Leonie of the Jungle

by Joan Conquest

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  "What hath night to do with sleep?"--_Milton_.

  "What a nuisance!"

  Leonie turned on her bed and frowned through the chick at the two girlswho had ensconced themselves in long chairs on the verandah outside herbedroom.

  Broad-minded and big-hearted, she had tried to overcome the intenseirritation which the Eurasian manner of speech invariably aroused inher. Some get accustomed in time to the parrot-like monotony; somedon't; and to the end of his days the young, immaculately groomed andturned-out assistant in Hamilton's will wonder why the beautiful girlwith gold-flecked eyes had suddenly frowned, and placing the trifleintended for a wedding present upon the glass counter, had left theshop with an appallingly inadequate excuse.

  Fortunately for him the pukka European has not been endowed with thegift of hearing himself speak as others hear him.

  Like the broken flight of maimed birds over a lawn in the process ofbeing mown is the Eurasian speech and intonation; with the inevitabledip in the middle, the rise at the end of each sentence, and theceaseless clipping of syllables.

  And Leonie frowned as she lay under the mosquito netting awaiting thewarning of the dressing bell, and even felt thankful to a crow whichsuddenly perched itself on the top twig of a fir tree, and shrieked itscondemnation of the sunset, the star just above its head, and thechatterers in the chairs.

  In an effort to break through the overpowering lethargy which latelyhad fallen upon her at odd moments of the day, she lifted herself on toher elbow, only to sink listlessly back on the very hard bed. Afterall, why worry over problems to which there seemed no answer? Why fretover the silence of the man she loved when she had curtly refused hisoffer of companionship; for there always comes a time when mere man,subjected to the unsatisfactory daily menu of snubs and refusals, tensemoods, and moody silences, will refuse it, and clear for a diet, which,although somewhat lacking in salt and spice, will have the advantage ofbeing substantial, therefore satisfying.

  Also there was no doubt about it the social ostracism of Calcutta hadfollowed her to Benares; she had not failed to notice that the peoplepacking the hotel looked at her furtively, smiling spasmodically whencaught in the act, and seemed ill at ease when left alone with her.

  Another thing which annoyed her intensely was the habit she haddeveloped of peering into the shadows of the compound at odd moments,and listening for a sound she could not even describe to herself, andwhich she never heard; while through the blazing hours of the day, andthe stifling hours of the night, like a black thread woven into atissue of gold, ran the ghastly fear which had been with her since theday when a schoolgirl had taunted her, and to which she had given voicenear the poinsettia bush to Jan Cuxson.

  She had _done_ Benares en tourist.

  She had watched the worshippers thronging the Praying Steps at dawnfrom the deck of a boat rowed slowly up and down the holy river; hadenticed the monkeys with gram from the niches in the Doorga Kond, theworld-famed Monkey Temple; gazed fascinated and with reverence at thefiring of the pyres about the dead bodies shrouded in white or redaccording to their sex upon the Burning Ghats; averted her eyessteadfastly from the bloated bodies in process of being torn to piecesby crows or vultures as they floated on the soft bosom of Mother Gangesto everlasting peace; and had passed restful hours in the wonderfulruins of the Buddhist temple some miles outside the city.

  She had done all that others have done and will do, and still shewaited, doing absolutely nothing and with no excuse for loitering inthe hotel with its long broad verandah; learning much of the city'shistory from the charming manager who walks with a stick, and has theblue-green-brown shadow of the peat bog in his eyes.

  "Shoo, you brute!" said one, of the girls on the verandah, andcontinued speaking when the crow had flown farther afield. "Well, themanager says we are not to go to the bazaar to-night on any account!"

  "Why ever not?"

  "Says there's a row or something brewing--something to do with thenatives and their religion!"

  The girl with the reddish-brown hair put a final polish to the nails,which damned her everlastingly, as she spoke condescendingly of onehalf of her forbears; while the other, a _bona fide_ blonde as to hair,half opened the long sleepy brown eyes, which, combined with the shapeof her silken-hosed leg from ankle to knee branded her even before sheuttered a word.

  "Don't believe it," the latter replied. "It's a do on the part of theguide to get more backsheesh; you simply can't trust these natives ayard. I'll tell you what, though," she sat up with an energysurprising in one of her kind, "let's ask Lady Hickle. She's _such_ apet, and there's _nothing_ she doesn't know about the place, she's beenhere a whole month."

  Followed a short spell of peace in which Leonie raised her hand tosummon her ayah squatting on the dressing-room matting, and put an endto the incessant chattering.

  But bolts do not wait upon the clapping of hands before they crash downupon your defenceless head from out the blue, and the one destined forher from all time hurled itself at her from out a wispy cloud ofEurasian gossip.

  "Oh! but we can't do that!" announced the peevish high-pitched voice.

  "Why not?"

  "Ma says we're not to be with her alone. There's all sorts of weirdtales going round about her. Thought you knew. They say she killedher first husband, and tried to stab someone in Calcutta with thatdagger she wears in her hair; that she lives on the q.t. with anative--he gave her that gorgeous necklace of pink pearls; has beenseen with him in the compound after dark--Ma watched--and she'spositively dotty at the full moon. Fact! Mrs. Oswald told Ma thatthere's no doubt that she's quite mad at times."

  The blonde slid her slightly bowed, silken-hosed limbs to the ground,her face the colour of greenish putty through the superstitions of onehalf of her forbears.

  "Let's go and find your ma!" said she. "It's full moon to-night."

  And after their departure Leonie sat very still on the edge of the bed,with one foot tucked under her, and the other bare and very perfectstretched down to the matting; the netting fell in folds behind her,and her eyes stared into the corner where a one time nameless, unshapedspook, having taken form and name at last, stood mouthing at her fromthe shadows.

  She started violently and looked down when her body-woman touched thearched instep with her wrinkled, dusky hand.

  Keenly intuitive, as are all the peoples of India, she had creptnoiselessly across the matting and crouched at Leonie's feet in herdesire to be near the beloved child in her distress.

  There was a heaven of love and a world of indecision in the monkeyeyes, but not a trace of fear when the beloved child suddenly twistedthe _sari_ from about the sleek head and pock-marked face and shook herviolently by the shoulder. Instead she rocked herself gently to andfro, crooning in the toneless cracked voice of the native woman whotends a white child and loves it.

  "Missy--baba, it's ayah!" went the tuneless song, "it's ayah--it'sayah--be not afraid, baba--baba--it's ayah--ayah--ayah."

  Over and over again she repeated the words with her eyes on theterror-stricken face above her.

  "Why!" said Leonie, frowning till her straight brows met as she pressedthe palms against her temples, "why, you used to sing that in--in--youused to call me--in the name of all the gods, woman, tell me--help me,oh! help me to understand!"

  Great tears stood in the native woman's eyes, and she opened her mouthto speak, then turned her head slightly and looked towards the chickwhich had rustled; scowled, and bowing her head ever so little placedthe palm of her hand against her forehead for an instant.

  "Won't you or _can't_ you speak?" said Leonie almost roughly, her voiceending on a sharp note which changed to a little bubbling uncanny laughas she sat back on the bed holding her ayah at arm's length.

  She took no notice of the dressing-bell when it clanged throughout thebuilding, nor of the swish of the water as it was heaved into the tinbath in the bathroom, but sat on with the plaits of her hair coiledlike snakes on each
side of her, and the whiteness of her bare arms andshoulders shining in the light from the bathroom.

  "Ayah! ayah!" she said in a dull sing-song sort of way, "do you knowwhat they say? Do you know what they think? They think, they say I'm_mad_! And do you know I think I am. Sometimes there's the sound ofdrums in my brain, great big drums beaten by giants, and sometimes thesound of bells. And the sound of the bells is hot, it burns greatscars on--on--and there are hours for which I can't account, and cutsand bruises on my feet and--and----"

  Very quietly the native woman rose, and passing one arm behind the bareshoulder drew a hand across the low broad forehead, singing in her owntongue so softly as to be almost inaudible.

  "I dream of blood, ayah," went on Leonie, "so often--so often--it iswarm to the fingers and drops so--so slowly--and----"

  The ayah pressed her fingers a little as she drew them behind the earsto the nape of the neck, and raised her voice ever so slightly in theVega chant she had learnt as a lullaby.

  "The women," she crooned, "that are lying on a bench, lying on a couch,lying in a litter; the women that--are--of--pure odour--all--of themwe--make--sleep!"

  The cracked voice sank suddenly as her child's face softened andrelaxed, but the dark hand passed to and fro ceaselessly above the eyesand down behind the ears.

  "It walks so softly, ayah--it's--it's in that--corner now--look! can'tyou see--its--its eyes--and the small--light--and she is--she iscalling--calling--just as she--has--has--always----"

  The tawny head fell backwards on to the white _sari_ picked out incoloured silk, pulling it away from the head, and the marriage dower ofthirteen silver earrings in the left ear, and the turquoise studdednose ring which shone dully in the dim light.

  "And it's dark--it's--quite----"

  Leonie slept, and her neighbours in the dining-room went throughcertain anatomical gymnastics such as lifting the eyebrows, shruggingthe shoulders, and pursing the lips, all of which are supposed todenote suspicion; while the native woman kept guard behind the reedblind through which she watched a figure clothed in spotless whiteflitting among the shadows of the trees.

  When those shadows marked the hour of midnight she sprang quickly toher feet.

  With one violent uncontrollable movement, Leonie had risen to her kneeswith the tips of the fingers of one hand against her lips and her eyesslanting sideways towards the window near her bed.

  "Hush!" she whispered. "Listen!"

  Very softly, very sweetly there fell upon the night air the singlestroke of a temple bell.

  Once it fell, and twice, and yet again. And as it stopped the nightwas filled with the dull faint throbbing of many drums.

  Calling! calling! calling!

  Hidden in the shadows close to the reed blind, Madhu Krishnagharwatched the girl with intent half-shut eyes as, outlined against thedim light from the dressing-room, she twisted the heavy plaits of hairabout her head, pinning them with the diamond hilted dagger; thenstripping her flimsy garment from her, lifted the sheet from the bed,and twisted it deftly about her waist; watched her as she mechanicallytook a white _sari_ embroidered in silver from the ayah, and withouthesitation folded it in true native fashion about her body and smallhead.

  The light of his religion flared into a flame of love and passionalmost uncontrolled when Leonie, lifting the chick, stood by his sidein the full light of the moon, with a smile of welcome on her lips, andthe light of unholy knowledge in her eyes.

  Quite close to him she stood with one hand upon his arm, as he hunggarlands of scented flowers about her neck, and then with a littlebeckoning gesture was gone; and the ayah crouching on the floor, beather withered breast with her withered hand, a world of doubt in hermonkey eyes.

  Like two white moths they flitted through the gloom and the hangingropes of the banyan trees, down the narrow native path, and on throughstrangely empty streets and deserted bazaar to the Praying Ghats.

  The air beat about them with the incessant throbbing of many drums,calling to prayer--calling to sacrifice.

  Calling! calling! calling!