coffee

For throughout Under the Volcano we cannot escape from the pain of composition--it smarts perhaps more because the autobiographical protagonist is not a writer, or he hasn't touched his book on alchemy for months, has still a formidable collection of books from which to draw inspiration and facts but not his own misery. This is his contention, finally, with learning: he has reached his own apex though he is no wizard, he has put his sources together on paper while increasing his tolerance for tequila, realizing mescal has as much of the philosopher's stone as he will ever acquire. So much depends on the right mixture of alcohol and sleep deprivation--he says it himself, this consular Firmin, in a conversation with his younger, non-biological French brother.

"You are interfering with my great battle," the Consul said, gazing past M. Laruelle at an advertisement at the foot of the fountain: Peter Lorre en Las Manos de Orlac: a las 6:30 P.M. "I have to have a drink or two now, myself--so long as it isn't mescal of course--else I shall become confused, like yourself."

"--the truth is, I suppose, that sometimes, when you've calculated the amount exactly, you do see more clearly," M. Laruelle was admitting a minute later.

"Against death." The Consul sank back easily in his chair. "My battle for the survival of the human consciousness." (227)

The start of this drinking session began with the Consul's promise, after M. said No to tequila:

"--like Oxygenee, and petrol...If I ever start to drink that stuff, Geoffrey, you'll know I'm done for."

"It's mescal with me...Tequila, no, that is healthful...and delightful. Just like beer. Good for you. But if I ever start to drink mescal again, I'm afraid, yes, that would be the end," the Consul said dreamily." (226)

Until this point mescal has not so obviously been omitted as the bouts of elation and self-laceration muddle Lowry's brilliantly-worded landscape. I ought to warn the reader against looking back too far in the text; the language will stop you cold. The ingredients to the Consul's ontological stew will be revealed as we progress to the end, which from page 227 is a very long way off indeed. The crucial question--has he not been drinking mescal the whole time?--must be answered thus: just wait until he breaks his promise not to drink mescal.