Selected Short Stories of Saiki - Famous Famous Translations (Illustrated Edition)

Author: (British) Saki / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: Reginald on Christmas Gifts I hope everyone can understand this absolutely clearly (Reginald said), I don’t want a "Prince of Wales" prayer book as a Christmas gift. The more people who know this fact, the better. In the art of gift-giving (Reginald continued), some skill-based education courses should be offered. It seems that no one has the slightest idea of what anyone else wants, and the prevailing notions on this matter can hardly bring honor to a civilized society. For example, female relatives in the countryside “know that ties are always useful,” so they give you a terrible striped tie, and you can only wear it privately or on Tuttle Street. If she used it to tie up a bush of gooseberries, it might actually be “useful”—both for supporting the branches and scaring away birds, a win-win situation—because the fact of the matter is: the well-traveled common robin has better aesthetic taste than the average rural female relative. Then, there are those aunts and uncles. They are always a difficult group when it comes to gifts. The problem is that none of their aunts are young. By the time you finally educate them to realize that residents in the West End don’t wear red woolen mittens, they are either dead, or they’re arguing with the whole family, or they’re doing something equally thoughtless. This is why well-trained aunts are so scarce. Take my Aunt Agatha, for example. Last Christmas, she gave me a pair of gloves, and she took the trouble to choose a pair that was worn out and had the exact number of buttons. But—oh, they were size nine! I gave the gloves to a boy I privately loathed: he certainly didn’t wear them, but he might have—this is where the cruelty of death comes in. It was almost as considerate as sending white flowers to his funeral. Of course, I wrote to my aunt that the gloves were exactly what I had been missing all along, and they could make our lives bloom like roses; I was also afraid she’d think I was frivolous—she’s from the North, where people live in constant fear of heaven and the Duke of Durham. (Reginald feigned an air of knowing everything about politics, which was a perfect excuse for him not to talk about it.) Aunts with a bit of foreign blood are quite satisfactory in understanding these matters; but if you can’t choose an aunt, the smart thing to do in the long run is to pick out the gift yourself and send the bill to her. Even your friends in your own circle, who should know you better, have some strange misconceptions about this. I’m not collecting cheap editions of the Rubaiyat. I’ve given the four copies I’ve recently received to the elevator boy, and I like to imagine he’ll read the Fitzgerald notes to his elderly mother. Elevator boys always have elderly mothers; I suppose it’s a gesture of kindness on their part. Personally, I can’t see what’s so difficult about choosing a suitable gift. No properly brought-up boy would fail to appreciate the ornate liqueur bottles so solemnly displayed in Morrell’s windows—nobody would blame you if you managed to get one. And the moment you can’t be sure whether it contains mint cordial or port wine is always thrilling—just like when you see your partner lay down their cards at bridge and you’re trembling with excitement. Everyone talks about the benefits of the decline of Christianity, but the religion that created green port wine will never truly die. Of course, there are also liqueur glasses, candied fruits, velvet curtains, and countless other essentials of life that can make for a thoughtful gift—not necessarily something extravagant, like paying someone’s bills or buying them something truly lovely. I’m no better than the good woman in the Bible; my value is no higher than a ruby. Even if you could find such a woman, she would certainly be a great nuisance during the Christmas season; probably only a blank check could solve that problem. It might even be better if she were extinct. What’s charming about me (Reginald concluded) is that I’m content with receiving a few gifts. But my bottom line is a "Prince of Wales" prayer book. P5-6