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Inhalt
  1. Tarquin of Cheapside
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
  2. Porcelain and Pink
  3. Head and Shoulders
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  4. Benediction
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
  5. Dalyrimple Goes Wrong
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
    8. VIII
  6. Mr. Icky
  7. The Camel’s Back
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  8. Bernice Bobs Her Hair
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  9. The Ice Palace
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  10. The Offshore Pirate
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  11. The Cut-Glass Bowl
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  12. The Four Fists
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  13. May Day
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
    8. VIII
    9. IX
    10. X
    11. XI
  14. The Jelly-Bean
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  15. The Lees of Happiness
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  16. Jemina, the Mountain Girl This don’t pretend to be “Literature.” This is just a tale for red-blooded folks who want a story and not just a lot of “psychological” stuff or “analysis.” Boy, you’ll love it! Read it here, see it in the movies, play it on the phonograph, run it through the sewing-machine.
    1. A Wild Thing
    2. A Mountain Feud
    3. The Birth of Love
    4. A Mountain Battle
    5. “As One.”
  17. “O Russet Witch!”
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  18. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
    8. VIII
    9. IX
    10. X
    11. XI
  19. The Diamond as Big as the Ritz
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
    8. VIII
    9. IX
    10. X
    11. XI
  20. Winter Dreams
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  21. Hot and Cold Blood
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  22. Gretchen’s Forty Winks
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  23. Absolution
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  24. “The Sensible Thing”
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  25. The Baby Party
  26. Dice, Brassknuckles & Guitar
  27. Love in the Night
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  28. The Adjuster
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  29. The Rich Boy
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
    7. VII
    8. VIII
  30. Rags Martin-Jones and the Pr‑nce of W‑les
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  31. Jacob’s Ladder
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  32. A Short Trip Home
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
  33. The Bowl
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  34. Magnetism
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  35. The Scandal Detectives
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
    6. VI
  36. A Night at the Fair
  37. The Freshest Boy
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
    5. V
  38. He Thinks He’s Wonderful
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
    4. IV
  39. The Captured Shadow
    1. I
    2. II
    3. III
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Short Fiction

F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Tarquin of Cheapside

I

Running footsteps—light, soft-soled shoes made of curious leathery cloth brought from Ceylon setting the pace; thick flowing boots, two pairs, dark blue and gilt, reflecting the moonlight in blunt gleams and splotches, following a stone’s throw behind.

Soft Shoes flashes through a patch of moonlight, then darts into a blind labyrinth of alleys and becomes only an intermittent scuffle ahead somewhere in the enfolding darkness. In go Flowing Boots, with short swords lurching and long plumes awry, finding a breath to curse God and the black lanes of London.

Soft Shoes leaps a shadowy gate and crackles through a hedgerow. Flowing Boots leap the gate and crackles through the hedgerow—and there, startlingly, is the watch ahead—two murderous pikemen of ferocious cast of mouth acquired in Holland and the Spanish marches.

But there is no cry for help. The pursued does not fall panting at the feet of the watch, clutching a purse; neither do the pursuers raise a hue and cry. Soft Shoes goes by in a rush of swift air. The watch curse and hesitate, glance after the fugitive, and then spread their pikes grimly across the road and wait for Flowing Boots. Darkness, like a great hand, cuts off the even flow the moon.

The hand moves off the moon whose pale caress finds again the eaves and lintels, and the watch, wounded and tumbled in the dust. Up the street one of Flowing Boots leaves a black trail of spots until he binds himself, clumsily as he runs, with fine lace caught from his throat.

It was no affair for the watch: Satan was at large tonight and Satan seemed to be he who appeared dimly in front, heel over gate, knee over fence. Moreover, the adversary was obviously travelling near home or at least in that section of London consecrated to his coarser whims, for the street narrowed like a road in a picture and the houses bent over further and further, cooping in natural ambushes suitable for murder and its histrionic sister, sudden death.

Down long and sinuous lanes twisted the hunted and the harriers, always in and out of the moon in a perpetual queen’s move over a checkerboard of glints and patches. Ahead, the quarry, minus his leather jerkin now and half blinded by drips of sweat, had taken to scanning his ground desperately on both sides. As a result he suddenly slowed short, and retracing his steps a bit scooted up an alley so dark that it seemed that here sun and moon had been in eclipse since the last glacier slipped roaring over the earth. Two hundred yards down he stopped and crammed himself into a niche in the wall where he huddled and panted silently, a grotesque god without bulk or outline in the gloom.

Flowing Boots, two pairs, drew near, came up, went by, halted twenty yards beyond him, and spoke in deep-lunged, scanty whispers:

“I was attune to that scuffle; it stopped.”

“Within twenty paces.”

“He’s hid.”

“Stay together now and we’ll cut him up.”

The voice faded into a low crunch of a boot, nor did Soft Shoes wait to hear more—he sprang in three leaps across the alley, where he bounded up, flapped for a moment on the top of the wall like a huge bird, and disappeared, gulped down by the hungry night at a mouthful.

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Short Fiction von F. Scott Fitzgerald. Der Text ist in den USA gemeinfrei, aus der Standard-Ebooks-Ausgabe. Wir liefern ihn aus unserer eigenen Kopie aus; lies auf ihrer Website die vollständige Ausgabe mit Bildern und Typografie.

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