The Island Where Time Stands Still Read Free Page B

better dressed; his blouse was of blue silk and he wore a round silk skull-cap. He appeared to be about forty years of age and his grave face was that of an educated man. Hoping for better luck, Gregory addressed him.
    He immediately stood up, bowed ceremoniously, and said with a lisp but in good English, ‘This person is Ho-Ping. He has the honour to be your doctor. It has been his difficult privilege to restrain your spirit from joining those of your distinguished ancestors. Informed by the menial who attends you that your excellent mind has regained its clarity, this one hastened to bring you reassurance regarding you condition. The danger of your honourable spirit leaving your admirably proportioned body is now passed; but the meagre talents of this unworthy practitioner will require the co-operation of your obviously sensible self if the numerous injuries inflicted on you by evil chance are to be quickly healed. It is deferentially prescribed that you should refrain from exerting your muscles for some time to come, and that for the present you should talk very little.’ 1
    Gregory thanked him, introduced himself, and, in a half-cracked, husky voice, asked the things he most urgently wanted to know.
    In reply Dr. Ping confirmed that his patient was on a Pacific island and had been rescued from its barrier reef when three parts drowned; but he had heard nothing of any recent wreck, and he was quite certain that no other survivors, or bodies, from it had been washed up.
    â€˜What is the name of this island?’ Gregory inquired.
    Dr Ping hesitated a second, then he said. ‘It is not very large, and it is of no importance whatever. In fact, it is rightly considered unworthy of being named, except on large-scale nautical charts. On those it is referred to as Leper Settlement Number Six.’
    Refraining from comment on this depressing piece of information, Gregory croaked, ‘Is it one of a large group?’
    â€˜Very large.’ Ho-Ping’s pleasant face broke into a placid smile. ‘The Manihikis are spread over an area greater than that of France and Germany together; but they are few in number, and so widely scattered that most of them are further from their nearest neighbours than London is from the coast of France. To reach any other land from here it would be necessary to cross about one hundred and forty miles of ocean.’
    â€˜In that case, as I was the only person to be washed up here, it seems certain that no one else could possibly have survived the wreck.’
    The smile left Dr. Ping’s face as though it had been wiped off with a towel. He bowed again. ‘It is to be feared that your discerning statement is unquestionably correct. And now, please, permit the observation that further talking may retard recovery.’
    Gregory replied with a slow nod, and as the doctor left him turned over with his face towards the wall. He knew the worst now. His nightmare fears were only too well founded. His beloved Erika was dead. So too were gallant old Pellinore and all the rest. He had other friends in England and scattered up and down the world, but weighedin the balance against this terrible double blow they hardly counted. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his body. Life could never be the same again. After prolonged and agonised thought he decided that he now had nothing worth living for, so he did not want to recover. He would rather die.
    But he did not die. His lack of the will to live slowed up his recovery, but his lean, sinewy body, deep lungs and strong heart mended him physically despite his mental wounds. For days on end he lay doing nothing, refusing to amuse himself with the puzzles and Chinese picture books that Ho-Ping brought him, and politely declining the doctor’s offers to teach him Ma-jong or play chess. Yet at length the time came when he had to face the fact that he was quite well enough to get up.
    Reluctantly, one afternoon, he allowed