Cousin Egbert arrives

[koilungfish]

11/3/07 - Shloborogrof, pt 3

         The doorbell didn't ring, but whoever was outside was beating the door with a heavy stick.
         "That'll be cousin Egbert," Jeff said tiredly, getting up from the window-seat.
         Lying feeble and exhausted on the settee, Harry continued to stare distractedly at the empty fireplace and wonder if any of the ashes of Shloborogrof were still in the grate. The clatter of stick and bags in the hallway only reached him peripherally.
         "Battonbrough," said Jeff, coming back in, "this is my cousin, Egbert Dowdings. Egbert, this is Harry Battonbrough, my friend from college. I'll make some tea." He left them hurriedly.
         "Charmed," said Egbert, who obviously wasn't. He was tall and thickset, blessed with thick black hair and a full shaggy beard and cursed with a bad old suit. "Is wonderful to be back in rainy old England where all is sheeps and cows." His accent wandered from Russia to Germany by way of the Balkans.
         "Hamilton said you were educated in England," Harry said, feeling rather tactless.
         "Ya, but I spend all summer chasing gypsy girls up and down the Urals," Egbert said. "They steal my wallet one 'undred t'ousand times, but I get it back later. Where is your servants?"
         "They left," Harry said listlessly, not rising.
         "Ah! You beat the girls with stick?" Egbert said, and Harry was uncertain as to whether Egbert considered that a reason or a solution. "Any'ow, Jeff, 'e writes and tells me you are cursed like the man who climbs up Mount Orobogoros."
         "Yes, yes!" Harry cried, sitting up under his damp blankets. "It was that statue! Ever since then we've had nothing but trouble. The servants have all left, the house is falling apart and I - I can't sleep at night."
         "Ah. You is well and truly cursed." Cousin Egbert took a fat Havana cigar from one coat pocket and a worn old sheath knife from the other, and began to trim the former with the latter.
         "What? You don't smoke that awful Black Agony Shag you send Hamilton?" Harry exclaimed.
         "What? I smoke that? Hah!" Cousin Egbert put a match to his cigar and began fumigating the room with a pleasant non-Shloborogrof-related smell. "Listen, I tell you. When the French came to the Agony Islands fifty year ago, they say to the chief of Big Island 'give us some land! We give you rifles.' Big Island chief, he said 'sure, 'ave that nice island over there, whole thing yours for two-dozen rifles.' What 'e not tell the French is that 'is nice little island is Rogofolos! Is burial ground for entire Agony Islands for two 'undred fifty year or more. So they grow filthy 'orrible tobacco on Rogofolos and nobody smoke it. Me, I go to see the Governor every month to pay bribes. 'E give me Rogofolos tobacco, cannot get rid of it, so when 'e not looking, I steal 'is cigars."
         Harry felt a bit faint, and was distinctly relieved when Jeff came back with the precariously loaded teatray.
         "Sorry there's nothing to eat," Jeff said, "but since the cook died we've been making do rather."
         "Ah. I am needing packet of salt, potatoes, chicken and razor."
         "What in God's name for?" asked Jeff suspiciously.
         "Salt and potatoes and chicken I use to make dinner. Razor I use to trim my beard as I 'ave not shaved since my 'ouse burned down."
         " ... what?" Harry asked, wrapping his blankets around his shoulders.
         "My 'ouse burn down. I fall asleep with cigar burning, my 'ouse burn down. Is why when you call Governor's house they find me quickly. Was staying with my good friend Mbase from South Africa who study the finches." Cousin Egbert laughed - a short, heavily accented bark. "On my little island, what we calls Little Fobolos, I am getting up at dawn to bring in water from stream and have cold bath before shooting parrot for breakfast. Any'ow, this curse you is 'aving ... where is this statue?"
         "I burned it," Harry announced, like a schoolboy before the government.
         "Ah. Is usually working." Cousin Egbert poured himself a cup of Jeff's tar-like tea and started loading it with sugar.
         "But that was what started it!" Harry cried, sitting up. "It was - it was Shloborogrof!"
         "No," said cousin Egbert. "Is not 'im."
         "What?" Jeff and Harry both shouted.
         "Your 'ouse is still standing," cousin Egbert said, blowing on his tea. "Shloborogrof, 'e no do nothing by 'alf measures."
         "But - but -" Harry subsided as Jeff passed him a cup of tea.
         "Besides, where you get cursing statue of Shloborogrof from?" cousin Egbert asked, ignoring the milk and starting in on his tea as if he hadn't seen any for years.
         "An auction house," Jeff said. "Stupid bloody idea."
         "Ah," cousin Egbert chuckled. "And the auctioneer, 'e does not get cursed. And the people who sell it, they do not get cursed. And so on. I am knowing Shloborogrof very well. Is old friend of mine. Come to my dinner for roast parrot and bananas every Tuesday. 'e is not doing things by 'alf measures. What you get is old cursing statue. No good for 'urting nobody."
         Jeff sank back against the settee and pulled his blankets around him. "Would you please explain this to me?"
         "Cursing statues is not made for tourists," cousin Egbert began. "What you think people from Agony Islands is? Murderers?"
         "Well, with that name ... " Jeff started.
         "They stop doing thing with spears and intestines century ago," cousin Egbert said, dismissing Jeff with a wave of his spoon. "Man, he make cursing statue, put straight in other man's 'ouse. Curse on 'ouse. If other man put cursing statue in pit on Borogrofolos, curse come off. Nothing else make no difference. If someone put statue in my 'ouse, and I take it and bring it 'ere and put it in your 'ouse, is still my 'ouse what fall down."
         "You mean ... what?" Harry floundered.
         "Is old statue," cousin Egbert reasserted. "People take cursing statues from their 'ouses for two 'undred fifty years, put in the pit on Borogrofolos. Now people from Europe come and take statues out of Borogrofolos pit, take away to sell as 'primitive art', pfeh."
         "Doesn't anyone mind?" Jeff protested.
         "Why anyone care? Old statue not doing anything."
         "But then why has everything gone bad?" Harry said, almost sobbing. "The servants all got ill, the cook and two maids and the kitchen boy all died, the roof's falling in and I - I - I see things at night."
         "Is not surprising," cousin Egbert said, putting his teacup down. "Is curse on 'ouse. Feel it before I even come in."
         "But you just said -" Harry cried.
         "I say is not Shloborogrof," cousin Egbert said, pointing his cigar at him. "Is something else. Is starting when you bring statue back from auction 'ouse, right?"
         "Right!" said Jeff in tones of getting-the-point. Harry, who had hardly slept for a month, watched bewildered as Jeff started rummaging amongst the scattered newspapers covering the table for something.
         "Ah. What else you bring 'ome?" cousin Egbert asked, pouring himself more tea.
         "This thing," Jeff said, holding up the green glass glob triumphantly.
         "What is that thing?" cousin Egbert said, holding out a hand. Jeff passed it to him. "Is lobster pot made by apprentice glassblower with 'iccups!" He flung it into the empty fireplace, smashing the green glass and scattering the shards all around the grate.
         Harry blinked at the glittering spray, all spread out like a pack of dropped cards. His gaze followed the edge of the grate, up to the tongs and the poker and the bottle - "The bottle!"
         "What? Ah!" Jeff cried, diving upon the fireplace and seizing up the bottle of wine. "Of course!"
         "Aaaah," said cousin Egbert, standing up. "That is looking more like your culprit."
         Jeff held it out to him. "One bottle of wine, 'curiously aged'. Read the label."
         Cousin Egbert took the bottle in one hand and read the label aloud. "'1840-1856, 1887-1894, 1902-1913'. Is odd. Hmm." He frowned at the bottle. "I am not trusting you further than I am throwing you, and perhaps I throw you off cliff later on."
         "What is it?" Harry asked.
         "Is ghost," cousin Egbert said matter-of-factly. "I am reading label and thinking ... perhaps is three ghosts."