CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Doddie was rapt into the seventh heaven of delight when VanOudijck told her that Addie had asked her hand in marriage; and,when she heard that mamma had been her advocate, she embraced Leonieboisterously, with the emotional spontaneity of her temperament, oncemore surrendering to the attraction which Leonie had exercised uponher for years. Doddie now at once forgot everything that had annoyedher in the excessive intimacy between mamma and Addie, when he used tohang over her chair and whisper to her. She had never believed whatnow and again she had heard, because Addie had always assured herthat it was not true. And she was ever so happy that she was going tolive with Addie, he and she together, at Patjaram. For Patjaram washer ideal of what a home should be. The big house, full of sons anddaughters and children and animals, on all of whom the same kindnessand cordiality and boredom were lavished, while behind those sons anddaughters shone the halo of their Solo descent: the big house built onto the sugar factory was to her the ideal residence; and she felt akinwith all its little traditions: the spices, crushed and ground by ababu squatting behind her chair, while she sat at lunch, representedto her the supreme indulgence of the palate; the races at Ngadjiwa,attended by the leisurely dawdling procession of all those women, withthe babus behind them, carrying the handkerchief, the scent-bottle,the opera-glasses, were her non plus ultra of elegance; she loved theold dowager raden-aju; and she had given herself to Addie, entirely,without reserve, from the first moment of seeing him, when she was alittle girl of thirteen and he a boy of eighteen. It was because ofhim that she had resisted with all her energy whenever papa proposedto send her to Europe, to boarding-school in Brussels; because ofhim she had never cared for any place except Labuwangi, Ngadjiwa orPatjaram; because of him she was prepared to live and die at Patjaram.
It was because of him that she had felt all her little jealousies, whenher girl-friends told her that he was in love with this one or carryingon with that one; because of him she would always know those jealousiesgreat and small, her whole life long. He would be her life, Patjaramher world, sugar her interest, because it was Addie's interest. Becauseof him she would long for many children, very many children, who wouldbe really brown: not white, like papa and mamma and Theo, but brown,because her own mother was brown; and she herself was a delicate brown,while Addie was a beautiful bronze colour, a Moorish brown; and, afterthe example set at Patjaram, her children, her numerous children,would be brought up in the shadow of the factory, in an atmosphere ofsugar, with a view to their planting the fields, when they grew up,and milling the sugar-cane and restoring the fortunes of the familyto their former brilliancy. And she was as happy as a girl in lovecould imagine herself to be, seeing her ideal, Addie and Patjaram,so closely attainable and not for a second realizing how her happinesshad come about, through the word which Leonie, almost unconsciously,had uttered, as though by autosuggestion, at the supreme moment. Oh,now she need no longer seek the dark corners, the dark rice-fieldswith Addie; now she was constantly kissing him in broad daylight,leaning radiantly against him, feeling his warm, virile body, whichwas hers and would soon be hers entirely; now her eyes yearned upto him, for all to see, for she no longer had the maidenly power ofhiding her feelings from others; now he was hers, hers, hers!
And he, with the good-natured surrender of a young sultan, sufferedher to caress his shoulders and knees, suffered her to kiss him andstroke his hair, suffered her arm around his neck, accepting it all asa tribute due to him, accustomed as he was to that feminine tribute oflove, he who had been fondled and caressed from the time when he was alittle, chubby boy, from the time when he was carried by Tidjem, hisbabu, who was in love with him, from the time when he used to romp,in his little pyjamas, with little sisters and cousins, all of whomwere in love with him. All this tribute he accepted good-naturedly,though secretly surprised and shocked by what Leonie had done.... Andyet, he argued, it would perhaps anyhow have happened of itself,some day, because Doddie was so fond of him. He would rather haveremained unmarried: though unmarried, he nevertheless had all the homelife at Patjaram that he wanted and retained his liberty to bestowabundant love upon women, in his good-natured way. And he was alreadyingenuously reflecting that it would not do, that it would never do toremain faithful to Doddie long, because he was really too good-naturedand the women were all so crazy. Doddie must get used to it lateron, must learn to accept it; and, he reflected, after all, in Solo,in the palace, it was the same thing, with his uncles and cousins....
Had Van Oudijck believed what Leonie said? He himself did not knowwhether he did or not. Doddie had accused Leonie of being in love withAddie; Theo, that morning, when Van Oudijck asked him where Leonie was,had answered, curtly:
"At Mrs. van Does' ... with Addie."
He had glared at his son, but asked no further questions; he hadmerely driven straight to Mrs. van Does' house. And he had actuallyfound his wife with young de Luce, found him on his knees before her;but she had said so quietly:
"Adrian de Luce is asking me for your daughter's hand."
No, he himself did not know whether he believed her or not. His wifehad answered so quietly; and now, during the first few days of theengagement, she was so calm, smiling just as usual.... He now forthe first time saw that strange side of her, that invulnerability,as though nothing could harm her. Did he suspect, behind this wallof invulnerability, the ironical feminine secrecy of her silentlysmouldering inner life? It was as though, with his recent nervoussuspicion, with his restless mood, in the rankness of superstition thatled him to pry and listen to the haunting silence, he had learnt tosee around him things to which he had been blind in his burly strengthas a ruler and high and mighty chief official. And his longing to makecertain of the mysteries at which he was guessing became so violent,in his morbid irritability, that he grew more pleasant and kinder tohis son, though this time it arose not from the spontaneous paternalaffection which, when all was said, he had always felt for Theo, butfrom curiosity, to hear all that he had to say, to make Theo speakout. And Theo, who hated Leonie, who hated his father, who hated Addie,who hated Doddie, in his general hatred of all those about him, whohated life with the stubborn ideas of a fair-haired Eurasian, longingfor money and beautiful women, angry because the world, life, riches,happiness--as he pictured it to himself in his petty fashion--didnot come rushing to him, falling into his arms, falling on his neck:Theo was willing enough to squeeze out his words drop by drop, likegall and wormwood, silently revelling in the sight of his father'ssuffering. And he allowed Van Oudijck to divine, very gradually,that it was true, after all, about mamma and Addie.
In the intimacy that sprang up between the father and son out ofsuspicion and hatred, Theo spoke of his brother in the compound, saidthat he knew papa sent him money and therefore acknowledged that thething was true. And Van Oudijck, no longer certain, no longer knowingthe truth, admitted that it might be so, admitted that it was so. Then,remembering the anonymous letters--which had only lately ceased, sincehe had been sending money to that half-caste who ventured to assumehis name--he also remembered the libels which he had often read inthem and which, at the time, he had always cast from him as so muchfilth; he remembered the two names, those of his wife and of Theohimself, which had so constantly been coupled in them. His distrustand suspicion blazed up like flames, like a now inextinguishable fire,which scorched every other thought or feeling ... until at last he wasno longer able to restrain himself and spoke roundly to Theo on thesubject. He did not trust Theo's indignation and denial. And he nowtrusted nothing and nobody, he distrusted his wife and his childrenand his officials; he distrusted his cook....
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Then, like a clap of thunder, the rumour ran through Labuwangi that VanOudijck and his wife were going to be divorced. Leonie went to Europe,very suddenly, really without any one's knowing why and without takingleave of anybody. And it caused a great scandal in the little town:people talked of nothing else and talked of it even as far away asSurabaya, as far away as Bat
avia. Van Oudijck alone was silent; and,with his back a little more bowed, went his way, working on, leadinghis ordinary life. He had abandoned his principles and assisted Theoto obtain a job, in order to be rid of him. He preferred to haveDoddie staying at Patjaram, where the De Luce women would help herwith her trousseau. He preferred Doddie to get married quickly andto get married at Patjaram. In his great, empty house he now longedfor nothing but solitude, a spacious, cheerless solitude. He would nolonger have the table laid for him: they brought him a plateful of riceand a cup of coffee in his office. And he felt ill, his zeal lessened;a dull indifference gnawed at his vitals. He delegated all the work,all the district to Eldersma; and, when Eldersma, after not sleepingfor weeks, half-crazy with nervous strain, told the resident that thedoctor wanted to send him to Europe with a certificate of urgency,Van Oudijck lost all his courage. He said that he too felt ill anddone for. And he applied to the governor-general for leave and wentto Batavia. He said nothing about it, but he felt certain that hewould never return to Labuwangi. And he went away, quietly, withnot a glance at what he was leaving behind him, at his great fieldof activity, which he had so lovingly organized. The administrationremained in the hands of the assistant-resident at Ngadjiwa. It wasgenerally believed that Van Oudijck wished to see the governor-generalabout certain questions of importance, but suddenly the news arrivedthat he was proposing to retire. It was not credited at first, butthe report was confirmed. Van Oudijck did not return.
He had gone, without casting a glance behind him, in a strangeindifference, an indifference which had gradually corroded the verymarrow of this once so robust and practical man, who had alwaysremained young in his capacity for work. He felt this indifferencefor Labuwangi, which, when there was a question of his promotionto resident of the first class, he had thought himself incapable ofleaving except with the greatest regret; he felt this indifferencefor his domestic circle, which no longer existed. His soul wasfilled with a gradual blight; it was withering, dying. It seemed tohim that all his powers were melting away in the tepid stagnation ofthis indifference. At Batavia he vegetated for a while in his hotel;and it was generally assumed that he would go to Europe.
Eldersma had already gone, sick almost unto death; and Eva had beenunable to accompany him, with the little boy, because she was down witha bad attack of malarial fever. When she was more or less convalescent,she sold up her house, with a view to going to Batavia and stayingthere for three weeks with friends before her boat sailed. She leftLabuwangi with mixed feelings. She had suffered much there, buthad also reflected much; and she had cherished a deep feeling forVan Helderen, a pure, radiant feeling such as could, she was sure,shine forth only once in a lifetime. She took leave of him as of anordinary friend, in the presence of others, and gave him no more thana pressure of the hand. But she felt so profoundly sad because ofthat pressure of the hand, that commonplace farewell, that the sobsrose in her throat. That evening, left to herself, she did not weep,but sat in her room at the hotel, staring for hours silently beforeher. Her husband was gone, was ill: she did not know how he would bewhen she saw him, whether indeed she would ever see him again. Europe,it was true, after her years in India, stretched its shores smilinglybefore her, held forth the vision of its cities, its culture, itsart; but she was afraid of Europe. An unspoken fear lest she shouldhave lost ground intellectually made her almost dread the circle inher parents' house, to which she would have returned in a month'stime. She trembled at the thought that people would consider hercolonial in her manners and ideas, in her speech and dress, in theeducation of her child; and this made her feel shy in anticipation,despite all her pose as a smart, artistic woman. Certainly she nolonger played the piano as well as she did; she would not dare toplay at the Hague. And she thought that it might be a good thing tostay in Paris for a fortnight and brush off her cobwebs a little,before showing herself in the Hague....
But Eldersma was too ill.... And how would she find him, her husband,so much changed, her once robust Frisian husband, now tired out,worn out, yellow as parchment, careless of his appearance, mutteringgloomily when he spoke?... But a gentle vision of a refreshing Germanlandscape, of Swiss snows, of music at Bayreuth, of art in Italydawned before her staring gaze; and she was herself reunited to hersick husband. No longer united in life, but united under the yokeof life, the yoke which they had shouldered together, once and forall.... Then there was the education of her child! Oh, to save herchild, to get him away from India! And yet he, Van Helderen, had neverbeen out of India. But then he was himself, he was an exception....
She had bidden him good-bye.... She must make up her mind to forgethim.... Europe was waiting for her ... with her husband ... andher child....
Two days later she was at Batavia. She hardly knew the city; shehad been there once or twice, years ago, when she first came out. AtLabuwangi, in that little, outlying district, Batavia had graduallybecome glorified in her imagination into an essentially Eurasiancapital, a centre of Eurasian civilization, a dim vision of statelyavenues and squares, surrounded by great, wealthy, porticoed villas,thronged with smart carriages and horses. She had always heard somuch about Batavia....
She was now staying with friends. The husband was at the head of abig commercial firm; their house was one of the handsomest villas onthe Koningsplein. And she had at once been very strangely impressed bythe funereal character, by the deadly melancholy of this great town ofvillas, where thousands of varied lives are waging a silent, feverishbattle for a future of moneyed repose. It was as though all thosehouses, gloomy despite their white pillars and their grand fronts,were frowning like faces careworn with troubles that sought to hidethemselves behind a pretentious display of broad leaves and clusteringpalms. The houses, however much exposed, amidst their pillars, howeverseemingly open, remained closed; the occupants were never seen. Only inthe mornings, as she went on her errands along the shops in Rijswijkand Molenvliet, which, with a few French names among them, triedto give the impression of a southern shopping-centre, of Europeanluxury, Eva would see the exodus to the Old Town of the white men,white-faced, dressed in white; and even their eyes seemed pale withbrooding anxieties, fixed upon a future which they all calculatedin so many decades or lustres: so much made, in this year or that;and then away, away home from India to Europe. It was as thoughit were not malaria that was undermining them, but another fever;and she felt clearly that it was undermining their unacclimatizedconstitutions, their souls, as though they were trying to skip thatday and reach the to-morrow, or the day after, days which broughtthem a little nearer to their goal, because they secretly feared todie before that goal was attained. The exodus filled the trams withits white burden of mortality. Many, already well off, but not yetrich enough for their purpose, drove in their victorias or buggiesto the Harmonie Club and there took the tram, to spare their horses.
And in the Old Town, in the old, aristocratic houses of the firstDutch merchants, still built in the Dutch style, with oak staircasesleading to upper floors which now, during the eastern monsoon, werestagnant with a dense, oppressive heat, like a tangible element, whichstifled the breath, the white men bent over their work, constantlybeholding between their thirsty glance and the white desert of theirpapers the dawning mirage of the future, the refreshing oasis of theirmaterialistic illusion: within such and such a time, money and thenoff ... off ... to Europe.... And, in the city of villas, around theKoningsplein, along the green avenues, the women hid themselves, thewomen remained unseen, the whole livelong day. The hot day passed,the time of beneficent coolness came, the time from half-past fiveto seven. The men returned home dog-tired and sat down to rest; andthe women, tired with their housekeeping, with their children andwith nothing at all, with a life of doing nothing, a life without anyinterest, tired with the deadliness of their existence, rested besidethe men. That hour of beneficent coolness meant rest, rest after thebath, in undress, around the tea-table, a short, momentary rest, forthe fearsome hour of seven was at hand, when it was already dark, whenone had to go to
a reception. A reception implied dressing in stuffyEuropean clothes, implied a brief but dreadful display of Europeandrawing-room manners and social graces, but it also implied meetingthis person and that and striving to achieve yet one advance towardsthe mirage of the future: money and ultimate rest in Europe. And, afterthe town of villas had lain in the sun all day, gloomy and wan, likea dead city--with the men away in the Old Town and the women hidden intheir houses--a few carriages now passed one another in the dark, roundthe Koningsplein and along the green avenues, a few European-lookingpeople, going to a reception. While, around the Koningsplein and inthe green avenues, all the other villas persisted in this funerealdesolation and remained filled with gloomy darkness, the house wherethe party was given shone with lamps among the palm-trees. And forthe rest the deadliness lingered on every hand, the sombre broodinglay over the houses wherein the tired people were hiding, the menexhausted with work, the women exhausted with doing nothing....
"Wouldn't you like a drive, Eva?" asked her hostess, Mrs. DeHarteman, a little Dutchwoman, white as wax and always tired out byher children. "But I'd rather not come with you, if you don't mind:I'd rather wait for Harteman. Else he'd find nobody at home. So yougo, with your little boy."
So Eva, with her little man, went driving in the De Hartemans'"chariot." It was the cool hour of the day, before darkness setin. She met two or three carriages: Mrs. This and Mrs. That, whowere known to drive in the afternoon. In the Koningsplein she sawa lady and gentleman walking: the So-and-Sos; they always walked,as all Batavia knew. She met no one else. No one. At that beneficenthour, the villa-town remained desolate as a city of the dead, asa vast mausoleum amid green trees. And yet it was a boon, afterthe overwhelming heat, to see the Koningsplein stretching like agigantic meadow, where the parched grass was turning green with thefirst rains, while the houses showed so far away, so very far away,in their hedged-in gardens, that it was like being in the country,amid wood and fields and pastures, with the wide sky overhead, fromwhich the lungs now breathed in air, as though for the first time thatday, breathed in oxygen and life: that wide sky, displaying every dayas it were a varying wealth of colours, an excess of sunset fires,a glorious death of the scorching day, as though the sun itself werebursting into torrents of gold between the lilac-hued and threateningrain-clouds. And it was so spacious and so delightful, it was suchan immense boon that it actually made up for the day.
But there was no one to see it except the two or three people who wereknown in Batavia to go driving or walking. A violet twilight rose;then the night fell with one deep shadow; and the town, which hadbeen deathlike all day, with its frown of brooding gloom, droppedwearily asleep, like a city of care....
It used to be different, said old Mrs. De Harteman, the mother-in-lawof Eva's friend. They were gone nowadays, the pleasant houses withtheir Indian hospitality, their open tables, their sincere and cordialwelcomes, as if the colonist's character had in some sense altered,had in some way been overcast by the vicissitudes of chance, by hisdisappointment at not speedily achieving his aim, his material aimof wealth. And, he being thus embittered, it seemed that his nervesbecame irritable, just as his soul became overcast and gloomy andhis body lethargic and unable to withstand the destructive climate....
And Eva did not find Batavia the ideal city of Eurasian civilizationwhich she had pictured it at Labuwangi. In this great money-grubbingcentre, every trace of spontaneity had vanished and life becamedegraded to an everlasting seclusion in the office or at home. Peoplenever saw each other save at receptions; any other conversation tookplace over the telephone.
The abuse of the telephone for domestic purposes killed all agreeableintimacy among friends. People no longer saw one another; they nolonger had any need to dress and send for the carriage, the "chariot";for they chatted over the telephone, in sarong and kabaai, in pyjamas,almost without stirring a limb. The telephone was close at hand andthe bell was constantly ringing in the back-verandah. People rang oneanother up for nothing, for the mere fun of ringing up. Young Mrs. DeHarteman had an intimate friend, a young woman whom she never sawand to whom she telephoned daily, for half an hour at a time. Shesat down to it, so it did not tire her. And she laughed and jokedwith her friend, without having to dress and without moving. She didthe same with other friends: she paid her visits by telephone. Shedid her shopping by telephone. Eva had not been accustomed atLabuwangi to this everlasting tinkling and ringing up, which killedall conversation and, in the back-verandah, revealed one half of adialogue--the replies being inaudible to any one sitting away fromthe instrument--in the form of an incessant, one-sided jabbering. Itgot on her nerves and drove her to her room. And, amid the boredomof this life, full of care and inward brooding for the husband andpenetrated by the chatter of the wife's telephonic conversations,Eva would be surprised suddenly to hear of a special excitement:a fancy-fair and the rehearsals of an amateur operatic performance.
She herself attended one of these rehearsals during her visit andwas astonished by the really first-rate execution, as though thosemusical amateurs had put the strength of despair into it, to dispelthe tedium of the Batavian evenings. For the Italian opera had left;and she had to laugh at the heading "Amusements" in the Javabode,which amusements as a rule were limited to a choice of three orfour meetings of shareholders. This too used to be different, saidold Mrs. De Harteman, who remembered the excellent French opera oftwenty-five years ago, which, it was true, cost thousands, but forwhich the thousands were always forthcoming. No, people no longer hadthe money to amuse themselves at night. They sometimes gave a veryexpensive dinner, or else went to a meeting of shareholders. Eva, intruth, considered Labuwangi a much livelier place. True, she herselfhad largely contributed to the liveliness, at the instigation of VanOudijck, who was glad to make the capital of his district a pleasant,cheerful little town. And she came to the conclusion that, afterall, she preferred a small, up-country place, with a few cultured,agreeable European inhabitants--provided that they harmonized with oneanother and did not quarrel overmuch in the intimacy of their commonlife--to this pretentious, pompous, dreary Batavia. The only lifewas among the military element. Only the officers' houses were litup in the evening. Apart from this, the town lay as though moribund,the whole long, hot day, with its frown of care, with its invisiblepopulation of people looking towards the future: a future of money,a future perhaps even more of rest, in Europe.
And she longed to get away. Batavia suffocated her, notwithstandingher daily drive round the spacious Koningsplein. She had only onewish left, a melancholy wish: to say good-bye to Van Oudijck. Herpeculiar temperament, that of a smart, artistic woman, had, verystrangely, appreciated and felt the fascination of his character,that of a simple, practical man. She had perhaps, only for a moment,felt something for him, deep down within herself, a friendship whichformed a sort of contrast with her friendship for Van Helderen,an appreciation of his fine human qualities rather than a feelingof Platonic community of souls. She had felt a sympathetic pity forhim in those strange, mysterious days, for the man living alone inhis enormous house, with the strange happenings creeping in uponhim. She had felt intensely sorry for him when his wife, kickingaside her exalted position, had gone away in an insolent mood,arousing a storm of scandal, nobody knew exactly why: his wife,at one time always so correct in her demeanour, notwithstanding allher depravity, but gradually devoured by the canker of the strangehappenings until she was no longer able to restrain herself, baring theinnermost secrets of her profligate soul with cynical indifference. Thered betel-slaver, spat as it were by ghosts on her naked body, hadaffected her like a sickness, had eaten into the marrow of her bones,like a disintegration of her soul, of which she might perhaps die,slowly wasting away. What people now said of her, of her mode of lifein Paris, represented something so unutterably depraved that it wasnot to be mentioned above a whisper.
Eva heard about it at Batavia, amid the gossip at theevening-parties. And, when she asked after Van Oudijck--where he wasstaying, whether he would soon be go
ing to Europe, after his unexpectedresignation, a thing that had surprised the whole official world--theywere unable to tell her, they asked one another if he was no longerat the Hotel Wisse, where he had been seen only a few weeks ago,lying on his chair in his little verandah, with his legs on the rests,staring fixedly before him without moving a limb. He had hardly goneout at all, taking his meals in his room and not at the table-d'hote,as though he--the man who had always been accustomed to dealing withhundreds of people--had became shy of meeting his fellow-creatures. Andat last Eva heard that Van Oudijck was living at Bandong. As she hadto pay some farewell visits, she went to the Preanger. But he wasnot to be found at Bandong: all that the hotel-proprietor was ableto tell her was that Van Oudijck had stayed a few days at his place,but had since gone, he did not know whither.
Then at last, by accident, she heard from a man whom she met atdinner that Van Oudijck was living near Garut. She went to Garut,feeling pleased to be on his track. The people in the hotel were ableto direct her to where he lived. She could not decide whether sheshould first write to him and announce her visit. Something seemedto warn her that, if she did, he would make some excuse and that shewould not see him. And she, now that she was on the point of leavingJava for good, wanted to see him, from motives of mingled affectionand curiosity. She wished to see for herself how he looked, to getout of him why he had so suddenly sent in his resignation and thrownup his enviable position in life, a position instantly seized by thenext man after him, in the great push for promotion.
So, next morning, very early, without sending him word, she droveaway in a carriage belonging to the hotel. The landlord had explainedto the coachman where he was to go. And she drove a very long way,along Lake Lelles, the sombre sacred lake with the two islandscontaining the age-old tombs of saints, while above it hovered, likea dark cloud of desolation, an ever-circling flock of enormous blackbats, flapping their demon wings and screeching their cry of despair,wheeling round and round incessantly: a black, funereal swirl againstthe infinite blue depths of the ether, as though they, the demons whohad once dreaded light, had triumphed and no longer feared the day,because they obscured it with the shadow of their sombre flight. Andit was all so oppressive: the sacred lake, the sacred tombs and abovethem a horde as of black devils in the deep blue ether, because itwas as though a part of the mystery of India were being suddenlyrevealed, no longer hiding itself, a vague, impalpable presence, butactually visible in the sunlight, rousing dismay with its menacingvictory.... Eva shuddered; and, as she glanced up timidly, she felt asthough the black multitude of screening wings might beat down ... uponher.... But the shadow of death between her and the sun only whirleddizzily around, high above her head, and only uttered its despondentcry of triumph.... She drove on; and the plain of Lelles lay greenand smiling before her. And that second of revelation had alreadyticked past: there was nothing now but the green and blue luxurianceof the Javanese landscape; the mystery was already hidden away amongthe delicate, waving bamboos or merged in the azure ocean of the sky.
The coachman was driving slowly up a steep hill. The liquid rice-fieldsrose in terraces like stairs of looking-glass, pale-green withcarefully-planted blades of paddy; then, suddenly, there came as whoshould say an avenue of ferns: gigantic ferns, waving their fans onhigh, with great fabulous butterflies fluttering around them. Andbetween the diaphanous foliage of the bamboos there appeared a smallhouse, built half of stone, half of wattled bamboo, surrounded bya little garden containing a few white pots of roses. A very youngwoman in sarong and kabaai, with cheeks gleaming like pale gold andcoal-black eyes inquisitively peeping, looked out in surprise at thecarriage, which was approaching very slowly, and fled indoors. Evaalighted and coughed. And she suddenly caught a glimpse of VanOudijck's face, peering round a screen in the middle gallery. Hedisappeared at once.
"Resident!" she cried, in a coaxing tone.
But no one appeared and she grew confused. She dared not sit down andyet she did not want to go away. But round the corner of the house,outside, there peeped a little face, two little brown faces, the facesof very young half-caste girls, and vanished again, giggling. Insidethe house, Eva heard a greatly excited, very nervous whispering:
"Sidin! Sidin!" she heard somebody call, in a whisper.
She smiled, took courage and stayed and walked about in the littlefront-verandah. And at last there came an old woman, not perhaps sovery old in years, but old in wrinkled skin and eyes that had growndim, wearing a coloured chintz sabaai and dragging her slippers; and,beginning with a few words of Dutch and then taking refuge in Malay,smiling politely, she requested Eva to be seated and said that theresident would be there at once. She herself sat down, smiled, did notknow what to talk about, did not know what to answer when Eva askedher about the lake, about the road. All that she could do was to fetchsyrup and iced-water and wafers; and she did not talk, but only smiledand looked after her visitor. When the young half-caste faces peepedround the corner, the old woman angrily stamped her slippered foot andscolded them with a hasty word; and then they disappeared, gigglingand running away with an audible patter of little bare feet. Thenthe old woman smiled again with her eternally smiling wrinkled faceand looked at the lady timidly, as though apologizing. And it was avery long time before Van Oudijck at last entered the room.
He welcomed Eva effusively, excused himself for keeping her waiting. Itwas obvious that he had shaved in a hurry and put on a clean whitesuit. And he was evidently glad to see her. The old woman departed,with her eternal smile of apology. In that first cheerful moment,Van Oudijck seemed to Eva exactly the same as usual; but, when hehad calmed down and taken a chair and asked her whether she had heardfrom Eldersma and when she herself was going to Europe, she saw thathe had grown older, an old man. It did not show in his figure, which,in his well-starched white suit, still preserved its broad, soldierlyair, a sturdy build, with only the back a little more bowed, as thoughunder a burden. But it showed in his face, in the dull, uninterestedglance, in the deep furrows of the careworn forehead, in the colour ofhis skin, which was dry and yellow, while the thick moustache, aboutwhich the jovial smile still flickered at intervals, had turned quitegrey. His hands shook nervously. And, when she told him what peoplehad said at Labuwangi, he listened without interrupting, betrayinga lingering curiosity about the people yonder, about the districtof which he had once been so fond. She discussed it all vaguely,glossing over things, putting the best face on them and, above all,saying nothing of the gossip: that he had taken French leave, thathe had run away, nobody quite knew why.
"And you, resident," she asked, "are you going to Europe too?"
He stared in front of him and gave a painful laugh before replying. Andat last he said, almost shyly:
"No, mevrouwtje. I don't think I'll go home. You see, I've beensomebody out here, in India; I'd be nobody over there. I'm nobody now,I know; but still I feel that India has become my country. It hasgot the upper hand of me; and I belong to it now. I no longer belongto Holland, and I have nothing and nobody in Holland that belongs tome. I'm finished, it's true; but still I'd rather drag out my existencehere than there. In Holland I should certainly not be able to standthe climate ... or the people. Here the climate suits me and I havewithdrawn from society. I have helped Theo for the last time; andDoddie is married. And the two boys are going to Europe, to school...."
He suddenly bent towards her and, in a changed voice, he almostwhispered, as though about to make a confession:
"You see, if everything had gone normally, then ... then I shouldnot have acted as I did. I have always been a practical man and I wasproud of it and proud of living the normal life, my own life, which Ilived in accordance with principles that I thought were right, untilI reached a high place among my fellow-men. I have always been likethat and things went well like that. Everything went swimmingly withme. When others were worrying about their promotion, I passed overthe heads of five men at a bound. It was all plain sailing for me, atleast in my official career. I have not been
lucky in my domestic life,but I should never have been weak enough to break down on the roadwith grief because of that. A man has so much outside his domesticlife. And yet I was always very fond of my family-circle. I don'tthink it was my fault that everything went as it did. I loved my wife,I loved my children, I loved my home, my home surroundings, in whichI was the husband, and father. But that feeling in me was never fullysatisfied. My first wife was a half-caste whom I married because Iwas in love with her. Because she could not get the upper hand of mewith her whim-whams, things became impossible after a few years. I wasperhaps even more in love with my second wife than with my first: I amsimply constituted in these matters. But I was never allowed to havea pleasant home-circle, a pleasant, kindly wife, children climbingon your knees and growing up into men and women who owe their livesto you, their existence, in short, everything that they have andpossess. That is what I should have liked to have. But, as I say,though I did not get it, that would never have pulled me under...."
He was silent for a moment and then continued in an even moremysterious whisper:
"But that, you see, the thing that happened.... I never understood; andit's that which brought me to where I am. That ... all that ... whichclashed and interfered with my practical, logical ideas of life ... allthat"--he struck the table with his fist--"all that damned nonsense,which ... which happened all the same: that did the trick. I did notshirk the fight, but my strength was no use to me. It was somethingagainst which nothing availed.... I know: it was the regent. WhenI threatened him it stopped.... But, my God, mevrouwtje, tell me,what was it? Do you know? You don't, do you? Nobody knew and nobodyknows. Those terrible nights, those inexplicable noises over head,that night in the bathroom with the major and the other officers! Itwasn't any hallucination: we saw it, we heard it, we felt it, it spatat us, it covered us from head to foot; the whole bathroom was fullof it! It is easy for other people, who didn't experience it, to denyit. But I ... and all of us ... we saw it, heard it and felt it! Andwe none of us knew who it was.... And since then I have never ceasedto feel it. It was all around me, in the air, under my feet.... Yousee," he whispered very softly, "that--and that alone--did it. Thatmade it impossible for me to stay there. That caused me to be struckstupid, to become a sort of idiot in the midst of my normal life,in the midst of my practical good sense and logic, which suddenlyappeared to me in the light of an ill-constructed theory of life, ofthe most abstract speculation, because, right through it, things werehappening that belonged to another world, things that escaped me andeverybody else. That, that alone, did it! I was no longer myself. Ino longer knew what I was thinking, what I was doing, what I haddone. Everything in me was tottering. That ruffian in the compoundis no child of mine: I'll stake my life on it. And I ... I believedit. I sent him money. Tell me, do you understand me? I don't supposeyou do. It's not to be understood, that strange, unnatural business,if you haven't experienced it, in your flesh and in your blood,till it finds its way into your marrow...."
"I do believe that I also experienced it, once in a way," shewhispered. "When I was walking with Van Helderen by the sea ... andthe sky was so far and the night so deep ... or the rains came rustlingtowards us from so very far away and then fell ... or when the nights,silent as death and yet brimful of sounds, quivered about one, alwayswith a music which one could not catch and could scarcely hear.... Orsimply when I looked into the eyes of a Javanese, when I spoke to mybabu and it seemed as though nothing of what I said reached her mindand as though what she replied concealed her real, secret answer...."
"That, again, is another thing," he said. "I can't understand that:as far as I was concerned, I knew my native through and through. Butpossibly every European feels it in a different way, according to hisnature and his temperament. To one it is perhaps the dislike which hebegins by feeling for the country that attacks him in the weak pointof his materialism and continues to oppose him ... whereas the countryitself is so full of poetry, I might almost say mysticism. To anotherit is the climate, or the character of the native, or what you will,that is antagonistic and incomprehensible. To me ... it was the factswhich I could not understand. And until then I had always been ableto understand a fact ... at least, I thought so. Now it appearedto me as though I no longer understood anything.... In this way,I became an incompetent official and then I realized that it was allover. And then I quietly resigned my post. And now I'm here ... andhere I mean to stay. And do you know the strange part of it? PerhapsI have--at last--found my family-circle here...."
The little brown faces were peeping round the corner. And he calledto them, beckoned to them kindly, with a broad fatherly gesture. Butthey pattered away again, audibly, on their bare feet. He laughed:
"They're very timid, the little monkeys," he said. "It's Lena's littlesisters; and the woman you saw just now is her mother."
He was silent for a second, quite simply, as though she was boundto understand who Lena was: the very young woman, with the goldenbloom on her cheeks and the coal-black eyes, of whom she had caughta fleeting glimpse.
"And then there are some little brothers, who go to school inGarut. Well, you see, that's my domestic circle. When I came to knowLena, I adopted the whole family. I admit it costs me a lot of money,for I have my first wife at Batavia, my second in Paris, and Rene andRicus in Holland. It all costs me money. And now my new 'home-circle'here. But now at least I have my circle.... It's a very Indian kettleof fish, you'll say: that Indian quasi-marriage to the daughter ofa coffee-overseer, with the old woman and the little brothers andsisters included in the bargain. But I'm doing a little good. Thefamily haven't a cent and I'm helping them. And Lena is a dear childand is the comfort of my old age. I can't live without a wife; and soit happened of itself.... And it works very well: I lead a cabbage-lifeand drink first-rate coffee; and they look after the old man...."
He was silent and then continued:
"And you ... you are going to Europe? Poor Eldersma, I hope he'll bebetter soon! It's all my fault, isn't it? I worked him too hard. Butit's like that in India, mevrouw. We all work too hard here ... untilwe stop working altogether. And you are going ... in a week? Howglad you will be to see your father and mother and to hear some goodmusic? I am still always grateful to you. You did much for us, youstood for poetry in Labuwangi. Poor India! How they rail at her! Afterall, the country can't help it that we freebooters have invaded theirterritory, barbarian conquerors that we are, only working to grow richand get away! And then, when they don't grow rich, they start railing:at the heat, which God gave it from the beginning; at the lack ofnourishment for mind and soul: mind and soul of the freebooter! Thepoor country railed at like this may well say in itself, 'You couldhave stayed away!' And you ... you didn't like India either."
"I tried to grasp the poetry of it. And now and then I succeeded. Forthe rest, it's my fault, resident, and not the fault of this beautifulcountry. Like your freebooter, I should have stayed away. All mydepression, all the melancholy from which I suffered in this beautifulland of mystery, is my own fault. I don't rail at India, resident."
He took her hand and, almost with emotion, almost with a gleam ofmoisture in his eyes, said, softly:
"I thank you for saying so. Those words are like you, the words ofa sensible, cultivated woman, who doesn't rave and rant, as a sillyDutchman would at not finding in this country exactly what correspondedwith his petty ideals. Your temperament suffered much here, I know. Itwas bound to. But it was not the fault of the country."
"It was my own fault, resident," she repeated, with her soft,smiling voice.
He thought her adorable. That she did not burst into imprecations,that she did not fly into ecstasies because she was leaving Java in afew days' time gave him a sense of comfort. And, when she rose to go,saying that it was getting late, he felt very sad:
"And so I shall never see you again?"
"I don't think that we shall be coming back."
"It's good-bye for ever, then!"
"Perhaps we shall see you in Eu
rope."
He made a gesture of denial:
"I am more grateful to you than I can say for coming to look the oldman up. I shall drive with you to Garut."
He called out something indoors, where the women were keeping out ofsight and the little sisters giggling. He stepped into the carriageby her side. They drove down the avenue of ferns; and suddenly theysaw the Sacred Lake of Lelles, overshadowed by the circling swirl ofthe bats ever flapping round and round:
"Resident," she whispered, "I feel it here...."
He smiled:
"They are only bats," he said.
"But at Labuwangi ... it was perhaps only a rat."
He just wrinkled his brows; then he smiled again, with the jovialsmile about his thick moustache, and looked up with inquisitive eyes:
"What?" he said, softly. "Really? Do you feel it here?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't. It's different with everybody."
The giant bats shrilled their triumph in shrieks of desolation. Thelittle carriage drove on and passed a little railway-halt. And, inthe otherwise lonely region, it was strange to see a whole populace,a swarm of motley Sundanese, streaming towards the little station,eagerly gazing at a slow train which was approaching, belching blackclouds of smoke amidst the bamboos. All their eyes were staringcrazily, as though anticipating the bliss of the first glance, asthough their first impression would be a treasure for their souls.
"That's a train full of new hadjis," said Van Oudijck. "They're allpilgrims newly returned from Mecca."
The train stopped; and from the long third-class carriages, solemnly,slowly, very devoutly and conscious of their dignity, the hadjisalighted, in their rich white-and-yellow turbans, their eyes gleamingwith pride, their lips pursed with conceit, in brand-new, shinycoats and gold-and-purple skirts which fell in stately folds to justabove their feet. And, humming with rapturous excitement, sometimeswith a rising cry of ecstasy, the waiting multitude pressed closerand stormed the narrow doorways of the long railway-coaches.... Thehadjis solemnly alighted. And their brothers and friends vied with oneanother in grasping their hands and the hems of their gold-and-purpleskirts and kissed that sacred hand or that sacred garment, because itbrought them something of Mecca the Holy. They fought, they hustledone another around the hadjis, to be the first to give the kiss. Andthe hadjis, conceited and self-conscious, seemed unaware of thestruggle, maintained a peaceful dignity and a solemn stateliness amidthe struggle, amid the billowing, buzzing multitude, and surrenderedtheir hands, surrendered the hem of their garments to the fanaticalkiss of all who approached.
And, in this land of profound, secret, slumbering mystery, in thispeople of Java, which, as always, hid itself in the secrecy of itsimpenetrable soul, suppressed indeed, but visible, it was strange tosee an ecstasy rising to the surface, to see an intoxicated fanaticism,to see a part of that impenetrable soul revealed in its deificationof those who had beheld the tomb of the prophet, to hear the softhumming of a religious rapture, to hear, suddenly, unexpectedly, ashout of glory, not to be suppressed, quavering on high, a cry whichinstantly sank again, drowned in the hum, as though itself fearful,because the sacred era had not yet arrived....
And Van Oudijck and Eva, on the road behind the station, slowlydriving past the busy multitude which still buzzed about the hadjis,respectfully carrying their luggage, obsequiously offering theirlittle carts: Van Oudijck and Eva suddenly looked at each other and,though neither of them cared to express it in words, they told eachother with a glance of understanding, that they felt it, that theyfelt that, both of them, both together this time, in the midst ofthis fanatical multitude....
They both felt it, the unutterable thing, the thing that lurks inthe ground, that hisses under the volcanoes, that slowly draws nearwith the far-travelled winds, that rushes onwards with the rain, thatrattles by in the heavy, rolling thunder, that is wafted from the farhorizon of the boundless sea; the thing that flashes from the black,mysterious gaze of the secretive native, that creeps in his heart andcringes in his humble salutation; the thing that gnaws like a poisonand a hostile force at the body, soul and life of the European, thatsilently attacks the conqueror and saps his energies, causing him topine and perish, sapping his energies very slowly, so that he wastesaway for years; and in the end he dies of it, perhaps by a sudden,tragic death: they both felt it, both felt the unutterable thing....
And, in feeling it, together with the sadness of their leave-taking,which was so near at hand, they failed to see, amid the waving,billowing, buzzing multitude which reverently hustled theyellow-and-purple dignity of the hadjis returned from Mecca, theyfailed to see that one, tall, white hadji rising above the crowd andpeering with a grin at the man who, though he had lived his life inJava, had been weaker than That....
THE END
NOTES
[1] The duit, or doit, was a coin of the Dutch East India Company,a little lower in value than the cent, of which latter a hundred go tothe guilder or florin (1s. 8d.). The survival of the duit complicatedthe official accounts considerably.
[2] L50.
[3] The Dutch always speak of the Dutch East Indies--Java, Sumatra,Celebes, etc.--as India.
[4] The Binnenlandsch Bestuur, or inland administration.
[5] The native states of Surakarta and Djokjakarta are known as theVorstenlanden, or Principalities.
[6] The native regent, or rajah.
[7] Of 1900.
[8] The regent's palace.
[9] Resident's wife.
[10] A nervous disorder which is manifested by sudden periods ofintense suggestibility, resulting in mimicry. Recovery is commonlyinstantaneous.
[11] Maid-servants.
[12] The chief coffee-growing district of Java.
De stille kracht. English Page 31
