Norman Invasions Read Online Free PDF

lacking. Suppose one could add the sense of sight to one congenitally blind. What a new world would open for him. Now conceive, if only as an abstraction, for that is only how you can conceive it, and only how I could have conceived it earlier, before the dreams, what it might be if you were given, or discovered you possessed, new senses, if you, so to speak, for the first time opened your eyes and could see, or lifted your head, and could hear.
    Doubtless old Duncan is daft. The things he says, the way he says them. We had a pint together. Interestingly, it seems he remembers my father, when he was here, long ago. We spoke of him for a time. It seems they had been friends, of a sort. “Gavin is foolish, he does not believe,” he said, rather pointlessly, I thought. I did not speak to him about his interview with the constable, which, from a distance, I had inadvertently observed. I suppose he had seen me, from the manner in which he had concluded his conversation, and went about his business. He made no mention of this to me, either. To be sure, this might have had nothing to do with me.
    â€œI have seen it, and more than once,” said old Duncan to me, leaning forward, across the table, whispering. “Long ago, and lately, too, indeed, twice within the fortnight.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œIt, the
calpa
,” he whispered.
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    â€œTwice on the beach, and last night in the village itself, amongst the houses.”
    â€œDear Duncan,” I said, “you are old, and it is your imagination.”
    â€œWhy have you come to the village?” he asked.
    â€œTo work,” I said.
    â€œNo,” he said.
    â€œI do not understand,” I said.
    â€œDo what you have to,” he said. “And then go. It is best that way.”
    â€œI do not understand,” I said.
    â€œI bear you no ill will,” he said.
    â€œI am pleased to hear it,” I replied.
    â€œNor it,” he said.
    â€œIt?” I asked.
    â€œAye,” he whispered, “it.”
    â€œThe calpa?” I said.
    â€œAye,” he said.
    â€œI am sure that it, too, would be pleased to hear it,” I said.
    â€œTonight,” said Duncan, lighting his pipe, “it is the full moon.”
    â€œSo?” I said.
    There was a rumble of thunder outside, which did not please me. Once before I had been caught in a storm here, between the pub and Hill House. I made a mental note to cut short the evening’s pubbing. I had no interest in being soaked and chilled a second time, at least not so soon again. Indeed, even before I had left Hill House, Mrs. Fraser had referred to the menacing, gathering clouds, and recommended caution, and an early return. It might be a terrible storm.
    â€œIt was the full moon, too, once, long ago, when your father was here,” he said. “It seems to like the full moon, like some fish, like some animals.”
    â€œThere won’t be much of a moon tonight,” I said. “Too many clouds. A storm is coming in. Listen. Hear the wind?” It was indeed beginning to whistle about the pub. “I’ll walk you home.”
    â€œNo,” he said, quickly. “You go by yourself. I’ll nurse another pint.”
    â€œAs you will,” I said. It was curious. I almost thought he might be afraid. Surely I could have seen him safely home, supporting him, even in the darkness, keeping him from falling. He was not young any longer.
    â€œIt likes the moon,” he said, “like some fish, some animals.”
    â€œOh?” I said.
    â€œThe moon,” he said, “will lay a road on the sea, leading to the cliffs. You won’t see it, but it will be there.”
    â€œYou’re mad, my dear Duncan,” said I.
    â€œThe world is mad, laddie,” said he, “only it does not know it.”
    â€œIf you believe in the calpa, and have seen it,” I asked, “how is it that you are still