George Dillon Slater
I knew vaguely why Sinclair had wanted to come to Hydra. It was a woman, an Irish redhead. She was an actress starring in his one-act pearl on Lorca, My Brother Federico, portraying the sister of Lorca speaking a long monologue to her dead brother; anger, harangue, lament, exhortation, accusation, elegiac reverie -- through it all Sinclair sat dimly visible nearly offstage, in a ruffled shirt, holding a magnificent quill with which he scribbled. The Times of London gave it a very good review after it opened in St. Martin's Lane.
Sinclair thought he was in love with her. How could he resist the beauty of her uttered lines?
"She has bad asthma. And the doctor prescribed an atomiser, for four times a day, or, whenever under an attack. But she used it whenever she got nervous. The second day with the new medication she inhaled it at least fifty times and poisoned herself. She is now resting in an oxygen tent, in Piraeus."
Sinclair looked at me with a great sadness etched around his eyes, and I thought he might snap, then and there. I had for many years taken his illness lightly, perhaps even as a ploy, until a socialite with schizoid propensities said, "I'll never forget his screams, when they administered electric therapy. . ." and thereafter I regarded his madness with awe for the creative side and horror for the medical consequential side. I wanted no part in his mental disintegration and resultant detention. I suggested we both have breakfast.
"And she might have to stay in an oxygen tent the rest of her life."
In the kitchen bacon was frying, coffee was sending up steamy clouds of aroma, and I was thinking of how difficult it was for me to set aside my problems to concentrate on those of my truly bereaved friend. Sinclair had once written me from a posh English clinic, and had described a slightly psychotic Lord who resided there, quoting him as saying "How can there be a Lord God if the man is not a member of the House of Lords?"
How difficult to sustain belief. Sinclair came through the low island door into the kitchen, banging his head as he did so, loosing large flakes of plaster. He sat at the table holding his head for a while. He had brought a small bullet-riddled leopard skin down with him. He stood up and took a cup of coffee from me, then I turned the sizzling bacon over.
"I always called her Leopard." he said, grabbing a fork and returning the bacon melancholically. I turned the bacon again to the proper side and reached for my coffee. I sipped and pondered. Sinclair grabbed his coffee and sipped also. Then he once again reversed the bacon to the wrong side. I distracted him with sections of orange, as if he wasn't distracted enough already, then darted towards the skillet intent on placing the bacon raw side down. I smashed my head on the canopy over the stove, and whitewash filtered to the stone floor.
"When I stayed here last summer, when you and Diana were sailing, I got horribly depressed. I finally realized it was because I was continually bashing my head. The eighteenth century Greeks must have been dwarves. By the way, when I got in last evening I helped myself to a tin of sharkskin soup. It was delicious."
He was fumbling with a fork while talking. Suddenly he turned the bacon back to the crisp and cooked side. Eventually, I put some fried bread and tomatoes, half-fried bacon and eggs on the white oval marble table. He had been silent for several minutes, calculating the trigonometry of his grief. As I prepared to eat he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said "Oh, please God, don't let anything happen to Leopard."
I thought about the room above his head. As soon as I got my money from Peter I would have to clear out. I was fed up with ignominious departures. I could see nothing in my future but my past.
"I always called her Leopard because of her sleek red hair and her abundant freckles. That is why I would like to bring her this leopard skin, with your permission, to cheer her a little. I'll return it though. It's very dusty however, and it's the housemites that aggravate her condition so I will have to bring it to her in a plastic bag. I'll have to find a large enough plastic bag for the Christmas tree too, then I can safely place the two beside her, right next to her oxygen tent."
I looked at Sinclair a long time. Then I went upstairs and continued packing.