Mr Golightly's Holiday (23 page)

3 Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.

4 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding.

5 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it?

6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or
who laid the corner stone thereof
;

7 When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

8 Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb?

9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it,

10 And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors,

11 And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

12 Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; and caused the dayspring to know his place;

13 That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out of it?

14 It is turned as clay to the seal; and they stand as a garment.

15 And from the wicked their light is withholden, and the high arm shall be broken.

16 Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? or hast thou walked in the search of the depth?

17
Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?
or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death?

18 Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? declare if thou knowest it all.

19 Where is the way where light dwelleth? and
as for darkness, where is the place thereof,

20 That thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest know the paths to the house thereof?

21 Knowest thou it, because thou wast then born? or because the number of thy days is great?

22 Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail,

23 Which I have reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle and war?

24
By what way is the light parted
, which scattereth the east wind upon the earth?

25 Who hath divided a watercourse for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the lightning of thunder;

26 To cause it to rain on the earth, where no man is; on the wilderness, wherein there is no man;

27 To satisfy the desolate and waste ground; and to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth?

28
Hath the rain a father?
or
who hath begotten the drops of dew?

29 Out of whose womb came the ice? and the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it?

30 The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen.

31 Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?

32 Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?

33 Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth?

34 Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee?

35 Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are?

36 Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts? or
who hath given understanding to the heart?

37 Who can number the clouds in wisdom? or who can stay the bottles of heaven,

38 When the dust groweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together?

39 Wilt thou hunt the prey for the lion? or fill the appetite of the young lions,

40 When they couch in their dens, and abide in the covert to lie in wait?

41
Who provideth for the raven his food?
when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.

CHAPTER
39

1 Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve?

2 Canst thou number the months that they fulfil? or knowest thou the time when they bring forth?

3 They bow themselves, they bring

4 Their young ones are in good liking, they grow up with corn; they go forth, and return not unto them.

5 Who hath sent out the wild ass free? or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass?

6 Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwellings.

7 He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.

8 The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing.

9 Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?

10
Canst thou bind the unicorn
with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?

11 Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is great? or wilt thou leave thy labour to him?

12 Wilt thou believe him, that he will bring home thy seed, and gather it into thy barn?

13 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?

14 Which leaveth her eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in dust,

15 And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast may break them.

16 She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not hers: her labour is in vain without fear;

17 Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her understanding.

18 What time she lifteth up herself on high, she scorneth the horse and his rider.

19 Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?

20 Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible.

21 He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men.

22 He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword.

23 The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield.

24 He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.

25
He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha
; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.

26 Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south?

27 Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high?

28 She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place.

29 From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes behold afar off.

30 Her young ones also suck up blood: and where the slain are, there is she.

CHAPTER
40

1
Moreover the LORD answered Job, and said
,

2
Shall he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him?
he that reproveth God, let him answer it.

3 Then Job answered the LORD, and said,

4 Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.

5 Once have I spoken; but I will not answer: yea, twice; but I will proceed no further.

6 Then answered the LORD unto Job out of the whirlwind, and said,

7 Gird up thy loins now like a man: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me.

8 Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous?

9 Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice like him?

10 Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency; and array thyself with glory and beauty.

11 Cast abroad the rage of thy wrath: and behold every one that is proud, and abase him.

12 Look on every one that is proud, and bring him low; and tread down the wicked in their place.

13 Hide them in the dust together; and bind their faces in secret.

14 Then will I also confess unto thee that thine own right hand can save thee.

15 Behold now behemoth, which I made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox.

16 Lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force is in the navel of his belly.

17 He moveth his tail like a cedar: the sinews of his stones are wrapped together.

18 His bones are as strong pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron.

19 He is the chief of the ways of God: he that made him can make his sword to approach unto him.

20 Surely the mountains bring him forth food, where all the beasts of the field play.

21 He lieth under the shady trees, in the covert of the reed, and fens.

22 The shady trees cover him with their shadow; the willows of the brook compass him about.

23 Behold, he drinketh up a river, and hasteth not: he trusteth that he can draw up Jordan into his mouth.

24 He taketh it with his eyes: his nose pierceth through snares.

CHAPTER
42

1 Then Job answered the LORD, and said,

2 I know that thou canst do every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.

3 Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge?
therefore have I uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not
.

4 Hear, I beseech thee, and I will speak: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me.

5
I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee
.

Mr Golightly’s Holiday
is set on Dartmoor, in Devon, in the south-west of England, and most of the locations described are factual. For the purposes of the story, I have slightly altered the position of the mire, and Great Calne, Oakburton, Backenbridge and High Tor are fictional creations, as, of course, are all the characters. There are, however, words of other authors, which, from time to time, issue from the mouth or occur in the thoughts of my principal character, Mr Golightly. To put these allusions in quotes would not only have been clunking but would have spoiled a point. My hope was that these authors – none of them living – would not have considered it an insult if I implied that their words had originated from my, so to speak, supreme author. A perceptive reader will come across, variously, as well as quotations from Mr Golightly’s own ‘Great Work’, echoes of John Chrysostom, St Augustine, William of Ockham, Jakob Boehme, Shakespeare, Marlowe, George Herbert, John Donne, William Blake, John Keats, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Matthew Arnold, Robert Frost, ee cummings, Saki, C. S. Lewis – if there are others I have overlooked it is because they have become part of my unconscious furniture. I hope the authors, whoever they are, wherever they are, will forgive me, and take it as a compliment rather than an act of theft. It has been pointed out to me that a God in the shape of a
middle-aged man also visits an English village in T. F. Powys’s
Mr Weston’s Good Wine.
As Mr Golightly and Mr Weston would probably agree, there is nothing new under the sun and I can only say that the idea came to me independently. I believe anyone who reads the two books will see that the themes are very different.

There was, however, one particular influence on this novel: I owe to the critic Northrop Frye the brilliant observation that, temperamentally, we tend to favour either the tragic or the comic outlook. It was his contention that Dante, Shakespeare and the authors behind the New Testament were, in essence, finally comedians – hence
The Divine Comedy
– by which he meant not that they were a fund of belly laughs but that ultimately they saw life as more powerful than the forces which conspire against it: that the canon of their works – for all their equivocation and deep ambiguity – evolves towards ‘happy’ ends. Happy ends are not fashionable nowadays, but a ‘happy’ end does not necessarily imply Pollyanna or Panglossism – that an author believes that all of life is agreeable, or that everything is moving inevitably towards the best possible conclusion. It merely implies a particular slant of vision, one which sees the potential, deep in the core of human affairs, for misfortune’s alternative – a view which may in fact encourage just that possibility. For while art can never replicate life itself, it does affect and influence it. It is arguable, therefore, that there is a responsibility at least not to overlook the comic as a component of the real.

In its small way,
Mr Golightly’s Holiday
is an example of this outlook, not just in its subject matter and conclusion but in its inception. It arose out of a period of turmoil in my life. I was, in fact, writing a different novel when events cut the threads of my concentration, so that book was set aside in the distractions of the personal drama I found myself acting in. At the lowest point, when things stood around my bed in the small hours looking worse and worse, and I thought I may never write again, the idea of
Mr Golightly’s Holiday
stole upon me and I am convinced that it was the wreck of my former plans which allowed its admission.

But the book has several godparents, too, without whose particular contribution it could not have been conceived and born. Gerald Beckwith told me the joke about the need for even the Highest Powers to take a rest from their eternal activity; I owe to Nicholas de Jongh the idea that my own life was best understood as a TV soap opera, one scripted by an inaccessible authority; my two publishers, Christopher Potter of Fourth Estate and Jonathan Galassi of Farrar, Straus & Giroux – even when I owned up to abandoning the book they had bought and believed in – supported me in ways I know to be wholly unusual in current publishing circles. Publishers are the midwives of books and, as with children, early experiences affect a book’s future. Any author who is lucky enough to have two such publishers as Christopher and Jonathan is already blessed. They have been the most patient and benevolent as well as astute of midwives. Captain David Swales, the chaplain to Dartmoor prison, helped my
researches but is not responsible for any misimpression of prison life my fictional representation may give. Dr Michael Gormley and Dr Peter Barwell advised on epilepsy. Lily Smith kept unwarranted distractions at bay. My sons, Ben and Rupert, were, as always, my best teachers: they are living proof that the ‘creator’ needs, and learns from dialogue with, the ‘created’.