The 3rd Fontana Book of Great Ghost Stories

THE STRANGER by Hugh MacDiarmid

“All I can say is that he wasn’t born of man and woman any more than the man in the moon,” said old Ben, wiping his whiskers and relighting his pipe.

“But how could you possibly know that, even if it were true,” replied young Jake.

“Just the same,” said old Ben tartly, “as most of us can tell that a horse is a horse and a cabbage a cabbage and a man a man.”

“I don’t see that,” said young Jake.

“You wouldn’t,” said old Ben. “You’ve never even been married.”

“But that’s not to say,” Peter interposed, “that he doesn’t know the difference between a man and a woman.”

“Or,” added young Jake, nettled, “that all the rest of us are so blind that if there’s an equal or greater difference between him and a mere human being, we can’t see it—and you can.”

“What I can’t see,” said George, “no matter what he is—and to my eyes he looks just as human as any of us, which isn’t saying much—is why you refused to have a beer with him when he offered it to you.”

“I am not the man to say no, when anyone offers to stand treat,” replied old Ben, “and the beer would have been just the same paid for by him or anyone here. All I can say is, that I had better not. It’s a queer thing—but it goes to prove that I mean what I say. Otherwise I wouldn’t have refused the beer. Surely that’s plain enough.”

“Well,” said George, “he’s a fine free-handed creature whatever he is and all the rest of us drank with him and aren’t suffering any ill effects—as far as I can see.”

“So far as I can see,” repeated old Ben, “it all comes back to that. But it’s a good proverb that warns us never to judge by appearances.”

“Dammit!” said Philip, “he belongs to the next village to my own home town, and I know his father and mother.”

“That settles it,” said young Jake.

“Pardon me, but it does nothing of the sort,” said old Ben. “The world has been quarrelling about a very similar problem for the last two thousand years. I have no doubt all sorts of people knew Jesus Christ’s father and mother. A fat lot that mattered!”

“Here! here!” said the landlord. “None of that now, this argument has gone far enough. I served the man and he paid me in the ordinary way, and as the responsible party in this licensed-house, I say that he was a stranger, but otherwise just an ordinary sober human being, fit to be served in any well-conducted bar. An argument’s an argument but when it runs into blasphemy I’ll have none of it here.”

“Blasphemy be damned!” said old Ben, “it’s a well-known fact that Jesus Christ wasn’t born of man or woman in the ordinary way, and all I am saying is that the same thing applies to the gentleman in question.”

“Well,” said the landlord, “I don’t care a sniff whether that’s true or not, but I’ve warned you. No names, no pack-drill. Argue away as you like as long as you don’t get too rowdy, but to mention Jesus Christ by name is blasphemy, and if you do it again, out you go.”

“The only thing to do,” said Philip, “is to ask him point blank if he comes in again.”

“You and he seemed to get on particularly well,” said old Ben, to the landlord.

“I liked him,” said the landlord. “I could do with a lot more customers like him these days. He seemed to have plenty of money and be of very lavish disposition.”

“Yes,” said old Ben, “I understand all that, but I was thinking of something quite different.”

“You would be,” retorted the landlord. “What was it?”

“Just that his kind seem to have one thing in common—a curious predilection for the company of publicans and sinners.”

“You’re just trying to be blasphemous again in a less direct way, you nasty old man,” said the landlord, “but I haven’t noticed that the gentleman in question was any different in that respect from anyone else here—and you’re all human enough, God knows.”

“Who’s being blasphemous now?” asked old Ben.

“Here he comes again at any rate,” said George.

“Well, I’ll ask him plump and plain,” said Philip, and as the stranger came forward, rose and said, “We’ve just been having a friendly argument about you. Do you mind if I ask you a simple, straightforward question?”

“Not in the least,” said the stranger, “but let’s have a drink first. Landlord, drinks round, please, on me.”

They all filled up except old Ben, who refused.

“Why won’t you have a drink with me?” asked the stranger.

“Because I don’t think it is right,” said old Ben.

“What?” asked the stranger, “the beer? There’s nothing the matter with it. It’s damned good beer. The landlord knows his business all right. Besides, he’s drinking the same in any case.”

“No,” said old Ben. “Not the beer. You.”

“What’s the matter with me?” asked the stranger.

“It’s like this,” said Philip, “we’ve just been having a little argument, as I said. The question I want to ask you is this—were you born in the ordinary way of a man or a woman, or were you not?”

“What an extraordinary question,” said the stranger. “How in the world did it arise?”

“Old Ben says you weren’t,” said Philip, “that’s why he won’t drink with you.”

“It doesn’t say very much for old Ben’s experience in the world, to refuse a perfectly good drink, no matter whether he’s right about my birth or no,” said the stranger, “but I am sure the idea did not originate with old Ben himself. Who started this hare?”

“You’re right there,” said old Ben. “It was my missus told me. She saw you across the jug-counter here the last time you were in.”

“How did she know?”

“Well, it’s hardly for me to say seeing she is my missus,” said old Ben. “I’m the last man in the world to base much on women’s nonsense as a rule. But one of the others will perhaps tell you that what my missus says is a good deal more worth paying attention to in such connections than most folk’s talk.”

“Yes,” said George, “we’re bound to admit that his missus is a very remarkable woman. She sees far into the future. Time and again, to the knowledge of all present, she has prophesied rightly.”

“There’s no question about that,” said the landlord.

“Does she drink?” asked the stranger.

“Keep your insulting remarks to yourself,” said old Ben.

“I meant no insult,” said the stranger. “I wasn’t inferring that her predictions were the by-products of fuddling. I only asked in a perfectly friendly way. Does she like a drink? The bearing of my question on the argument will be clear as soon as it is answered—in the affirmative, as I am sure it will be.”

“She’s very fond of a bottle of stout,” said the landlord.

“Well,” said the stranger, opening his wallet, and laying a ten shilling note on the counter, “will you kindly supply her with stout to the value of ten shillings with my compliments and best wishes?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Good gracious! Is that the time? I must be off. Good night, all.”

“Good night. Good night.”

“Just a moment,” said Philip. “The point is, was Ben’s missus right or wrong?”

The stranger had passed out, his hand on the handle of the swing door.

“Right,” said the stranger, and was gone.