Was ever of that part.’
Samuel Cramer went down in the lift,
Walked through the tremorous streets with the little guard,
And he had come to No-Man’s sanatorium
In the antiseptic ward.
‘Now bless this day,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘That I have lived to win.
It is not for my white father
Nor for my mother brown,
It is not for the Fanfarlo
That the fever has put down,
But Manuela de Monteverde,
For his sake I’ll suffer pain.’
Then up and said an ether-bowl,
‘You bless this day too fine,
For in the antiseptic ward
I think you will feel no pain.’
‘Then praise this day,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘That I have lived to see.
It is not for my Chilean mother
Nor for my father from Germany,
It is not for the Fanfarlo
That the fever has laid by,
But Manuela de Monteverde,
For his sake I’ll die.’
Then up and spoke a little keen knife,
‘You praise this day too high,
For in this sanatorium
I think you will not die.’
Samuel Cramer laid his head down,
And he was locked in an anaesthetic sleep.
The ether-bowl stood over him
And the keen knife ripped him up.
And first they found his white bone,
And next his brown marrow,
And when they found his feverish heart
They said, ‘He is No Man that we know.
‘If he is the son of a German father
And a Chilean mother brown,
Speak the word, you white bone.’
But answer they got none.
‘If he is come from the Fanfarlo
That the fever has put down,
Speak the word, you brown marrow.’
But answer they got none.
‘If Manuela de Monteverde
Was ever his benison,
Speak the word, you feverish heart.’
Answer they got none.
Then up and rose the little red light,
And he had run through the long streets of the city.
‘Now hear, now hear, my master dear,
The news of my day’s duty.
‘Oh, they have asked his brown marrow
And they asked his white bone,
And they asked his false heart also,
But answer they got none.’
‘He lied, he lied,’ the steel chair said,
‘Three times he lied as he stood here,
For a white father and a brown mother
Can never a man bear;
The dancing Fanfarlo is married
And buried a hundred years or more;
And Manuela de Monteverde
He is a steel chair.’
II
The noise of a fog-horn out behind the window,
As well as the smell of gas,
And visible air of a metropolitan yellow,
And also the taste of withered cress,
And the chill of a zinc pillow:
All were assembled, having come concerning
Samuel Cramer, who woke before the morning.
‘Whatever’s in my nostril is an element
No different from the mist I cannot see through,
And the same as a mouthful of sour condiment,
As it might be a cold white slab for my pillow.
In all I hear the siren vigilant:
Far away the fog must be on the river,
But where am I?’ cried Samuel Cramer.
‘The cloud, the taste, the smell, are feverish fancies;
The touch and the sound are past all reasoning;
For now I see a row of slender benches,
On each a narrow sleeper lying,
And every sleeper bound with bandages:
They must be in a hellish dormitory,’
Cried Samuel Cramer, ‘but where am I?’
‘Oh, where am I, you slender sleepers?’
Then the four walls answered him,
‘You lie in the convalescent ward
Of No-Man’s sanatorium.’
A bell rang and the day came in
And every sleeper woke,
Peered through a slit in his bandages
As the four walls spoke.
Samuel Cramer looked at his own full length,
Saw that his long length was bandaged whole,
And he looked again at the narrow benches
‘Who are you all?’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘And what were the ailments
That brought you to lie in this dormitory
All bound in hellish cerements?’
‘I am No Man,’ said one, ‘but I was a miller.
For several centuries I stood and ground
The daily grind, and was getting tired of it
Just when I met with my true friend,
Who being a miller of high ability
Turned the course of a whole river
To turn my mill, and still in my dreams I glorify
Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’
‘I was a soldier,’ said another; ‘now I am No Man;
Served in all the big wars in every land
From Gaul to Brazil. Was working my ticket
Just when I met up with my true friend.
Now he was a soldier could take on an army
With catapult, cutlass or cartridge, and never
Came but he killed, and still I glorify
Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’
‘I was a scholar,’ another said, ‘early Dispontium
Was my special department, and I had come to the end,
As I had thought, of research on Dispontine manners
Just when I met my true and learned friend,
Who pointed out a significant point when he
In course of research was of course the first to discover
The Dispontii ate cross-legged, therefore I glorify
Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’
‘I was one’, said the next, ‘who gathered impressions,
And now I am No Man, but there was a day
When I sat on the steps of cultural buildings
And watched the people passing by;
So bored, I almost would have done something about it.
But another sat beside me, and silent together
We communed with each other, so I glorify
Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’
‘I knew the Industry inside-out
And now am No Man,’ said another,
‘But still I remember things were tight
Until I took up with a business partner.
He was a brilliant man, definitely.
Take his sales record. Look at the clever
Way he shoved those shares around. I glorify
Manuela de Monteverde and enjoy him forever.’
‘Now one and all,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘In Manuela de Monteverde’s name
I say he is a feverish poet
In the middle year of his time.’
Then each one cried, ‘You false witness’,
And each sat up to testify
In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,
And each one said, ‘You lie.’
‘You lie, you lie’, cried each to each,
And each to each arose,
And they had fallen all on all
And felled them with bitter blows.
They ripped them bandages from bone,
They ripped them bone and hair:
They were not done till everyone
Lay level in a smear.
&nbs
p; The bones lay loose on the white zinc floor
In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,
All in the convalescent ward
Of No-Man’s sanatorium.
All in the convalescent ward
Of No-Man’s sanatorium
A bell rang and the night came in
And settled over them.
‘Now praise this night,’ cried each to each,
‘For I lie so bloodily
In Manuela de Monteverde’s name,
And surely I shall die.’
Samuel Cramer lay on his loose bones,
Stared out of the window where there was
The new moon like a pair of surgical forceps
With the old moon in her jaws.
And in there came a bandage-roll
And a bottle of germicide,
And they had bound the loose bones
On the narrow benches laid.
The second day, a bell rang;
Then each to each called out,
‘I fear that there’s no dying here
But I shall rip your throat.’
And filament from ligament were parted
When in there came a roll of bandages
And a little bottle of disinfectant
To bind them up on narrow benches.
And the third day they turned again,
And they had hacked them bone from bone.
‘I see three ghosts,’ cried Samuel Cramer then,
‘They do not come too soon.’
‘I see three ghosts,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘And they have come too slow.
The one is Manuela de Monteverde.
The next is the Fanfarlo.
The third is a fiend that hovers behind,
And he is no man that I know.’
Then in there came a bottle of germicide
With a roll of bandages,
All in the convalescent ward
To bind them up regardless.
III
There was a sound of breathlessness by dawn;
Asthmatical, it changed into a yawn,
And Manuela de Monteverde bore
His bulky vapour up against the door.
Excogitated, it was tiresome
Being the fattest ghost in Christendom;
Looked at the narrow benches with regret,
Shuffled and lit a stubble cigarette.
And underneath an airy domino
Rattled the members of the Fanfarlo,
The ancient vertebrae inflexible
Still she contrived a clamorous pas seul;
Scattered her jewels in their sockets loose
That fell about her height in bright disuse.
All up and down the convalescent ward
Came she a fabulous camelopard.
And there was another that hovered behind.
It was a fog that might have been a fiend
Or an angel caught in a cataleptic pause
For all it looked like anything that is.
And silent, with ambiguous intent,
This hovered in its own environment.
The air of No-Man’s sanatorium
Seemed epileptic by comparison.
Samuel Cramer rose from his narrow bed.
‘Now praise this day at last’, he cried.
‘I see Manuela de Monteverde plain
Though he is fat that once was lean.
‘I see you plain, my true friend
Who come so tardily.
In No-Man’s sanatorium
For your sake I lie.
‘And daily, daily, for your sake
I suffer my heart’s bane
Which is destruction without death,
Destruction with no pain.
‘And whether you were a false friend
Or whether you were a true,
Deliver me now from this limbo
And I shall follow you.
‘And I shall follow you night and day
In the world invisible,
And were you a false friend or a true,
I’ll follow in Heaven or in Hell.’
Manuela de Monteverde spread
His open palms, sunk in the spongy wrists.
‘Speaking as a ghost,’ he said, ‘I am a man
For whom the visible world exists.
‘And if you should follow, my dear fellow,
No Heaven and no Hell would you see,
Nor love nor hate where I stagnate
In a limbo of sympathy.
‘True, I was a false friend but first I was a true,
And I went to the grave, but never could forget
How all of you have magnified my name;
I have grown fat on that magnificat.
‘And now am stuck in a deadlock of affection,
And I suppose, so long as I remember
The glory of man each man will glorify
Man and destroy him forever.
‘So if you must follow, my dear fellow,
I think you should follow not me,
For I swear it’s neither here nor there
In a limbo of sympathy.’
‘Oh I must part from you,’ said Samuel Cramer,
‘And you must part from me,
But Manuela de Monteverde
My heart’s fame will ever be.
‘And I shall smite the light of the sun
And harrow the earth’s face,
And I’ll contend until I find
A way to depart in peace.’
All in the convalescent ward,
A bony ghost was rattling to and fro.
‘I see my long, long, love,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘And she is the dancing Fanfarlo.
‘I see you plain, my long, long, love,
And gawky is your tread,
And you have gone to skin and bone
Since you lay on the fever bed.
‘Now whether you were a false love,
Or whether you were a true;
Take me away from my misery
And I shall follow you.
‘And I shall follow you day and night
In the world invisible,
And were you a false love or a true
I’ll dance with you in Heaven or in Hell.’
‘I can’t stop now,’ said the Fanfarlo,
‘Although I’m short of breath,
For I’m employed on the skeleton staff
Of the dancing troupe of Death.’
She passed him by, and her step was high,
Over her shoulder calling shrill,
‘After I lay on the fever bed
I rose and married well.
‘I tired of that, and went to the grave,
But I could not forget
My macabaresque that was such a success
And my famous pirouette,
‘Till Death, the talent-scout, took me up,
And now he hovers at my back
Like a fiend that looks like nothing on earth,
And I think that my bones will break.
‘So if you would follow, my sweet fellow,
Be sure it’s your vocation,
For there’s no peace being caught like this
In a limbo of agitation.’
‘Then you must part from me,’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘And I must part from you,
But in Heaven or in Hell I shall remember
The dancing Fanfarlo.
‘And I shall shift the files of the stars
Until the empyreal orders cease,
And I’ll confound until I find
A way to depart in peace.’
All in the convalescent ward
A silent fog was hovering,
And it might have been leviathan
For all it looked like anything.
‘Now Death I see you plain,’ said Samuel Cramer,
‘Oh you have come too slow.
Come out like a man and reason with me
For I would reason with you.
‘For I am Samuel Cramer,’ he said,
‘And I am the natural meridian
Of a father and mother, north and south,
And am I not a man?
‘Excellently I was virtuous
And viciously I sinned,
Slowly, slowly, lost my looks
Alas, and I’d read all the books
Before I came to No-Man’s sanatorium
Where death is in my mind.’
Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,
And Death said, ‘Are you blind?’
‘I am not blind,’ said Samuel Cramer,
‘And all things low and great,
That I have seen beneath the sun
I never shall forget.
‘For I have seen the bright things and the black,
And I have seen enough
To make me as fit a man for Heaven
As I am for Hell, in my belief.’
Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,
And Death said, ‘Are you deaf?’
‘I am not deaf,’ said Cramer,
‘And I have listened day and night,
And every word that I have heard
I never shall forget.
‘For I have heard the innocent voice
And I have heard the foul,
And I am as fit a man for Heaven
As I am fit for Hell.’
Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,
And Death said, ‘Can you feel?’
‘Oh I can feel!’ cried Samuel Cramer,
‘For I have fondled cold and heat.
There’s no transaction in all sensation
But I have had to do with it.
‘For I have drunk the subtle water
And eaten ruinous bane,
And I have smelt the melancholy vapour,
As well as the stanchless fume of carrion.
Each device of sin and grace
Has made me and undone.
‘Now I am fit to be let beyond the sheer
Celestial pale, and driven
Before the glaciers that ride
All the precipitous streets of Heaven.
‘And I am able to handle infernal cosmetics
And blacken my arms like vile
Branches that hoe the storm-sky,
Feverish culture of Hell.
‘So I shall follow you night and day
In the world invisible,
And speak the fame for all I have done
To Heaven or to Hell.’
Then Death spoke courteously to Samuel Cramer,
And Death said, ‘I admire your memory
And also the fame of all you have done,
Likewise your marvellous delivery.
‘And for all you are gagged and riven here
You have my sympathy.
Now the fittest place for such a case
Is surely a limbo of memory.’
‘But I’ll not go to a limbo,’ cried Samuel Cramer,