The Fisher King [antikvár]

Exile is the wound of kingship. When someone, recently returned from a transatlantic business trip, spoke of seeing a man on crutches taking photographs in the back streets of Oregon City, the rumour at once spread that Saul Henchman had settled in America. There could be a prima facie case. Nothing positive had been heard of Henchman's movements since withdrawal from London two or three years before. He liked extracting pungent overplus from superficially unpromising essences. Incertitude, seclusion, concealment, were at once suggested by mere association of his name with so obscure a myth as that of the Fisher King. As against those things, Henchman was not the only lame man to own a camera. No assistant of either sex was mentioned as the adjunct in the circumstances to be expected. Nothing was said of the crippled photographer's unusual cast of countenance. In short, this might or might not have been Henchman. At best it was an even chance. Were the rumour correct, he was now a king over the water. The Fisher King label seems to date from the second 7