by Roald Dahl
‘ “Anything I can show you, sir?” he quavered, approaching, taper in hand. I now saw him comparatively distinctly. His appearance made an indescribable impression on me. As I stared, Rembrandt flitted through my mind. Who else could have given any idea of the weird shadows on that ravaged face? Tired is a word we use lightly. Never before had I known what it might mean. Such ineffable, patient weariness! Deep sunk in his withered face, the eyes seemed as extinct as the fire. And the wan frailty of the small tremulous bent frame!
‘The words “dust and ashes, dust and ashes,” strayed through my brain.
‘On my first visit, I had, you may remember, been surprised by the uncharacteristic cleanliness of the place. The queer fancy now struck me that this old man was like an accumulation of all the dust one might have expected to find distributed over such premises. In truth, he looked scarcely more solid than a mere conglomeration of dust and cobwebs that might be dispersed at a breath or a touch.
‘What a fantastic old creature to be employed by those well-to-do looking girls! He must, I thought, be some old retainer kept on out of charity.
‘ “Anything I can show you, sir?” repeated the old man. His voice had little more body than the tearing of a cobweb; but there was a curious, almost pleading insistence in it, and his eyes were fixed on me in a wan yet devouring stare. I wanted to leave, yes at once. The mere proximity of the poor old man distressed me – made me feel wretchedly dispirited; none the less, involuntarily murmuring, “Thank you, I’ll look round,” I found myself following his frail form, and absent-mindedly inspecting various objects temporarily illuminated by his trembling taper.
‘The chill silence broken only by the tired shuffle of his carpet slippers got on my nerves.
‘ “Very cold night,” I hazarded.
‘ “Cold, is it? Cold? Yes, I dare say it is cold.” In his grey voice was the apathy of utter indifference.
‘For how many years, I wondered, had this poor old fellow been “incapable of his own distress”?
‘ “Been at this job long?” I asked, dully contemplating a four-poster bed.
‘ “A long, long, long time.” The answer came softly as a sigh, and as he spoke, time seemed no longer a matter of days, weeks, months, years, but a weariness that stretched immeasurably. Suddenly I began to resent the old man’s exhaustion and melancholy, the contagion of which so unaccountably weighed down my own spirits.
‘ “How long, O Lord, how long?” I said as jauntily as I could manage, adding with odious jocularity, “Old age pension about due, what?”
‘No response.
‘In silence he drifted across the other side of the room.
‘ “Quaint piece, this,” said my guide, picking up a grotesque little frog that lay on a shelf amongst various other odds and ends. It seemed to be made of some substance similar to jade – soapstone I guessed. Struck by its oddity, I took the frog from the old man’s hand. It was strangely cold.
‘ “Rather fun,” I said. “How much?”
‘ “Half a crown, sir,” whispered the old man, glancing up at my face. Again his voice was scarcely more audible than the slithering of dust, but there was a queer gleam in his eyes. Was it eagerness? Could it be?
‘ “Only half a crown? Is that all? I’ll have it,” said I. “Don’t bother to pack up old Anthony Rowley. I’ll put him in my pocket.”
‘As I gave the old man the coin, I inadvertently touched his hand. I could scarcely suppress a start. I have said the frog struck cold, but, compared to that desiccated skin, its substance was tepid! I can’t describe the chill of that second’s contact. Poor old fellow! thought I, he isn’t fit to be about – not in this lonely place. I wonder those kind-looking girls allow such an old wreck to struggle on.
‘ “Good night,” I said.
‘ “Good night, sir. Thank you, sir,” quavered the feeble old voice. He shut the door behind me.
‘Turning my head as I breasted the driving snow, I saw his form, scarcely more solid than a shadow, dimly outlined against the candlelight. His face was pressed against the big glass pane, and as I walked away I pictured his exhausted patient eyes peering after me.
‘Somehow I was unable to dismiss the thought of that old, old man. Long, long after I was in bed and courting sleep I saw that ravaged face with its maze of wrinkles, those great eyes like lifeless planets, staring, staring at me, and in their steady gaze there seemed something that beseeched. Yes, I was strangely perturbed by that old man.
‘Even after I achieved sleep, my dreams were full of him. Haunted, I suppose by a sense of his infinite tiredness, I was trying to force him to rest – to compel him to lie down. But no sooner did I succeed in laying out his frail form on the four-poster bed I had seen in the shop – only now it seemed more like a grave than a bed, and the brocade coverlet had turned into sods of turf – than he would slip from my grasp, and totteringly resume his rambles round and round the shop. On and on I chased him, down endless avenues of weird furniture, but still he eluded me.
‘Now the dim shop seemed to stretch on and on unendingly – to merge into an infinity of sunless, airless space until at length, exhausted, breathless, I myself collapsed and sank into the four-poster grave.
‘The very next morning an urgent summons took me out of London, and in the anxiety of the ensuing week the episode of the Corner Shop was banished from my mind. As soon as my father was pronounced out of danger, I returned to my dreary lodgings. Dejectedly engaged in adding up my wretched bills and wondering where on earth to find the money to pay my next quarter’s rent, I was agreeably surprised by a visit from an old school-fellow, at that time practically the only friend I had in London. He was employed by one of the best known firms of Fine Art Dealers and Auctioneers.
‘After some minutes’ conversation, he rose in search of a light. My back was turned to him. I heard the sharp scratch of a match, followed by propitiatory noises to his pipe. Suddenly they were broken off by an exclamation.
‘ “Good God, man!’ he shouted. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Turning my head, I saw he had snatched up my purchase of the other night, the funny little frog, whose presence on my mantelpiece I had all but forgotten.
‘Closely scrutinizing it through a magnifying glass, he held it under the gas-jet, his hands shaking with excitement.
‘ “Where did you get this?” he repeated. “Have you any idea what it is?”
‘Briefly I told him that, rather than leave a shop empty-handed, I had bought the frog for a half a crown.
‘ “Half a crown! My dear fellow, I can’t swear to it, but I believe you’ve had one of those amazing pieces of luck one hears of. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a piece of jade of the Hsia Dynasty. If so, it’s practically unique.”
‘These words conveyed little to my ignorance.
‘ “Do you mean it’s worth money?”
‘ “Worth money? Phew!” he ejaculated. “Look here. Will you leave this business to me? Let me have the thing for my firm to handle. They’ll do the best they can by you. I shall be able to get it into Thursday’s sale.”
‘Certain that I could implicitly trust my friend, I agreed. Reverently enwrapping the frog in cottonwool, he hurried off.
‘Friday morning I had the shock of my life. Shock does not necessarily imply bad news.
‘I assure you that for some seconds after opening the one envelope lying on my dingy breakfast-tray, the room spun round and round. The envelope contained an account from Messrs Spunk, Fine Art Dealers and Auctioneers: “To sale of Hsia jade, £2,000, less 10 per cent commission, £1,800,” and there, neatly folded, made out to Peter Wood, was Messrs Spunk’s cheque for eighteen hundred pounds! For some time I was completely bewildered. My friend’s words had raised hopes – hopes that my chance purchase might facilitate the payment of next quarter’s rent – might possibly even provide for a whole year’s rent – but that so large a sum was involved had never so much as crossed my mind. Could it be tru
e, or was it some hideous joke? Surely, in the trite phrase, it was much, much too good to be true! It wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to oneself.
‘Still feeling physically dizzy, I rang up my friend. His voice and the heartiness of his congratulations convinced me of the truth of my astounding good fortune. It was neither joke, nor dream. I, Peter Wood, whose bank account was at present twenty pounds overdrawn, who, but for shares amounting to one hundred and fifty pounds, possessed no securities whatever, now held in my hand a piece of paper convertible into eighteen hundred golden sovereigns! I sat down to think, to try to realize, to readjust. From my jumble of plans, problems and emotions, one fact emerged crystal clear. Obviously I could not take advantage of that nice girl’s ignorance, nor of her poor old caretaker’s incompetence – whichever was to blame. No, I couldn’t accept this amazing gift from fate, merely because, by a sheer fluke, I had bought a treasure for half a crown.
‘Clearly I must give back at least half the sum to my unconscious benefactors. Otherwise I should feel I had robbed them almost as if, like a thief in the night, I had broken into their shop. I remembered their pleasant, open countenances. What fun to astonish them with my wonderful news! I felt a strong impulse to rush to the shop, but having for once a case in court, was obliged to go to the Temple. Endorsing Messrs Spunk’s cheque, I addressed it to my bankers, and filled in one of my own for £900 made out to the Corner Curio Shop.
‘It was late before I was free to leave the Law Courts, and, when I arrived at the shop I was disappointed, but not surprised to read the notice CLOSED. Even supposing the old caretaker to be on duty, there was no particular point in seeing him. My business was with his mistress. Deciding to postpone my visit to the following day, I was just on the point of hurrying home when exactly as though I were expected, the door opened. There on the threshold stood the old man peering out into the darkness.
‘ “Anything I can do for you, sir?”
‘His voice was even queerer than before. I now realized that I had dreaded re-encountering him, yet I found myself irresistibly compelled to enter. The atmosphere was as grimly cold as on my last visit. I felt myself actually shiver. Several candles, obviously only just lit, were burning. By their glimmer I saw the old man’s questioning gaze intently fixed on me. What a face! I had not exaggerated its weirdness. Never had I seen anyone so singular, so striking. No wonder I had dreamed of him. How I wished he had not opened the door!
‘ “Anything I can show you tonight, sir?” His voice trembled.
‘ “No thanks. I’ve come about that thing you sold me the other day. I find it’s of great value. Please tell your mistress that I’ll pay her a proper price for it tomorrow.’
‘As I spoke there spread over the old man’s face the most wonderful smile. I use the word smile for lack of a better word, but how to convey the beauty of the indefinable expression that transfigured that time-worn face? Tender triumph; gentle joy; rapturous reverence. What mystery did I witness? It was like iron frost yielding to sunshine – the thawing of grief in the dawn-radiance of some unsurmisable redemption. For the first time in my life I had some inkling of the word “beatitude”.
‘I can’t describe the impression made on me. The moment, as it were, brimmed over. Time ceased. I became conscious of infinite things.
‘The silence was now broken by the gathering-itself-together sound of an old clock about to strike. I turned my head towards one of those wonderful, intricate pieces of medieval workmanship – a Nuremberg grandfather clock. From the recess beneath its exquisitely painted face, quaint figures emerged, and while one struck a bell, others demurely stepped through the mazes of a minuet. My attention was riveted by the pretty spectacle. Not till the last sounds had trembled into silence did I turn my head.
‘I found myself alone.
‘The old man had vanished. Surprised that he should leave me, I looked all round the large room. Oddly enough, the fire, which I had supposed dead, had flared into unexpected life, and now cast a cheerful glow; but neither fire nor candlelight revealed any trace of the old caretaker.
‘ “Hullo? Hullo?” I called interrogatively.
‘No answer. No sound save the loud ticking of clocks and the crackle of the fire. I walked all round the big room. I even looked into the great four-poster bed of my dreams. Then I saw that there was a smaller adjoining room. Snatching up a candle, I hastened to explore this. At its far end I discovered a winding staircase leading up to a little gallery. The old man must have withdrawn into some upstairs lair. I would follow him. I groped my way to the foot of the stairs, and began to climb, but the steps creaked under my feet; I was conscious of crumbling woodwork. There was an icy draught; my candle went out. Cobwebs brushed against my face. To go any further was most uninviting. I desisted.
‘After all, what did it matter? Let the old man hide himself!
‘I had given my message. Best be gone. But the main room to which I had returned was now quite warm and cheerful. What had ever made me think it sinister? It was with a distinct sense of regret that I left the shop. I felt baulked. I longed to see that radiant face again. Strange old man! How could I ever have fancied that I feared him?
‘The next Saturday I was free to go straight to the shop. All the way there my mind was agreeably occupied anticipating the welcome the grateful sisters were sure to give me. As the jingle-jangle of the bell announced my opening of the door, the two girls, who were busily dusting their goods, turned to see who came at so unusually early an hour. Recognizing me, to my surprise they bowed amiably but quite casually, as though to a mere acquaintance.
‘With such a fairy-tale bond between us, I had expected a very different kind of greeting. I supposed that they had not yet heard the news, and when I told them I had brought the cheque, I saw that my surmise was right. They looked quite blank.
‘ “Cheque?”
‘ “Yes, for the frog I bought the other day.”
‘ “Frog? What frog? I only remember your buying a piece of Sheffield plate.”
‘So they knew nothing, not even of my second visit to their shop! By degrees I told them the whole story. They were overcome with astonishment. The elder sister seemed quite dazed.
‘ “But I can’t understand it! I can’t understand it!” she repeated. “Holmes, the old caretaker, isn’t even supposed to admit anyone in our absence – far less to sell things. He merely comes to take charge on the evenings we leave early, and is only supposed to stay till the night policeman comes on duty. I can’t believe he let you in and never told us he’d sold you something. It’s too extraordinary! What time was it?”
‘ “Round about six, I should think.”
‘ “He generally leaves at half past five,” said the girl. “But I suppose the policeman must have been late.”
‘ “It was later when I came yesterday.”
‘ “Did you come again?” she asked.
‘Briefly I told her of my visit and the message I had left with the caretaker.
‘ “What an extraordinary thing!” she exclaimed. “I can’t begin to understand it. But we shall soon hear his explanation. I expect him at any moment now. He comes in every morning to sweep the floors.”
‘At the prospect of meeting the remarkable old man again I felt a thrill of excitement. How would he look by daylight? Should I see him smile again?
‘ “Very old, isn’t he?” I hazarded.
‘ “Old? Yes, I suppose he is getting on, but it’s a very easy job. He’s a good, honest fellow. I can’t imagine his doing anything on the sly. I’m afraid we’ve been rather slack in our cataloguing lately. I wonder if he does sell odds and ends for himself? Oh no, I can’t believe it! By the way, can you remember whereabouts this frog was?”
‘I pointed to the shelf from which the caretaker had produced the piece of jade.
‘ “Oh, from that odd lot I bought the other day for next to nothing. I haven’t sorted or priced any of the things yet. I can’t remember any frog. What
an incredible thing to happen!”
‘At this moment the telephone rang. She lifted the receiver.
‘ “Hullo? Hullo? Yes, Miss Wilson speaking. Yes, Mrs Holmes, what is it?”
‘A few seconds’ startled pause, and then, “Dead? Dead? But how? Why? Oh, I am sorry!”
‘After a few more words she replaced the receiver and turned to us, her eyes full of tears.
‘ “Oh, Bessie,” she said to her sister. “Poor old Holmes is dead. When he got home yesterday he complained of pain, and he died in the middle of the night – heart failure. No one had any idea there was anything the matter with him. Oh, poor Mrs Holmes! What will she do? We must go to her at once!”
‘Both girls were so much upset that I thought it best to leave.
‘The singular old man had made so haunting an impression upon me that I was deeply moved to hear of his sudden death. How strange that, except for his wife, I should have been the very last person to speak with him. No doubt pain had seized him in my very presence. That was why he had left so abruptly and without a word. Had death already brushed against his consciousness? That lovely, inexplicable smile? Was that the beginning of the peace that passes all understanding?
‘Next day I told Miss Wilson and her sister all the details of the fabulous sale of the frog, and presented my cheque. Here I met with unexpected opposition. The sisters showed great unwillingness to accept the money. It was, they said, all mine. Besides they had no need of it.
‘ “You see,” explained Miss Wilson, “my father had a flair for this business amounting to a sort of genius. He made quite a large fortune. When he became too old to carry on the shop, we kept it open, partly out of sentiment, partly for the sake of occupation. But we don’t need to make any profit.”
‘At last I prevailed upon them to accept the money, if only to spend it on the various charities in which they were interested. It was a relief to my mind when the matter was settled.
‘The extraordinary incident of the jade frog made a bond between us, and in the course of our amicable arguments we became very friendly. I fell into the way of dropping in on them quite often, and soon began quite to rely on their sympathetic companionship.