Surprise

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 40 of 73 · 20 per page

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The marquis and marchioness were made acquainted with this event, and were so much surprised at it that they could hardly believe it. Pauline, to show that she was without passion, did her best to dissemble her regret for her lover, and succeeded so well that everybody said she had forgotten him, whilst all the time she would fain have fled to some hermitage, to shun all commerce with the world. But one day, when she went to hear mass at the Observance with her mistress, when the priest, the deacon, and the sub-deacon issued from the vestry to go to the high altar, her lover, who had not yet completed the year of his noviciate, served as acolyte, and led the pro- cession, carrying in both hands the two canettes covered with silk-cloth, and walking with downcast eyes. Pau- line, seeing him in that garb, which augmented rather Second day^ QUEEN OF NA VARRE. l8 1 than diminished his good looks, was so surprised and confused that, to conceal the real cause of her heightened colour, she began to cough. At that sound, which he recognized better than the bells of his monastery, the poor lover durst not turn his head ; but as he passed before her, he could not hinder his eyes from taking the direction to which they had been so long used. Whilst gazing sadly on his mistress, the fire he had thought al- most extinct blazed up so fiercely within him that, mak- ing an effort beyond his strength to conceal it, he fell full leno-th on the floor. His fear lest the cause of this accident should be known prompted him to say that the floor of the church, which was broken at that spot, had thrown him down. Pauline perceived from this circum- stance that he had not changed his heart along with his habit ; and believing that, as it was now so long since he had retired from the world, everyone imagined she had forgotten him, she resolved to put into execution her long-meditated design of following her lover's example.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AUGUSTINE. (Tr. vii. c. 14) There was nothing very great in our Lord saying whose son he was, for our Lord knew the names of all His saints, having predestinated them before the foundation of the world. But it was a great thing for our Lord to change his name from Simon to Peter. Peter is from petra, rock, which rock is the Church: so that the name of Peter represents the Church. And who is safe, unless he build upon a rock? Our Lord here rouses our attention: for had he been called Peter before, we should not have seen the mystery of the Rock, and should have thought that he was called so by chance, and not providentially. God therefore made him to be called by another name before, that the change of that name might give vividness to the mystery. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xix. [al. xviii. 2]) He changed the name too to shew that He was the same who done so before in the Old Testament; who had called Abram Abraham, Sarai Sarah, Jacob Israel. Many He had named from their birth, as Isaac and Samson; others again after being named by their parents, as were Peter, and the sons of Zebedee. Those whose virtue was to be eminent from the first, have names given them from the first; those who were to be exalted afterwards, are named afterwards. AUGUSTINE. (de Con. Evang. l. ii. c. 17) The account here of the two disciples on the Jordan, who follow Christ (before he had gone into Galilee) in obedience to John’s testimony; viz. of Andrew bringing his brother Simon to Jesus, who gave him, on this occasion, the name of Peter; disagrees considerably with the account of the other Evangelists, viz. that our Lord found these two, Simon and Andrew, fishing in Galilee, and then bid them follow Him: unless we understand that they did not regularly join our Lord when they saw Him on the Jordan; but only discovered who He was, and full of wonder, then returned to their occupations. Nor must we think that Peter first received his name on the occasion mentioned in Matthew, when our Lord says, Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build My Church; (Mat. 16:18) but rather when our Lord says, Thou shall be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone.

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  I’ll be just a moment, she said, wait here, and then she knocked sharply on the laboratory door and opened it without waiting for an answer. She left the door ajar, and I could hear something of the conversation she had, or at least her voice, which was louder than the other and tinged with something like rebuke. I heard a chair groan as someone rose from it, and then a quieter, extended exchange I could make little of, though I knew it must mean they had something to discuss, and I realized, with a sharp clenching in the pit of my stomach, that I was surprised, that for all my anxiety I hadn’t really believed I had it, and I thought of R., of what I would have to tell him and of how he would respond. The voices drew closer and I heard the technician say Do we just put it in his hand, and the other woman, my guide, saying Yes, of course, they are his results. She stepped into the hallway alone, holding the page and smiling, and perhaps it was only in my imagination that her smile seemed changed. Tell me, she said, have you ever had a positive result on any of these tests before, and I said no, I hadn’t, I had always been negative. Well, she said, there may be a problem, and she held up the sheet in her hand for me to see. Here, she said, pointing to a line where there was a mark handwritten in ink, a plus sign or cross, surrounded by Cyrillic letters and other symbols she didn’t give me a chance to decipher. You have tested positive for syphilis, she said. Since it was the news I had prepared myself for I didn’t react, which seemed to surprise or disappoint her, as if she had been cheated of an intended effect. It’s a very serious infection, she said, almost sternly, as though I were a child she had to school. Yes, I said meekly, of course, and she went on, mollified, But this is only a first test, you must have another to confirm it.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  neither his wife nor his children to her ; and though she had many eHgible offers of marriage, they were all re- jected, from his fear of losing her, and being obliged to pay down money. Consequently she remained a great part of her life unmarried, living with strict propriety in her brother's house. There was a young and hand some gentleman who had been reared in the house, and who as he grew in age grew also in personal and mental endowments, to that degree that he completely governed his master. When the latter had any message to send his sister, he always made this young gentleman the bearer of it ; and as this took place morning and even- ing, it led to such a familiarity as presently ripened into love. The young gentleman durst not for his life offend his master ; the demoiselle was not without scruples of honour ; and so they had no other fruition of their love than in conversing together, until the brother had said again and again to the lover that he wished he was of as good family as his sister, for he had never seen a man he would rather have for a brother-in-law. This was re- peated so often that after consulting together, the lovers came to the conclusion that if they married secretly they should easily be forgiven. Love, which makes people readily believe what they desire, persuaded them that no bad consequences would ensue for them ; and with that hope they married, unknown to anyone except a priest and some women. After having for some years enjoyed the pleasure which two handsome persons who passionately love each other can reciprocally bestow, fortune, jealous of their happiness, roused up an enemy against them, who, ob- serving the demoiselle, became aware of her secret de- lights, being yet ignorant of her marriage. This person went and told the brother that the gentleman in whom 344 ^^-^ HEPTAMEKON OF THE {Nmiel 40 he had such confidence visited his sister too often, and at hours when a man ought never to enter her chamber. At first he could not beheve this, such was his trust in his sister and the gentleman. But, as he loved his house's honour, he caused them to be observed so close- ly, and set so many people on the watch, that the poor innocent couple were at last surprised.

• From The Triumph of Christianity (2018)

  < 150 < Lecture 22  Imperial Christianity after Constantine ` He took his completely inexperienced and naïve 24-year-old cousin Julian out of his isolation and appointed him to direct the military efforts in Gaul. (Julian’s entire knowledge of military affairs came from reading books.) y Julian turned out, to everyone’s surprise, to be a competent and skilled military commander. He had studied the commentaries of Julius Caesar on his military campaigns and transferred his book learning to the field. y Within a few years, everyone realized Julian was someone to look out for. Constantius detected a potential threat. y In 360 CE, Constantius decided to downsize Julian’s army and ordered him to transfer a large number of troops to his post in the east. Julian’s armies rebelled against the order and backed Julian as ruler. y This was bound to lead to a civil war, but as it turns out, Constantius unexpectedly died en route to meeting his cousin in battle. By default, Julian became the sole ruler of the empire. ` The effect on the Christian church was enormous. Upon ascending to the throne, Julian almost immediately announced that he had secretly converted to paganism years earlier and committed himself to securing the assistance of the pagan gods for the good of the empire. ` Whatever the reason for his conversion to pagan tradition, Julian’s decision to promote it meant suppressing Christianity. Julian was a student of history, and he knew better than to implement legislation outlawing Christianity or enacting a violent persecution. That had never worked. ` Julian’s approach was far more subtle. He declared universal tolerance and reopened pagan temples and restored pagan rites. But then he passed laws that were insidious in their effects. y His cousin Constantius II, the devout Arian Christian, had ordered all Christian leaders who opposed Arian views to be sent into exile, away from their congregations and the civic power they had enjoyed. Julian restored them to their homes.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Between the high neo-classical façade and that of the adjacent office block was a narrow chasm, gated from the street. The gate opened, and Abdul emerged, evidently also on his way home; he had on a light anorak over a T-shirt, and cheap grey slacks. I went up to him, surprised him as he locked the gate, greeted him with the conviction that he somehow held the answer to my problem. ‘Hey, William,’ he said, ‘all finished now.’ He gave me a flashy smile and was ready, I think, to move off and abandon me, so that I said recklessly: ‘Oh Abdul, did you know that Lord Nantwich had been to prison?’ He turned back and looked at me and I looked back at him closely, his lined face, pink inner lips and fierce eyes slightly bloodshot, more guarded in the street’s shadow. ‘Of course,’ he said lightly. ‘Everyone knows that.’ I pursed my lips and nodded three or four times. ‘Have you always known?’ ‘I have always known. Of course. I went to see him in there when I was a little boy. No place to take a kid,’ he added. It was a detail that gave my evening a sickening completeness, like an orchid seen in a nature film brought in a few seconds from bud to heavy perfection. I was laughing nervously as he turned back towards the gate. ‘Hey, come in here,’ he said. I followed him with a kind of absent-minded excitement and waited as he locked the gate behind us and went along after him past bins and milk-crates that were hard to make out in the alleyway’s blackness. He opened a door and the flickering of the strip-lights was dazzling. It was the Club’s kitchen, abundantly old-fashioned, with many pantries and offices, windowed partitions and white-tiled walls. Cleaned and swabbed for the night it tingled in the fluorescent glare as if I was drunk. It had about it the discipline of institutional life and beyond that, for all its emptiness, something of the melancholy and teeming sense of order of an Edwardian country house. Abdul, who had sauntered to the far side of the room, came back to me where I lounged wondering against a table. He put his hands on my chest and sliding them up pushed my jacket back off my shoulders; it was then I realised that I had no tie on, and could never have been admitted to the Club proper, even if Charles had been there.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  ATHANASIUS. (non occ.) For the Gentiles before the coming of Christ were lying in the deepest darkness, being without the knowledge of God. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. (ubi sup.) But Christ coming was made a light to them that sat in darkness, being sore oppressed by the power of the devil, but they were called by God the Father to the knowledge of His Son, Who is the true light. GREGORY OF NYSSA. (ubi sup.) Israel was enlightened though dimly by the law, so he says not that light came to them, but his words are, to be the glory of thy people Israel. Calling to mind the ancient history, that as of old Moses after speaking with God returned with his face glorious, so they also coming to the divine light of His human nature, casting away their old veil, might be transformed into the same image from glory to glory (2 Cor. 3:7.) For although some of them were disobedient, yet a remnant were saved and came through Christ to glory, of which the Apostles were first-fruits, whose brightness illumines the whole world. For Christ was in a peculiar manner the glory of Israel, because according to the flesh He came forth from Israel, although as God He was over all blessed for ever. GREGORY OF NYSSA. (ubi sup.) He said therefore, of thy people, signifying that not only was He adored by them, but moreover of them was He born according to the flesh. BEDE. And well is the enlightening of the Gentiles put before the glory of Israel, because when the fulness of the Gentiles shall have come in, then shall Israel be safe. (Rom 11:26.) 2:33–3533. And Joseph and his mother marvelled at those things which were spoken of him. 34. And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; 35. (Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,) that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed. GREEK EXPOSITOR. (Photius.) The knowledge of supernatural things, as often as it is brought to the recollection, renews the miracle in the mind, and hence it is said, His father and mother marvelled at those things which were said of him. ORIGEN. Both by the angel and the multitude of the heavenly host, by the shepherds also, and Simeon. BEDE. Joseph is called the father of the Saviour, not because he was (as the Photinians say) His real father, but because from regard to the reputation of Mary, all men considered him so.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  This theory is shown to be false on many grounds. In the first place, the very concept of nature is incompatible with the opinion that a non-rational soul is the form of man, whose body nevertheless must have some form. But nothing monstrous or unnatural can be thought of in connection with Christ’s incarnation. Secondly, this hypothesis would be inconsistent with the purpose of the Incarnation, namely, the reparation of human nature. Above all, human nature needs to be restored in the intellectual sphere, for that which can have part in sin is precisely the rational soul. Hence it chiefly befitted God’s Son to assume man’s intellectual nature. Besides, Christ is said to have marveled. But surprise cannot be experienced without a rational soul, and of course is wholly inadmissible in God. Therefore, as the sorrow Christ experienced forces us to admit that He had a sensitive soul, so the wonderment He expressed compels us to acknowledge the existence of a rational soul in Him. CHAPTER 206 THE ERROR OF EUTYCHES REGARDING UNION IN NATURETo some extent, Eutyches embraced the error of these heresiarchs. He taught that there was one nature common to both God and man after the Incarnation. However, he did not hold that Christ was lacking in soul or in intellect or in anything pertaining to the integrity of nature. The erroneousness of this theory is plainly apparent. The divine nature is perfect in itself, and is incapable of change. But a nature that is perfect in itself cannot combine with another nature to form a single nature unless it is changed into that other nature (as food is changed into the eater), or unless the other nature is changed into it (as wood is changed into fire), or unless both natures are transformed into a third nature (as elements are when they combine to form a mixed body). The divine immutability excludes all these alternatives. For neither that which is changed into another thing, nor that into which another thing can be changed, is immutable. Since, therefore, the divine nature is perfect in itself, it can in no way combine with some other nature to form a single nature.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  At that moment the gentleman awoke, and seeing that it was near the time when he was to go to his wife, he wrapped his dressing-gown about him, and went to his wife's bed, whither he might have gone in accordance with God's law without asking leave of anyone. His wife being ignorant of what had occurred, and finding her husband beside her, and hearing his voice, said to him, in surprise, " What, sir ! is this the promise you made the good Cordelier, that you would be cautious of your health and mine ? Not content with having come hither before the time, you now come again. Do think better of it, I entreat you." Confounded at being addressed in this manner, and unable to conceal his vexation, the husband replied, " What is this you say t It is three weeks since I have been in bed with you, and you accuse me of coming to you too often. If you continue to talk to me in that strain, you will make me believe that my company is distasteful to you, and constrain me to do what I have never yet done, that is, to seek elsewhere the lawful pleasure you refuse me." The lady, who thought he was joking, replied, " Do not deceive yourself, sir, in thinking to deceive me. Though you did not speak to me the first time you came, I knew very well that you were there." The gentleman then perceived that they had both been duped, and solemnly vowed that he had not been there before; and the wife, in an agony of grief, begged he would find out at once who it could be that had de- ceived her, since the only persons who had slept in the house were her brother and the Cordelier. The hus- Third day-\ Q UEEN OF NA VA RRE. 233 band's suspicions falling immediately on the latter, he ran to his chamber, and found it empty. To make sure whether or not he had fled, he called the porter, and asked if he knew what had become of the Cordelier. The porter told him what had passed, and the poor gen- tleman, convinced of the monk's villainy, went back to his wife, and said, " Be assured, my dear, that person who lay with you and performed such feats was no other than our father confessor."

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  Curt works at a cabinet shop and cusses all the time and tells dirty jokes. But he tithes, sort of. He used to keep a huge jar on his dresser that was full of money, and when he deposited his paychecks he would pull out 10 percent from the bank. Cold, hard cash. He would take the money home and put it in that jar. The thing must have had a couple thousand dollars in it. I was over one night watching South Park, and Curt was griping because the cabinet shop didn’t pay him enough so that he could get the motorcycle he wanted. “Well,” I told him, “you must have thousands of dollars in that stinking jar, Curt. Use that.” This was before I knew it was his tithing money. “Can’t.” “Why?” “Can’t.” “Why?” “Isn’t mine, Miller.” Curt leaned back in his recliner and looked at me over the top of his beer can. “Isn’t yours?” I asked. “Who in the world is storing their savings on your dresser?” I pointed toward his bedroom. “Well” —he smiled, sort of embarrassed—“it’s God’s.” “God’s?” I shouted. “Yeah, that’s my tithe!” he shouted back. I was a little shocked, to be honest. Like I said before, he didn’t seem like the tithing type. I don’t think he even went to church nine out of ten Sundays, and when he did he just grumbled about it. “Well, why don’t you take it down to the church and give it to them?” I asked. “I haven’t been to church in a while, that’s why.” “Curt,” I told him, “you are the most interesting person I know.” “Thank you, Don. You want a beer?” “Yes.” Curt went over to the fridge and opened a couple of Henry’s. “You tithe, Don?” I just looked at him. I couldn’t believe it. I was about to get a lecture on tithing from a guy who probably subscribed to Bikes and Babes magazine. “Well, Curt, I guess I don’t.” After I said this, Curt shook his head in disappointment. I started feeling really guilty. “It’s a shame, Don.” Curt tilted back a bottle as he spoke, punctuating the sentence with a post-swig burp. “You are missing out. I’ve been tithing since I was a kid. Wouldn’t miss a payment to save my life.” “Am I dreaming this?” I asked him. “Dreaming what, Don?” “This conversation.” When I said this I was pointing back and forth between he and I. “Don, let me tell you. You should be tithing. That is not your money. That is God’s money. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Stealing from God and all. You write Christian books and everything, and you’re not even giving God’s money back to Him.” “Well, you don’t have to go making me feel all bad about it. You haven’t exactly given your money to God either. It’s right there on your dresser.”

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Astounded at these words, the husband insisted on knowing the exact truth. After she had related to him the whole thing just as it had occurred, he got up in- stantly, making no doubt it was the Cordeliers, and went to their chamber, which, as before mentioned, was not far from his own. Not finding them, he shouted for help so loud that all his friends came flocking round him. When he had told them the fact, everyone helped him with candles, lanterns, and all the dogs in the village to hunt for the Cordeliers. Not finding them in the houses, they beat the country round, and caught them in the vineyards, where they treated them as they deserved ; for after having well beaten them, they cut oft their legs and arms, and left them among the vines to the care ot Bacchus and Venus, of whom they were better disciples than ot St. Francis. Do not be astonished, ladies, if these people, who are distinguished by a manner of living so different from 412 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE ^Novel i^ ours, do things which adv^enturers would be ashamed to do. You may rather wonder that they do not do worse, when God withdraws his grace from them. The habit does not always make the monk, as the proverb says. It often unmakes him, and pride is the cause. '• Mon Dieu !" said Oisille, " shall we never have done with tales about these monks.''" " If ladies, princes, and gentlemen are not spared," said Ennasuite, " it strikes me that they have no reason to complain if they are not spared either. They are, for the most part, so useless, that no one would ever men- tion them if they did not commit some rascality worthy of memory; which makes good the proverb, that it is better to do mischief than to do nothing at all. Be- sides, the more diversified our bouquet, the handsomer it will be." " If you promise not to be angry," said Hircan, " I will tell you a story of a great lady so insatiable in love that you will excuse the poor Cordelier for having taken what he wanted where he found it, the more so as the lady of whom I have to speak, having plenty to eat, in- dulged her craving for tit-bits in a way that was too bad."

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Actually in the bed, its wide featureless face absurdly crowned by a panama hat, lay a full-sized human effigy. It was only the rudimentary dummy that schoolboys make to suggest their sleeping forms in the near-darkness of an abandoned dorm, but in the light of a summer afternoon the bunched-up bedding and clothes of which it consisted were revealed as glaringly offensive. Its lolling pillow of a head was meant not to deceive but to warn. Looped around it, and displayed over the bedcover, was an Old Wykehamist tie, ineptly knotted, which made me remember, for a second, how my mother used to stand behind me at the mirror each morning to knot my tie when I was a little boy. Red rose petals were scattered artistically around, and where the heart of the effigy might have been there was a rust-red stain on the white bedspread that did resemble the colour of long-dried blood. I reached for a little bottle on the bedside table: it was vanilla essence. After we’d looked at it for a bit, I let Charles turn, and sit down on the edge of the bed, and then yanked the doll apart, casting its hat on to an armchair and rolling up the tie. ‘You recognise that tie,’ said Charles, with surprising detachment. I smiled. ‘What a pickle, eh?’ And indeed it was the general state of the room, in which a fight had clearly taken place, that had shocked me when I first entered it. The composition on the bed had been in bizarre, attentive contrast to the slewed pictures, toppled knick-knacks and pillaged drawers of the rest of the room. ‘I can’t take another of these melodramas,’ Charles said. Though I was deeply curious, I felt a strong reluctance to ask Charles what had taken place, or to probe the humiliation he had undergone. I helped him to take off his jacket and shoes, and laid him down on the pillow that had recently imitated his head. As if entranced, he was asleep within seconds. 6 I found James leaning in a corner of the foyer, lips pursed over the score. ‘Taking it a bit seriously, aren’t you, darling?’ I said. ‘Darling.’ We kissed drily, rapidly. ‘No, it’s frightfully good, actually.’ ‘Well, I’m glad you’re going to enjoy it.’

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  My heart sank as I nudged it open and heard Arthur’s voice, not addressing me—he could not possibly have known I was there—but talking quietly to somebody else. The door of the sitting-room, which was open, hid whatever was going on; the light from that room fell across the further side of the hall. My first assumption was that he was on the telephone, which would have been reasonable enough except that he had said he hated the phone. For a sickening moment I felt that I was being somehow betrayed, and that when I went out he rang people up and carried on some other existence. A plan was afoot of which I was the dupe; he had not killed anybody at all … Then I heard another voice, just odd syllables, high—it sounded like a young girl. I heard Arthur say ‘Yeah, well I expect he’ll be back here soon.’ I made a noise and went into the room. ‘Will, thank God,’ Arthur said, half rising from the sofa, but encumbered by the heavy breadth of my photograph album, which lay open across his lap and across that of a small boy sitting beside him and leaning over it as if it were a table. It was my nephew Rupert. Rupert had had longer than me to work out what to say. Even so, he was clearly unsure of the effect he would have. First of all he wanted it to be a lovely surprise: he stared up at me, mouth slightly open, in a spell of silence, while Arthur, too, looked very uncertain. Again I found myself suddenly responsible for people. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Roops,’ I said. ‘Have you been showing Arthur the pictures?’ I thought something might be seriously wrong. ‘Yes,’ he said, a little shamefaced. ‘I’ve decided to run away.’ ‘That’s jolly exciting,’ I said, going over to the sofa, and lifting up the photograph album. ‘Have you told Mummy where you’ve gone?’ I held the heavy, embossed leather book in my arms, and looked down at him. Arthur caught my eye, frowned and expelled a little puff of air. ‘Blimy, Will,’ he said confidentially. Rupert was then six years old.

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  She stood beside me as I read, still without speaking, and her silence inspired or inflicted silence upon the students as well, who were aquiver with interest, sensing it was news of some import and hoping it was news of freedom, or at least of a break in routine. And it was such news, there would be no more class that day, or not with me. My father had fallen ill, I read, suddenly and gravely; he was in danger, he might be dying, and he had asked that I come to him, despite the fact that we hadn’t spoken in years. When I read this I looked helplessly at the woman next to me, unable to speak. She reached out her hand, saying It’s all right, go, I’ll stay with them, that’s why I came, speaking in Bulgarian as she always did in front of students, she was embarrassed of her English. I managed to thank her, I think, and I murmured something to the class, an apology perhaps, I’m not sure, and then I left the room, the woman, the students eager for news, the sentence that now would never be taken back up; I left the room and descended the broad stairs and stepped out into the scorching day. Though it was September and fall already the sun beat like a bell upon the streets, the grass was dry, the trees seemed withered in their shells; but I walked without thinking, barely noticing the heat. I must have passed the august, slightly crumbling buildings of my school, the Soviet blocks of the police academy, the gate with its guards, the dogs curled in the shade beside it; I must have passed them though I have no memory of them now. I was seeing something else, images that burst in on me, scenes from a childhood I hadn’t thought of for years; I had worked hard to forget them but now they came all at once, too quickly to make any sense of them. It was only after I reached Malinov, the main boulevard, with its lanes of cars stalled miserably in the heat, that this procession of images began to slow and settle, resolving into more distinct scenes of the life I had left behind. I saw my grandparents’ farm, my father lying in a large field used as pasture, I saw myself lying beside him. It was late, and I think it was summer, the night was cool but I could feel the ground releasing the day’s heat beneath me, its long exhalation.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  This is signed by a certain Dennis Mor ris, whose address is in Brooklyn, and he identifies Tony May nard by means of a passport-size snapshot. His deposition reads: "That on the morning of April 3, 19 67 [but the crime is alleged to have taken place on the morning of the fourth] I was on West 4-th Street, near Sixth Avenue, in the city, county, and state of New York, and saw a man, now known to me as Wm. A. Maynard, Jr., whose photograph on which I have placed my initials appears below and is part hereof, shoot and kill a man now known to me as Michael E. Kroll. I then saw said Wm. A. Maynard, Jr. run away from the scene of the crime." This document, to say nothing of the date of its appearance, strikes me as ex traordinary. It appears six days after Hanst's warrant and four days after Judge Weaver's cable -to say nothing of the tact that this authoritative identification nf the murderer, by means of a photograph, occurs seven months after the event. Dennis Morris has made no appearance until TO BE BAPTI ZED 421 this moment, and no one knows anything about him. The logical eyewitness, Crist, who was locked in an eyeball to eye ball conf rontation with the murderer, has entirely disappeared. (H e is to reappear during Tony's trial, armed with a most engaging reason for having been away so lo ng.) In any case, Maynard had been under police surveillance for months, dur ing which time the police were presumably investigating the murder, presumably picking up blacks and whites by the scores, and placing them in line- ups, and it seems never to have occurred to them to connect Maynard with the murder. Incidentally, the white assailant disappears completely and for ever from this investigation, as though he had never existed. That, roughly, was the case until that moment, as it could be reconstructed from Germany. Time was to reveal several unnerving details, but this outline never changed. It was to prove important, later, that during this time Tony had been involved with two white women, one of whom, Giselle Nicole, claiming extreme police harassment, disappeared. The other, Mary Quinn, he married. They did not live happily ever after, and Mary Quinn's subsequent conduct was scarcely that of a loving wife. According to the treaty between Germany and America, two classes of prisoners are not subject to extradition: political prisoners, and those facing the death penalty.

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  I hadn’t thought of her for years, the woman whose image returned to me so clearly, though my father spoke of her sometimes after she died, as he never spoke of his grandfather, who had died before I was born. Or never spoke of him to me, I should say, since my sister did know about him, and that night she told us what she knew. He was a hard man, my sister said, he tried to rein in his daughter, to discipline her and (perhaps he thought) to save her, and his violence, provoked and unprovoked, governed my father’s life. But then they were a constant provocation, his daughter and her multiplying sons, her string of men and the children they left; it must have made them the talk of the county, that bilious joyful talk of small places with little news. He terrorized them, my sister said, his daughter and her children, he threatened them, he beat them, he promised worse than beatings. Our father’s father was older than our grandmother, in his twenties when they met, and she had fallen in love with him; if she took up with other men as a way of defying her father, the first man wasn’t just that, G. said, she loved him, and the man loved her too. She was too young to be going with men, she knew her father would be angry, but she was in love, she slept with him, and then she was pregnant with my father. He killed him, my sister said then, before our father was born he killed him, and though to that point we had been silent my other sister and I both started at this, expressing our shock and disbelief. The story G. told us then was disjointed, handed down incomplete: it was winter when his grandfather understood what had happened, my sister said, there was a storm and he went out into the storm to find the man who had ruined his daughter, as he must have thought of it; and he killed the man—But how, I asked, interrupting her, and my sister couldn’t say, she only knew that he was found the next day frozen in his car. But that’s crazy, I blurted out, even in that place how could such things happen, or happen without consequences? And anyway our father loved to tell stories, I went on, he was always claiming outlandish things were true; surely this was one of his Southern Gothics, I said. But my sister insisted, something in how he told it convinced her it was true, or that he believed it was true.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  ‘I’m going to show you a short piece of film which I believe will interest you all. It’s part of a whole lot of home-movie stuff I’ve just bought at Christie’s. Most of it’s too madly dull for words—you know, gay young things arsing around with no shame. I just thought it might be fun, and give me some sort of ideas for some Twenties and Thirties—er—pictures I want to make. And then in amongst it there was this fragment—quite exceptional …’ The bright white square at which we had been looking was convulsed with running black and grey, and white flashes. The first thing we could make out was a brief and static view of a lake with steep woods around it. The light in the picture was strangely bleak, and a hundred little lines ran up and down the screen. Even so there was something mysterious about that seemingly black circle of water. Remembered books suggested it was an extinct volcano. ‘Aha,’ said Charles, very smugly. The camera angle jumped to include, possibly by mistake, the bonnet of an early-looking motorcar. ‘You know where we are, Charles,’ said Staines from behind the purring projector. ‘Oh yes—Lake Nemi. Unmistakable.’ There was then a shot held unnecessarily long, of a tin sign saying ‘Genzano—Città Infiorita’. ‘I think we all know where we are now,’ Staines added patly. An old peasant in a hat and carrying a stick as tall as himself limped into view, looking troublesome. The following sequences took place presumably in the precipitous streets of Genzano. Here was the car again, drawn up outside what might have been the town’s smartest café. The citizens, some aware of the camera, some at least showing no awareness, went stiffly up and down the pavement, turning flickering smiles or frowns. Some of them were getting up from the tables outside under the awning, couples bustling off, while others, with raising of hats, went into the absolute blackness of the interior. One side of the picture was then obscured by a man’s back. He half-turned and wavered in evident response to the cameraman’s protest, and shuffled away to the left. Then he reappeared full-length further off, and took up a position against the car, full of Chaplinesque fidgets, crossing his arms, cocking an ankle on the running-board, turning his head in ladylike parody from side to side. It clearly wasn’t Charles, though even a sensible person, I knew, might act up like this when a camera was running. It was a taller but thinner man. Moreover it was a bona fide queen. He had on elegant, unEnglish light suiting, with a bow-tie and a broad-brimmed straw hat which gave him a sweetly arcadian character, at the same time as shadowing his face. Then, overcome with embarrassment, he walked rapidly towards the camera, loomed in with peculiar closeness for a couple of seconds, high cheekbones, a long curved nose, funny little mouth. James was gripping my arm. ‘It’s Ronald Firbank,’ he said.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  Cole spoke up. “You’ll be very interested to know that both Hooks and Hightower have admitted that their trial testimony was false.” “Really?” I couldn’t hide my surprise at this. “Yes. When we were asked to investigate this case, we were told that you should be investigated because Hooks had said that you had offered him money and a condo in Mexico if he changed his testimony.” Taylor was dead serious. “A condo in Mexico?” “On a beach, I think,” Cole added nonchalantly. “Wait, me? I was going to give Bill Hooks a beach condo in Mexico if he changed his testimony against Walter?” It was difficult to contain my shock. “Well, I know it must sound crazy to you, but believe me there were people down there who were raring to get you indicted. But when we talked to Hooks, it didn’t take very long before he not only acknowledged that he’d never spoken to you and that you had never bribed him, but he also admitted that his trial testimony against McMillian was completely made up.” “Well, we’ve never had any doubts that Hooks was lying.” Cole chuckled. “We started polygraphing people, and things fell apart pretty quickly.” Bernard asked the obvious question, “Well, what happens now?” Taylor looked over at his partner and then at us. “Well, we’re not completely done. We’d like to solve this crime, and we have a suspect. I’m wondering if you might be willing to help us. I know you’re not trying to get anybody on death row, but we thought you might at least consider providing some help to identify the real killer. People will be a lot more accepting of Mr. McMillian’s innocence if they know who really committed this crime.” While it was ridiculous to think that Walter’s freedom depended on the arrest of someone else, I had imagined that a successful investigation might get to this—and I couldn’t dispute that even if an ABI investigation cleared Walter, people would still think he’d gotten away with murder until the actual killer was identified. We had long ago concluded that finding the real murderer might be the most effective way to free Walter, but without the power and authority of law enforcement officers, we were limited in what we could discover. We did have a strong theory. Several witnesses had told us that around the time of the crime, a white man had been seen leaving the cleaners. We had learned that before her death, Ronda Morrison had been receiving menacing calls and that there was a man who had been avidly and inappropriately pursuing her—stopping by unannounced at the cleaners, maybe even stalking her. We had not initially been able to identify this strange man.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Again it seemed inconceivable to me that this man could be capable of physical exercise. As if reading my thoughts he explained: ‘I find the water most … therapeutic. Swimming, if you can call it swimming, is the only thing that makes me feel young. Floating around, splish-splosh, flip-flop …’ Downstairs again on my way out, I stopped off for a pee. The lavatory was off the hall, down a corridor where lesser but brighter portraits were hung, late Victorian and Edwardian mostly, the flashy brushwork making the sitters seem all the more roguish and parvenus. Staines was coming out as I entered, and uttered a ‘Whoops,’ though he did not otherwise indicate that he knew me. As I stood at the urinal, along the front of which ran a tilted glass plate to prevent the old buffers from piddling on their shoes, a voice said, ‘Enjoy your meal, sir?’ It was Raymond, our waiter, who I had not realised was there. He caught my eye in the mirror as I glanced across. 4 Charles Nantwich’s house was in a street off Huggin Hill, so narrow that it had been closed to traffic and was no longer marked in the London A-Z ; it was a cobbled cul-de-sac obstructed at its open end by two dented aluminum bollards padlocked to the ground. Halfway down on the left rose the tall façade of purplish London brick, the dormers behind its upper parapet looking out over the roofs of the surrounding semi-derelict buildings. It was an elegant post-Fire merchant’s house, prosperously plain, the only ostentation the door-case, with its delicately glazed fanlight and heavy projecting hood, the richly scrolled brackets of which were clogged with generations of white gloss paint. Much of the glass in the tall windows appeared to be original: warped, glinting and nearly opaque. I waited opposite for a minute, surprisingly taken back, by its air of secrecy and exclusion, to the invalidish world of Edwardian ghost stories, to a world where people never went out. Though close to Cannon Street, Upper Thames Street and the approach to Southwark Bridge, this little knot of side streets was very quiet. Drivers avoided the narrow gauge of its alleyways, and much of it seemed to have been given over to somnolent trades—a bespoke tailor, a watch repairer.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  It was not long before the husband went to see the metayere as usual ; and great was his surprise to find the sorry room become so neat, but still greater was it when she gave him a silver cup to drink out of. He asked her where it came from, and the poor woman told him with tears that it was his wife, who, pitying his poor entertainment, had thus furnished the house, enjoining her to be careful of his health. Struck by the great goodness of his wife, who thus returned so much good for so much evil, the gentleman reproached himself for ingratitude as great as his wife's generosity. He gave his metayere money, begged her thenceforth to live like an honest woman, and went back to his wife. He con- fessed the whole truth to her, and told her that her gen- tleness and goodness had withdrawn him from a bad * Woman of Touraine. 22 338 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Nin<el 3«. course, from which it was impossible he should ever have escaped by any other means ; and forgetting the past, they lived thenceforth together in great peace and concord.* There are very few husbands, ladies, whom the wife does not win in the long run by patience and love, unless they are harder than the rocks which yet the weak and soft water pierces in time. " Why, this woman had neither heart, nor gall, nor liver ! " exclaimed Parlamente. " What would you have ? " said Longarine ; " she did as God commands, rendering good for evil." " I fancy,'' said Hircan, " that she was in love with some Cordelier, who ordered her as a penance to have her husband so well treated in the country, in order that while he was there she might have leisure to treat him- self well in town." " In this you plainly show the wickedness of your own heart," said Oisille, "judging so ill of a good deed. I believe, on the contrary, that she was so penetrated by the love of God that she cared for nothing but her hus- band's welfare." " It strikes me," said Simontault, " that he had more