to operate tomorrow. We want to remove the lump we have detected near your pancreas. You seem fit enough for such an operation, in our considered opinion.
— What time tomorrow?
— Whenever a theatre becomes available. That’s our constant problem. We’ll do our best for you.
The fruitseller smiled at Harry Chapman.
— Our very best.
— I’m sure you will, Dr Pereira.
Once the cherubic physician had left, Marybeth Myslawchuk and Nancy Driver reappeared. They were joined, seconds later, by Philip Warren.
— It’s poetry time, Harry. You promised us something life-enhancing and cheerful.
— I do believe I did.
— We’re waiting, said Nancy, breaking the silence.
— This is an English poem, even though it’s an adaptation from the Latin of Ovid, the great Roman poet. It’s by Christopher Marlowe, better known as a dramatist. You’ve heard of Doctor Faustus ?
— Sure, honey. I saw it when I was a kid at Stratford, Ontario. I found it spooky.
— That’s how you’re meant to find it. But this isn’t spooky at all. Its title is ‘Corinnae Concubitus’ or ‘Going to Bed with Corinna’. Are you ready?
— Yes, the trio chorused.
He began.
— In summer’s heat, and mid-time of the day,
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay;
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be shown
Where they may sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down,
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed,
Or Laïs of a thousand wooers sped.
Harry Chapman paused momentarily, took a deep breath, and continued.
— I snatched her gown; being thin, the harm was small;
Yet strived she to be covered therewithal;
And striving thus as one who would be cast,
Betrayed herself, and yielded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me!
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I,
How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh!
To leave the rest, as liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell;
Judge you the rest: being tired she bade me kiss.
Jove send me more such afternoons as this.
Whatever he was suffering from, it wasn’t lapse of memory. He had given a bravura performance, imagining himself in a more congenial bed with a Corinna whose ‘large leg’ and ‘lusty thigh’ were those of a Corin.
— We enjoyed that. A bit risqué, isn’t it?
— Who’s the Semi— what’s his name?
— Semiramis. She was the founder of Babylon, Nancy, and the wife of Ninus, King of Assyria. She ruled over the country after his death. And as for Laïs, she was a Corinthian concubine who really did have thousands of lovers. In her old age, when her looks had gone, she took to the bottle and died an alcoholic.
— I’m learning something new every day you’re here.
He was warmed by her remark, warmed because of the teacher in him, the man who was most content when he was passing on arcane information, the best information there is, in his peculiar view.
He felt depleted now. He had spent himself, reciting the poem. He wanted only to drift away, courtesy of Dr Pereira. Maciek Nazwisko’s ‘best sleep’ was an alluring prospect.
It was not to be. It was definitely not to be while there was bustle in the ward. Nancy Driver had offered to instal a television set a couple of days earlier but he had declined her offer.
— It would distract you, Harry. Take your mind off things.
— I’m happy as I am, he’d lied.
— You always have the radio.
— Yes. I might listen to some music later on.
But he hadn’t, and he wondered why. It was unlike him to pass an entire day without Bach or Schubert – especially Schubert – to
— What time tomorrow?
— Whenever a theatre becomes available. That’s our constant problem. We’ll do our best for you.
The fruitseller smiled at Harry Chapman.
— Our very best.
— I’m sure you will, Dr Pereira.
Once the cherubic physician had left, Marybeth Myslawchuk and Nancy Driver reappeared. They were joined, seconds later, by Philip Warren.
— It’s poetry time, Harry. You promised us something life-enhancing and cheerful.
— I do believe I did.
— We’re waiting, said Nancy, breaking the silence.
— This is an English poem, even though it’s an adaptation from the Latin of Ovid, the great Roman poet. It’s by Christopher Marlowe, better known as a dramatist. You’ve heard of Doctor Faustus ?
— Sure, honey. I saw it when I was a kid at Stratford, Ontario. I found it spooky.
— That’s how you’re meant to find it. But this isn’t spooky at all. Its title is ‘Corinnae Concubitus’ or ‘Going to Bed with Corinna’. Are you ready?
— Yes, the trio chorused.
He began.
— In summer’s heat, and mid-time of the day,
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay;
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be shown
Where they may sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down,
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed,
Or Laïs of a thousand wooers sped.
Harry Chapman paused momentarily, took a deep breath, and continued.
— I snatched her gown; being thin, the harm was small;
Yet strived she to be covered therewithal;
And striving thus as one who would be cast,
Betrayed herself, and yielded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me!
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I,
How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh!
To leave the rest, as liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell;
Judge you the rest: being tired she bade me kiss.
Jove send me more such afternoons as this.
Whatever he was suffering from, it wasn’t lapse of memory. He had given a bravura performance, imagining himself in a more congenial bed with a Corinna whose ‘large leg’ and ‘lusty thigh’ were those of a Corin.
— We enjoyed that. A bit risqué, isn’t it?
— Who’s the Semi— what’s his name?
— Semiramis. She was the founder of Babylon, Nancy, and the wife of Ninus, King of Assyria. She ruled over the country after his death. And as for Laïs, she was a Corinthian concubine who really did have thousands of lovers. In her old age, when her looks had gone, she took to the bottle and died an alcoholic.
— I’m learning something new every day you’re here.
He was warmed by her remark, warmed because of the teacher in him, the man who was most content when he was passing on arcane information, the best information there is, in his peculiar view.
He felt depleted now. He had spent himself, reciting the poem. He wanted only to drift away, courtesy of Dr Pereira. Maciek Nazwisko’s ‘best sleep’ was an alluring prospect.
It was not to be. It was definitely not to be while there was bustle in the ward. Nancy Driver had offered to instal a television set a couple of days earlier but he had declined her offer.
— It would distract you, Harry. Take your mind off things.
— I’m happy as I am, he’d lied.
— You always have the radio.
— Yes. I might listen to some music later on.
But he hadn’t, and he wondered why. It was unlike him to pass an entire day without Bach or Schubert – especially Schubert – to
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