Chapter XLIX

by William Somerset Maugham

　　I lived at the Hotel de la Fleur, and Mrs. Johnson, theproprietress, had a sad story to tell of lost opportunity.After Strickland's death certain of his effects were sold byauction in the market-place at Papeete, and she went to itherself because there was among the truck an American stoveshe wanted. She paid twenty-seven francs for it."There were a dozen pictures," she told me, "but they wereunframed, and nobody wanted them. Some of them sold for asmuch as ten francs, but mostly they went for five or six.Just think, if I had bought them I should be a rich woman now."But Tiare Johnson would never under any circumstances havebeen rich. She could not keep money. The daughter of anative and an English sea-captain settled in Tahiti, when Iknew her she was a woman of fifty, who looked older, and ofenormous proportions. Tall and extremely stout, she wouldhave been of imposing presence if the great good-nature of herface had not made it impossible for her to express anythingbut kindliness. Her arms were like legs of mutton, herbreasts like giant cabbages; her face, broad and fleshy, gaveyou an impression of almost indecent nakedness, and vast chinsucceeded to vast chin. I do not know how many of them there were.They fell away voluminously into the capaciousness of her bosom.She was dressed usually in a pink Mother Hubbard,and she wore all day long a large straw hat. But when she letdown her hair, which she did now and then, for she was vain ofit, you saw that it was long and dark and curly; and her eyeshad remained young and vivacious. Her laughter was the mostcatching I ever heard; it would begin, a low peal in her throat,and would grow louder and louder till her whole vastbody shook. She loved three things -- a joke, a glass ofwine, and a handsome man. To have known her is a privilege.She was the best cook on the island, and she adored good food.From morning till night you saw her sitting on a low chair inthe kitchen, surrounded by a Chinese cook and two or threenative girls, giving her orders, chatting sociably with alland sundry, and tasting the savoury messes she devised. Whenshe wished to do honour to a friend she cooked the dinner withher own hands. Hospitality was a passion with her, and therewas no one on the island who need go without a dinner whenthere was anything to eat at the Hotel de la Fleur. She neverturned her customers out of her house because they did not paytheir bills. She always hoped they would pay when they could.There was one man there who had fallen on adversity, and tohim she had given board and lodging for several months.When the Chinese laundryman refused to wash for him withoutpayment she had sent his things to be washed with hers. She couldnot allow the poor fellow to go about in a dirty shirt, she said,and since he was a man, and men must smoke, she gave him afranc a day for cigarettes. She used him with the sameaffability as those of her clients who paid their bills once a week.Age and obesity had made her inapt for love, but she took akeen interest in the amatory affairs of the young. She lookedupon venery as the natural occupation for men and women, andwas ever ready with precept and example from her own wide experience."I was not fifteen when my father found that I had a lover,"she said. "He was third mate on the Tropic Bird.A good-looking boy."She sighed a little. They say a woman always remembers herfirst lover with affection; but perhaps she does not alwaysremember him."My father was a sensible man.""What did he do?" I asked."He thrashed me within an inch of my life, and then he made memarry Captain Johnson. I did not mind. He was older,of course, but he was good-looking too."Tiare -- her father had called her by the name of the white,scented flower which, they tell you, if you have once smelt,will always draw you back to Tahiti in the end, however faryou may have roamed -- Tiare remembered Strickland very well."He used to come here sometimes, and I used to see him walkingabout Papeete. I was sorry for him, he was so thin, and henever had any money. When I heard he was in town, I used tosend a boy to find him and make him come to dinner with me.I got him a job once or twice, but he couldn't stick toanything. After a little while he wanted to get back to thebush, and one morning he would be gone."Strickland reached Tahiti about six months after he leftMarseilles. He worked his passage on a sailing vessel thatwas making the trip from Auckland to San Francisco, and hearrived with a box of paints, an easel, and a dozen canvases.He had a few pounds in his pocket, for he had found work inSydney, and he took a small room in a native house outside the town.I think the moment he reached Tahiti he felt himself at home.Tiare told me that he said to her once:"I'd been scrubbing the deck, and all at once a chap said to me:`Why, there it is.' And I looked up and I saw the outlineof the island. I knew right away that there was the place I'dbeen looking for all my life. Then we came near, and I seemedto recognise it. Sometimes when I walk about it all seems familiar.I could swear I've lived here before.""Sometimes it takes them like that," said Tiare. "I've knownmen come on shore for a few hours while their ship was takingin cargo, and never go back. And I've known men who came hereto be in an office for a year, and they cursed the place, andwhen they went away they took their dying oath they'd hangthemselves before they came back again, and in six monthsyou'd see them land once more, and they'd tell you theycouldn't live anywhere else."