeman. "How do you come to that
conclusion?"
"I've destroyed the one thing that was herself--I've destroyed desire in
her. I've left her a mind devoid of all values tacked on to a body that
no longer interests her. For what was Leonora, who filled the hearts of
men with madness, but an incarnation of desire?"