IX
AN EGYPTIAN HORNET
The word has an angry, malignant sound that brings the idea ofattack vividly into the mind. There is a vicious sting about itsomewhere--even a foreigner, ignorant of the meaning, must feel it.A hornet is wicked; it darts and stabs; it pierces, aiming withoutprovocation for the face and eyes. The name suggests a metallic droningof evil wings, fierce flight, and poisonous assault. Though black andyellow, it sounds scarlet. There is blood in it. A striped tiger of theair in concentrated form! There is no escape--if it attacks.
In Egypt an ordinary bee is the size of an English hornet, but theEgyptian hornet is enormous. It is truly monstrous--an ominous, dyingterror. It shares that universal quality of the land of the Sphinx andPyramids--great size. It is a formidable insect, worse than scorpionor tarantula. The Rev. James Milligan, meeting one for the firsttime, realised the meaning of another word as well, a word he usedprolifically in his eloquent sermons--devil.
One morning in April, when the heat began to bring the insects out,he rose as usual betimes and went across the wide stone corridor tohis bath. The desert already glared in through the open windows. Theheat would be afflicting later in the day, but at this early hour thecool north wind blew pleasantly down the hotel passages. It was Sunday,and at half-past eight o'clock he would appear to conduct the morningservice for the English visitors. The floor of the passage-way was coldbeneath his feet in their thin native slippers of bright yellow. He wasneither young nor old; his salary was comfortable; he had a competencyof his own, without wife or children to absorb it; the dry climatehad been recommended to him; and--the big hotel took him in for nextto nothing. And he was thoroughly pleased with himself, for he was asleek, vain, pompous, well-advertised personality, but mean as a rat.No worries of any kind were on his mind as, carrying sponge and towel,scented soap and a bottle of Scrubb's ammonia, he travelled amiablyacross the deserted, shining corridor to the bathroom. And nothingwent wrong with the Rev. James Milligan until he opened the door, andhis eye fell upon a dark, suspicious-looking object clinging to thewindow-pane in front of him.
And even then, at first, he felt no anxiety or alarm, but merely anatural curiosity to know exactly what it was--this little clot of anodd-shaped, elongated thing that stuck there on the wooden frameworksix feet before his aquiline nose. He went straight up to it tosee--then stopped dead. His heart gave a distinct, unclerical leap. Hislips formed themselves into unregenerate shape. He gasped: "Good God!What is it?" For something unholy, something wicked as a secret sin,stuck there before his eyes in the patch of blazing sunshine. He caughthis breath.
For a moment he was unable to move, as though the sight halffascinated him. Then, cautiously and very slowly--stealthily, infact--he withdrew towards the door he had just entered. Fearful ofmaking the smallest sound, he retraced his steps on tiptoe. Hisyellow slippers shuffled. His dry sponge fell, and bounded till itsettled, rolling close beneath the horribly attractive object facinghim. From the safety of the open door, with ample space for retreatbehind him, he paused and stared. His entire being focused itself inhis eyes. It was a hornet that he saw. It hung there, motionless andthreatening, between him and the bathroom door. And at first he merelyexclaimed--below his breath--"Good God! It's an Egyptian hornet!"
Being a man with a reputation for decided action, however, he soonrecovered himself. He was well schooled in self-control. When peopleleft his church at the beginning of the sermon, no muscle of his facebetrayed the wounded vanity and annoyance that burned deep in hisheart. But a hornet sitting directly in his path was a very differentmatter. He realised in a flash that he was poorly clothed--in a word,that he was practically half naked.
From a distance he examined this intrusion of the devil. It was calmand very still. It was wonderfully made, both before and behind. Itswings were folded upon its terrible body. Long, sinuous things, pointedlike temptation, barbed as well, stuck out of it. There was poison, andyet grace, in its exquisite presentment. Its shiny black was beautiful,and the yellow stripes upon its sleek, curved abdomen were like thegleaming ornaments upon some feminine body of the seductive world hepreached against. Almost, he saw an abandoned dancer on the stage.And then, swiftly in his impressionable soul, the simile changed,and he saw instead more blunt and aggressive forms of destruction.The well-filled body, tapering to a horrid point, reminded him ofthose perfect engines of death that reduce hundreds to annihilationunawares--torpedoes, shells, projectiles, crammed with secret,desolating powers. Its wings, its awful, quiet head, its delicate,slim waist, its stripes of brilliant saffron--all these seemed theconcentrated prototype of abominations made cleverly by the brain ofman, and beautifully painted to disguise their invisible freight ofcruel death.
"Bah!" he exclaimed, ashamed of his prolific imagination. "It's only ahornet after all--an insect!" And he contrived a hurried, careful plan.He aimed a towel at it, rolled up into a ball--but did not throw it. Hemight miss. He remembered that his ankles were unprotected. Instead, hepaused again, examining the black and yellow object in safe retirementnear the door, as one day he hoped to watch the world in leisurelyretirement in the country. It did not move. It was fixed and terrible.It made no sound. Its wings were folded. Not even the black antennae,blunt at the tips like clubs, showed the least stir or tremble. Itbreathed, however. He watched the rise and fall of the evil body; itbreathed air in and out as he himself did. The creature, he realised,had lungs and heart and organs. It had a brain! Its mind was active allthis time. It knew it was being watched. It merely waited. Any second,with a whiz of fury, and with perfect accuracy of aim, it might dart athim and strike. If he threw the towel and missed--it certainly would.
There were other occupants of the corridor, however, and a sound ofsteps approaching gave him the decision to act. He would lose his bathif he hesitated much longer. He felt ashamed of his timidity, though"pusillanimity" was the word thought selected owing to the pulpitvocabulary it was his habit to prefer. He went with extreme cautiontowards the bathroom door, passing the point of danger so close thathis skin turned hot and cold. With one foot gingerly extended, herecovered his sponge. The hornet did not move a muscle. But--it hadseen him pass. It merely waited. All dangerous insects had that trick.It knew quite well he was inside; it knew quite well he must come out afew minutes later; it also knew quite well that he was--naked.
Once inside the little room, he closed the door with exceedinggentleness, lest the vibration might stir the fearful insect to attack.The bath was already filled, and he plunged to his neck with a feelingof comparative security. A window into the outside passage he alsoclosed, so that nothing could possibly come in. And steam soon chargedthe air and left its blurred deposit on the glass. For ten minuteshe could enjoy himself and pretend that he was safe. For ten minuteshe did so. He behaved carelessly, as though nothing mattered, and asthough all the courage in the world were his. He splashed and soapedand sponged, making a lot of reckless noise. He got out and driedhimself. Slowly the steam subsided, the air grew clearer, he put ondressing-gown and slippers. It was time to go out.
Unable to devise any further reason for delay, he opened the doorsoftly half an inch--peeped out--and instantly closed it again with aresounding bang. He had heard a drone of wings. The insect had leftits perch and now buzzed upon the floor directly in his path. The airseemed full of stings; he felt stabs all over him; his unprotectedportions winced with the expectancy of pain. The beast knew he wascoming out, and was waiting for him. In that brief instant he had feltits sting all over him, on his unprotected ankles, on his back, hisneck, his cheeks, in his eyes, and on the bald clearing that adornedhis Anglican head. Through the closed door he heard the ominous, dullmurmur of his striped adversary as it beat its angry wings. Its oiledand wicked sting shot in and out with fury. Its deft legs worked. Hesaw its tiny waist already writhing with the lust of battle. Ugh! Thattiny waist! A moment's steady nerve and he could have severed thatcunning body from the directing brain with one swift, well-directedthrust. But his ne
rve had utterly deserted him.
Human motives, even in the professedly holy, are an involved affairat any time. Just now, in the Rev. James Milligan, they were quiteinextricably mixed. He claims this explanation, at any rate, in excuseof his abominable subsequent behaviour. For, exactly at this moment,when he had decided to admit cowardice by ringing for the Arab servant,a step was audible in the corridor outside, and courage came with itinto his disreputable heart. It was the step of the man he cordially"disapproved of," using the pulpit version of "hated and despised." Hehad overstayed his time, and the bath was in demand by Mr. Mullins. Mr.Mullins invariably followed him at seven-thirty; it was now a quarterto eight. And Mr. Mullins was a wretched drinking man--"a sot."
In a flash the plan was conceived and put into execution. Thetemptation, of course, was of the devil. Mr. Milligan hid the motivefrom himself, pretending he hardly recognised it. The plan was what mencall a dirty trick; it was also irresistibly seductive. He opened thedoor, stepped boldly, nose in the air, right over the hideous insecton the floor, and fairly pranced into the outer passage. The brieftransit brought a hundred horrible sensations--that the hornet wouldrise and sting his leg, that it would cling to his dressing-gown andstab his spine, that he would step upon it and die, like Achilles, ofa heel exposed. But with these, and conquering them, was one otherstronger emotion that robbed the lesser terrors of their potency--thatMr. Mullins would run precisely the same risks five seconds later,unprepared. He heard the gloating insect buzz and scratch theoil-cloth. But it was behind him. _He_ was safe!
"Good morning to you, Mr. Mullins," he observed with a gracious smile."I trust I have not kept you waiting."
"Mornin'!" grunted Mullins sourly in reply, as he passed him with adistinctly hostile and contemptuous air. For Mullins, though depraved,perhaps, was an honest man, abhorring parsons and making no secret ofhis opinions--whence the bitter feeling.
All men, except those very big ones who are supermen, have somethingastonishingly despicable in them. The despicable thing in Milligancame uppermost now. He fairly chuckled. He met the snub with a calm,forgiving smile, and continued his shambling gait with what dignity hecould towards his bedroom opposite. Then he turned his head to see. Hisenemy would meet an infuriated hornet--an Egyptian hornet!--and mightnot notice it. He might step on it. He might not. But he was bound todisturb it, and rouse it to attack. The chances were enormously on theclerical side. And its sting meant death.
"May God forgive me!" ran subconsciously through his mind. And side byside with the repentant prayer ran also a recognition of the tempter'seternal skill: "I hope the devil it will sting him!"
It happened very quickly. The Rev. James Milligan lingered a momentby his door to watch. He saw Mullins, the disgusting Mullins, stepblithely into the bathroom passage; he saw him pause, shrink back,and raise his arm to protect his face. He heard him swear out aloud:"What's the d----d thing doing here? Have I really got 'em again----?"And then he heard him laugh--a hearty, guffawing laugh of genuinerelief---- "It's _real_!"
The moment of revulsion was overwhelming. It filled the churchly heartwith anguish and bitter disappointment. For a space he hated the wholerace of men.
For the instant Mr. Mullins realised that the insect was not a fieryillusion of his disordered nerves, he went forward without the smallesthesitation. With his towel he knocked down the flying terror. Then hestooped. He gathered up the venomous thing his well-aimed blow hadstricken so easily to the floor. He advanced with it, held at arm'slength, to the window. He tossed it out carelessly. The Egyptian hornetflew away uninjured, and Mr. Mullins--the Mr. Mullins who drank,gave nothing to the church, attended no services, hated parsons, andproclaimed the fact with enthusiasm--this same detestable Mr. Mullinswent to his unearned bath without a scratch. But first he saw hisenemy standing in the doorway across the passage, watching him--andunderstood. That was the awful part of it. Mullins would make a storyof it, and the story would go the round of the hotel.
The Rev. James Milligan, however, proved that his reputation forself-control was not undeserved. He conducted morning service halfan hour later with an expression of peace upon his handsome face. Heconquered all outward sign of inward spiritual vexation; the wicked, heconsoled himself, ever flourish like green bay trees. It was notoriousthat the righteous never have any luck at all! That was bad enough.But what was worse--and the Rev. James Milligan remembered for verylong--was the superior ease with which Mullins had relegated bothhimself and hornet to the same level of comparative insignificance.Mullins ignored them both--which proved that he felt himself superior.Infinitely worse than the sting of any hornet in the world: he really_was_ superior.
Day and Night Stories Page 9
