第11章 PART II(5)

That sound,light,rapid,persistent,and steady;her very life beating against his cheek,gave him a clear perception of secure ownership,strengthened his belief in his possession of that human being,was like an assurance of the vague felicity of the future.There were no regrets,no doubts,no hesitation now.

Had there ever been?All that seemed far away,ages ago--as unreal and pale as the fading memory of some delirium.All the anguish,suffering,strife of the past days;the humiliation and anger of his downfall;all that was an infamous nightmare,a thing born in sleep to be forgotten and leave no trace--and true life was this:this dreamy immobility with his head against her heart that beat so steadily.

He was broad awake now,with that tingling wakefulness of the tired body which succeeds to the few refreshing seconds of irresistible sleep,and his wide-open eyes looked absently at the doorway of Omar's hut.The reed walls glistened in the light of the fire,the smoke of which,thin and blue,drifted slanting in a succession of rings and spirals across the doorway,whose empty blackness seemed to him impenetrable and enigmatical like a curtain hiding vast spaces full of unexpected surprises.This was only his fancy,but it was absorbing enough to make him accept the sudden appearance of a head,coming out of the gloom,as part of his idle fantasy or as the beginning of another short dream,of another vagary of his overtired brain.A face with drooping eyelids,old,thin,and yellow,above the scattered white of a long beard that touched the earth.A head without a body,only a foot above the ground,turning slightly from side to side on the edge of the circle of light as if to catch the radiating heat of the fire on either cheek in succession.He watched it in passive amazement,growing distinct,as if coming nearer to him,and the confused outlines of a body crawling on all fours came out,creeping inch by inch towards the fire,with a silent and all but imperceptible movement.He was astounded at the appearance of that blind head dragging that crippled body behind,without a sound,without a change in the composure of the sightless face,which was plain one second,blurred the next in the play of the light that drew it to itself steadily.A mute face with a kriss between its lips.This was no dream.Omar's face.But why?What was he after?

He was too indolent in the happy languor of the moment to answer the question.It darted through his brain and passed out,leaving him free to listen again to the beating of her heart;to that precious and delicate sound which filled the quiet immensity of the night.Glancing upwards he saw the motionless head of the woman looking down at him in a tender gleam of liquid white between the long eyelashes,whose shadow rested on the soft curve of her cheek;and under the caress of that look,the uneasy wonder and the obscure fear of that apparition,crouching and creeping in turns towards the fire that was its guide,were lost--were drowned in the quietude of all his senses,as pain is drowned in the flood of drowsy serenity that follows upon a dose of opium.

He altered the position of his head by ever so little,and now could see easily that apparition which he had seen a minute before and had nearly forgotten already.It had moved closer,gliding and noiseless like the shadow of some nightmare,and now it was there,very near,motionless and still as if listening;one hand and one knee advanced;the neck stretched out and the head turned full towards the fire.He could see the emaciated face,the skin shiny over the prominent bones,the black shadows of the hollow temples and sunken cheeks,and the two patches of blackness over the eyes,over those eyes that were dead and could not see.What was the impulse which drove out this blind cripple into the night to creep and crawl towards that fire?He looked at him,fascinated,but the face,with its shifting lights and shadows,let out nothing,closed and impenetrable like a walled door.

Omar raised himself to a kneeling posture and sank on his heels,with his hands hanging down before him.Willems,looking out of his dreamy numbness,could see plainly the kriss between the thin lips,a bar across the face;the handle on one side where the polished wood caught a red gleam from the fire and the thin line of the blade running to a dull black point on the other.He felt an inward shock,which left his body passive in Aissa's embrace,but filled his breast with a tumult of powerless fear;and he perceived suddenly that it was his own death that was groping towards him;that it was the hate of himself and the hate of her love for him which drove this helpless wreck of a once brilliant and resolute pirate,to attempt a desperate deed that would be the glorious and supreme consolation of an unhappy old age.And while he looked,paralyzed with dread,at the father who had resumed his cautious advance--blind like fate,persistent like destiny--he listened with greedy eagerness to the heart of the daughter beating light,rapid,and steady against his head.

He was in the grip of horrible fear;of a fear whose cold hand robs its victim of all will and of all power;of all wish to escape,to resist,or to move;which destroys hope and despair alike,and holds the empty and useless carcass as if in a vise under the coming stroke.It was not the fear of death--he had faced danger before--it was not even the fear of that particular form of death.It was not the fear of the end,for he knew that the end would not come then.A movement,a leap,a shout would save him from the feeble hand of the blind old man,from that hand that even now was,with cautious sweeps along the ground,feeling for his body in the darkness.It was the unreasoning fear of this glimpse into the unknown things,into those motives,impulses,desires he had ignored,but that had lived in the breasts of despised men,close by his side,and were revealed to him for a second,to be hidden again behind the black mists of doubt and deception.It was not death that frightened him:it was the horror of bewildered life where he could understand nothing and nobody round him;where he could guide,control,comprehend nothing and no one--not even himself.

He felt a touch on his side.That contact,lighter than the caress of a mother's hand on the cheek of a sleeping child,had for him the force of a crushing blow.Omar had crept close,and now,kneeling above him,held the kriss in one hand while the other skimmed over his jacket up towards his breast in gentle touches;but the blind face,still turned to the heat of the fire,was set and immovable in its aspect of stony indifference to things it could not hope to see.With an effort Willems took his eyes off the deathlike mask and turned them up to Aissa's head.She sat motionless as if she had been part of the sleeping earth,then suddenly he saw her big sombre eyes open out wide in a piercing stare and felt the convulsive pressure of her hands pinning his arms along his body.A second dragged itself out,slow and bitter,like a day of mourning;a second full of regret and grief for that faith in her which took its flight from the shattered ruins of his trust.She was holding him!She too!He felt her heart give a great leap,his head slipped down on her knees,he closed his eyes and there was nothing.Nothing!It was as if she had died;as though her heart had leaped out into the night,abandoning him,defenceless and alone,in an empty world.

His head struck the ground heavily as she flung him aside in her sudden rush.He lay as if stunned,face up and,daring not move,did not see the struggle,but heard the piercing shriek of mad fear,her low angry words;another shriek dying out in a moan.

When he got up at last he looked at Aissa kneeling over her father,he saw her bent back in the effort of holding him down,Omar's contorted limbs,a hand thrown up above her head and her quick movement grasping the wrist.He made an impulsive step forward,but she turned a wild face to him and called out over her shoulder--"Keep back!Do not come near!Do not..."And he stopped short,his arms hanging lifelessly by his side,as if those words had changed him into stone.She was afraid of his possible violence,but in the unsettling of all his convictions he was struck with the frightful thought that she preferred to kill her father all by herself;and the last stage of their struggle,at which he looked as though a red fog had filled his eyes,loomed up with an unnatural ferocity,with a sinister meaning;like something monstrous and depraved,forcing its complicity upon him under the cover of that awful night.He was horrified and grateful;drawn irresistibly to her--and ready to run away.He could not move at first--then he did not want to stir.He wanted to see what would happen.He saw her lift,with a tremendous effort,the apparently lifeless body into the hut,and remained standing,after they disappeared,with the vivid image in his eyes of that head swaying on her shoulder,the lower jaw hanging down,collapsed,passive,meaningless,like the head of a corpse.

Then after a while he heard her voice speaking inside,harshly,with an agitated abruptness of tone;and in answer there were groans and broken murmurs of exhaustion.She spoke louder.He heard her saying violently--"No!No!Never!"And again a plaintive murmur of entreaty as of some one begging for a supreme favour,with a last breath.Then she said--"Never!I would sooner strike it into my own heart."She came out,stood panting for a short moment in the doorway,and then stepped into the firelight.Behind her,through the darkness came the sound of words calling the vengeance of heaven on her head,rising higher,shrill,strained,repeating the curse over and over again--till the voice cracked in a passionate shriek that died out into hoarse muttering ending with a deep and prolonged sigh.She stood facing Willems,one hand behind her back,the other raised in a gesture compelling attention,and she listened in that attitude till all was still inside the hut.

Then she made another step forward and her hand dropped slowly.

"Nothing but misfortune,"she whispered,absently,to herself.

"Nothing but misfortune to us who are not white."The anger and excitement died out of her face,and she looked straight at Willems with an intense and mournful gaze.

He recovered his senses and his power of speech with a sudden start.

"Aissa,"he exclaimed,and the words broke out through his lips with hurried nervousness."Aissa!How can I live here?Trust me.Believe in me.Let us go away from here.Go very far away!Very far;you and I!"

He did not stop to ask himself whether he could escape,and how,and where.He was carried away by the flood of hate,disgust,and contempt of a white man for that blood which is not his blood,for that race which is not his race;for the brown skins;for the hearts false like the sea,blacker than night.This feeling of repulsion overmastered his reason in a clear conviction of the impossibility for him to live with her people.

He urged her passionately to fly with him because out of all that abhorred crowd he wanted this one woman,but wanted her away from them,away from that race of slaves and cut-throats from which she sprang.He wanted her for himself--far from everybody,in some safe and dumb solitude.And as he spoke his anger and contempt rose,his hate became almost fear;and his desire of her grew immense,burning,illogical and merciless;crying to him through all his senses;louder than his hate,stronger than his fear,deeper than his contempt--irresistible and certain like death itself.

Standing at a little distance,just within the light--but on the threshold of that darkness from which she had come--she listened,one hand still behind her back,the other arm stretched out with the hand half open as if to catch the fleeting words that rang around her,passionate,menacing,imploring,but all tinged with the anguish of his suffering,all hurried by the impatience that gnawed his breast.And while she listened she felt a slowing down of her heart-beats as the meaning of his appeal grew clearer before her indignant eyes,as she saw with rage and pain the edifice of her love,her own work,crumble slowly to pieces,destroyed by that man's fears,by that man's falseness.Her memory recalled the days by the brook when she had listened to other words--to other thoughts--to promises and to pleadings for other things,which came from that man's lips at the bidding of her look or her smile,at the nod of her head,at the whisper of her lips.Was there then in his heart something else than her image,other desires than the desires of her love,other fears than the fear of losing her?How could that be?Had she grown ugly or old in a moment?She was appalled,surprised and angry with the anger of unexpected humiliation;and her eyes looked fixedly,sombre and steady,at that man born in the land of violence and of evil wherefrom nothing but misfortune comes to those who are not white.Instead of thinking of her caresses,instead of forgetting all the world in her embrace,he was thinking yet of his people;of that people that steals every land,masters every sea,that knows no mercy and no truth--knows nothing but its own strength.O man of strong arm and of false heart!Go with him to a far country,be lost in the throng of cold eyes and false hearts--lose him there!Never!He was mad--mad with fear;but he should not escape her!She would keep him here a slave and a master;here where he was alone with her;where he must live for her--or die.She had a right to his love which was of her making,to the love that was in him now,while he spoke those words without sense.She must put between him and other white men a barrier of hate.He must not only stay,but he must also keep his promise to Abdulla,the fulfilment of which would make her safe.

"Aissa,let us go!With you by my side I would attack them with my naked hands.Or no!Tomorrow we shall be outside,on board Abdulla's ship.You shall come with me and then I could...If the ship went ashore by some chance,then we could steal a canoe and escape in the confusion...You are not afraid of the sea...of the sea that would give me freedom..."He was approaching her gradually with extended arms,while he pleaded ardently in incoherent words that ran over and tripped each other in the extreme eagerness of his speech.She stepped back,keeping her distance,her eyes on his face,watching on it the play of his doubts and of his hopes with a piercing gaze,that seemed to search out the innermost recesses of his thought;and it was as if she had drawn slowly the darkness round her,wrapping herself in its undulating folds that made her indistinct and vague.He followed her step by step till at last they both stopped,facing each other under the big tree of the enclosure.

The solitary exile of the forests,great,motionless and solemn in his abandonment,left alone by the life of ages that had been pushed away from him by those pigmies that crept at his foot,towered high and straight above their heads.He seemed to look on,dispassionate and imposing,in his lonely greatness,spreading his branches wide in a gesture of lofty protection,as if to hide them in the sombre shelter of innumerable leaves;as if moved by the disdainful compassion of the strong,by the scornful pity of an aged giant,to screen this struggle of two human hearts from the cold scrutiny of glittering stars.

The last cry of his appeal to her mercy rose loud,vibrated under the sombre canopy,darted among the boughs startling the white birds that slept wing to wing--and died without an echo,strangled in the dense mass of unstirring leaves.He could not see her face,but he heard her sighs and the distracted murmur of indistinct words.Then,as he listened holding his breath,she exclaimed suddenly--"Have you heard him?He has cursed me because I love you.You brought me suffering and strife--and his curse.And now you want to take me far away where I would lose you,lose my life;because your love is my life now.What else is there?Do not move,"she cried violently,as he stirred a little--"do not speak!Take this!Sleep in peace!"He saw a shadowy movement of her arm.Something whizzed past and struck the ground behind him,close to the fire.Instinctively he turned round to look at it.A kriss without its sheath lay by the embers;a sinuous dark object,looking like something that had been alive and was now crushed,dead and very inoffensive;a black wavy outline very distinct and still in the dull red glow.

Without thinking he moved to pick it up,stooping with the sad and humble movement of a beggar gathering the alms flung into the dust of the roadside.Was this the answer to his pleading,to the hot and living words that came from his heart?Was this the answer thrown at him like an insult,that thing made of wood and iron,insignificant and venomous,fragile and deadly?He held it by the blade and looked at the handle stupidly for a moment before he let it fall again at his feet;and when he turned round he faced only the night:--the night immense,profound and quiet;a sea of darkness in which she had disappeared without leaving a trace.

He moved forward with uncertain steps,putting out both his hands before him with the anguish of a man blinded suddenly.

"Aissa!"he cried--"come to me at once."

He peered and listened,but saw nothing,heard nothing.After a while the solid blackness seemed to wave before his eyes like a curtain disclosing movements but hiding forms,and he heard light and hurried footsteps,then the short clatter of the gate leading to Lakamba's private enclosure.He sprang forward and brought up against the rough timber in time to hear the words,"Quick!

Quick!"and the sound of the wooden bar dropped on the other side,securing the gate.With his arms thrown up,the palms against the paling,he slid down in a heap on the ground.

"Aissa,"he said,pleadingly,pressing his lips to a chink between the stakes."Aissa,do you hear me?Come back!I will do what you want,give you all you desire--if I have to set the whole Sambir on fire and put that fire out with blood.Only come back.Now!At once!Are you there?Do you hear me?Aissa!"On the other side there were startled whispers of feminine voices;a frightened little laugh suddenly interrupted;some woman's admiring murmur--"This is brave talk!"Then after a short silence Aissa cried--"Sleep in peace--for the time of your going is near.Now I am afraid of you.Afraid of your fear.When you return with Tuan Abdulla you shall be great.You will find me here.And there will be nothing but love.Nothing else!--Always!--Till we die!"He listened to the shuffle of footsteps going away,and staggered to his feet,mute with the excess of his passionate anger against that being so savage and so charming;loathing her,himself,everybody he had ever known;the earth,the sky,the very air he drew into his oppressed chest;loathing it because it made him live,loathing her because she made him suffer.But he could not leave that gate through which she had passed.He wandered a little way off,then swerved round,came back and fell down again by the stockade only to rise suddenly in another attempt to break away from the spell that held him,that brought him back there,dumb,obedient and furious.And under the immobilized gesture of lofty protection in the branches outspread wide above his head,under the high branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the shelter of countless leaves,he tossed like a grain of dust in a whirlwind--sinking and rising--round and round--always near that gate.All through the languid stillness of that night he fought with the impalpable;he fought with the shadows,with the darkness,with the silence.He fought without a sound,striking futile blows,dashing from side to side;obstinate,hopeless,and always beaten back;like a man bewitched within the invisible sweep of a magic circle.