Suddenly, the man reappeared nearby—and, without a word, he raced toward us. We could not take full account of his movements, but I felt myself grabbed and dragged away, along with Sabine. A few moments later we were able to wade through mud that was less treacherous, and finally to come ashore.
Devreuse rejoined us after a few minutes, and the man stood looking at us with a tranquil expression He had thin hair, like stringy lichen. There was no hair on his body or his face. His skin—in spite of the mud into which he had plunged—was clean, and slightly oily. He was almost naked, having only a short fibrous garment around his loins.
Devreuse thanked him in various languages. The man listened patiently and shook his head. Evidently, he did not understand. In the joy of our salvation, we took hold of his hands enthusiastically. He smiled, and spoke incomprehensibly. It was not a human voice, but some guttural amphibian pronunciation.
He saw us shivering, though, and made a gesture bidding us to follow him. We went along a slender natural causeway, firm and solid. It broadened out and became more elevated, allowing us to attain a sort of plateau in the middle of the waters. The man signaled to us to stop there, and disappeared again.
“Is he abandoning us?” Sabine asked me, anxiously.
“It doesn’t matter—we’re safe.”
“And so strangely!”
The Moon was high, almost white, and bright. The marshes extended as far as the eye could see, a realm of Dismal Waters. Various things were drifting through my mind, in a sort of hallucination, when I saw the silhouette of the man again, coming back with Sabine’s horse.
“Poor Geo!” she exclaimed, with affectionate tears.
The man was also carrying plants, wood and eggs. He offered us the eggs and a few handfuls of edible nuts. At the same time, he heaped up armfuls of wood and dry stems, and we lit a fire.
When that was done, he smiled slowly—then, leaping down from the top of the plateau, he disappeared again beneath the water, which was deep in that vicinity. We stood there watching the place where he had dived; we could not see anything.
Not knowing what to think, we looked at one another in amazement.
“What is he doing?” I exclaimed.
“This is certainly the most incredible thing I’ve encountered in 15 years of traveling,” Devreuse replied, pensively. “But whatever is going to happen will happen—let’s eat!”
We ate heartily, drying our clothes in the firelight. The evening was warm, which helped us go to sleep.
In the middle of the night, however, I woke up. Our savior was playing his bizarre music again in the distance, over the silent marsh. The musician was invisible. It seemed to me then that I had entered a new life, a reality more enchanted than the most magical of fairy tales.
We awoke at dawn, having slept well.
“Captain!” I exclaimed. I pointed to our clothes, which had been cleaned and were perfectly dry.
“It’s our water-man!” Sabine replied. “I’m beginning to think that he’s some benevolent faun.”
We still had some eggs and nuts, which provided us with a good breakfast. The Sun came out softly, refreshed by light clouds. The gloomy marvel of the marsh made us thoughtful. Some herons flew by, then a group of teal. Although fortified and feeling quite well, we could not help feeling some anxiety.
Suddenly, Sabine uttered a faint exclamation: “Look!”
A floating object was advancing rapidly toward our haven; we soon recognized it as some kind of raft. It seemed to be moving through the algae of its own accord, and that life-like movement of an inert object seemed disturbing—but a head appeared, and then a body, springing from the green water; we recognized our bizarre providence. To our gestures of welcome the Water-Man replied with unequivocal cordiality.
His appearance astonished us even more than it had in the moonlight; he had skin as green as new grass-shoots, violet lips, strangely rounded eyes almost devoid of sclerotic, with irises the color of carbuncles and very large, deep pupils. He also had a peculiar gracefulness, and a great apparent youthfulness. I examined him for a long time, especially his singular eyes; I had never seen anything analogous in any other human being.
He beckoned us on to the raft, after having hitched Geo to its rear end. We obeyed, not without a slight suspicion, which increased when we saw him disappear underwater again, and the raft resumed its progress in the same strange way that it had arrived.
We were able to catch occasional glimpses of our conductor under the glutinous muddy water encumbered with vegetation. We drifted for 20 minutes without him emerging once. We were making good headway; the place where we had spent the night was already distant. The locale began to change; the water was fresher and we skirted some delightful little islands.
The Water-Man’s head reappeared; he pointed to the south and dived again. The breeze brought purer air. Soon, the marsh became narrower, and we went along a sort of shallow channel. Then we found ourselves in new waters—lake waters, clear and fresh, where the atmosphere was invigorating.
IV. Lake Nymphaeum
The lake, which extended for several leagues, was strewn with islands, whose shores were decorated with huge pale-flowered water-lilies, planted with an infinite vegetation of grasses, flowers, bushes and tall trees. Our suspicion had vanished along with the heavy, somnolent and morbid air of the marsh. Our lungs were breathing in the good health, and our hearts were full of hope and lacustrian poetry.
The raft came to a stop at the point of a promontory. The Water-Man emerged and signaled to us to follow him.
We found ourselves confronted by the most extraordinary spectacle. Thirty human beings were gathered on the shore of the isle: old and young, men and women, girls and little children; they were all green in color, with smooth skin, eyes like carbuncles with large flat pupils, hair like stringy lichen and violet lips.
At the sight of us, the children ran forward, along with adolescents of both sexes and an old man. They crowded around us with batrachian exclamations, exhibiting a great and hilarious excitement.
While we were standing there, other Water-Men emerged from the lake and came on shore. We soon found ourselves surrounded by an entire aquatic population, not merely very human but closer, in their general features, to the white race than other terrestrial races. Their green color and the oily sheen on their skin were not disagreeable to look at. The younger ones were a pretty pale green, as light as that of new spring vegetation; the older ones often had the velvet green of moss or lotus-flowers. A few of the young women presented a slimness of figure, slender fingers and a delicacy of feature that rendered them veritably seductive.
It would be vain for me to attempt to describe our amazement. What we felt can only be represented by those dreams in which the soul glimpses the youth of the world, the divine time of geneses. For the captain and myself, that was combined with a scientific pride—what discovery could compare to this one? Was it not a realization, without ancestral mythical apparatus, or the monstrosities of beast-men or fish-men, of one of the most attractive traditions of all peoples? Were we not verifying, once again, that legends are usually founded in truth? In the same way that the gorilla, the orangutan and the chimpanzee have justified the fiction of fauns and satyrs, Ctesias’ account of the Cynocephali,4 and the passage in Hanno’s Periplus regarding the hairy men of the Gulf of the Southern Cape,5 were we not seeing a realization of the immense legendary cycle of merfolk? What made our discovery all the more exciting was that the people we had before our eyes were true men, not anthropoid apes.
When our initial astonishment had passed, all that remained in me was a kind of mystical intoxication, which I could see that Sabine and Devreuse shared.
Our savior led us toward a grove of ash-trees. There we found a group of huts. Aquatic birds were wandering around: ducks, swans and other water-fowl, evidently domesticated. We were brought fresh eggs and a grilled perch. After the meal, we returned to the shore.
The weather was mild
. All afternoon we watched the comings and goings of the Water-People. They swam like huge batrachians, diving and disappearing—then a head would emerge, and a body would leap out on to the island.
Fascinated by the pleasure of their double life, I continued to examine them with avid curiosity, trying to discover what adaptation permitted them to remain under water for such a long time. Save for a large thoracic capacity, however, I could not find any clue to enlighten me in this matter.
That afternoon, we were never left alone. We were constantly surrounded by a crowd, whose members tried to talk to us, showing an innocent benevolence toward us. In spite of the seductiveness and marvelous quality of these strange beings, we made plans to leave the following morning, intending to come back as quickly as possible, having communicated with our men. In view of the superior importance of the discovery, the captain renounced his famous south-west passage.
Fate, however, modified our plans. I was woken up in the night by Devreuse.
“Sabine is ill!”
I got up with a start. By the pale light of an ash-wood torch, I saw my beloved writhing in a fever. Gripped by alarm, I examined her and listened to her chest. I was slightly reassured.
“Is it serious?” her father asked.
“A few days of absolute rest should set her right.”
“How many days?”
“Ten.”
“At least?”
“At least!”
He scowled, expressing his helplessness. He looked at me in the dim light. “Robert, I can entrust your fiancée to you. There’s no doubt that I’ll be able to reach an understanding with the men, so that they’ll extend their stay for a couple of months. I’ll be back here at the end of the week.” He spoke agitatedly, marching back and forth. “Besides,” he continued, “if the weeks that I expect to spend among these extraordinary beings are insufficient, we’ll certainly be able to organize a further expedition. We have time. I’ll resign, if I must, in order to have years at my disposal. All the more reason for me not to abandon my men!”
“But it’s my job to go and warn them,” I protested.
“No! Your care is indispensable to Sabine. I’d be no more help than a block of wood.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Isn’t that so, Robert?”
“I’ll do as you say,” I said.
Although she was slightly delirious, Sabine had understood us fully. She propped herself up on her elbow. “I’m strong enough to go with you, Father!”
“Obey the doctor’s orders, little girl,” Devreuse replied, authoritatively. “Within six days I’ll be back, having accomplished my duty. Do you want to hold me back?”
Sabine gave in, making no reply. We remained taciturn for some time. The fever began to make the young woman agitated again; then she fell into a semi-sleep. I watched her by the poor light of the torch. I felt an indefinable presentiment.
The captain’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. “Are you sure that it’s not dangerous?”
“In medicine, one is never certain.”
“But as sure as you can be?”
“So far as I can judge, Mademoiselle Sabine will be fully recovered in a fortnight.”
“I’ll go, then.”
The illness was even less serious than I thought. After three days, Sabine was convalescent, and was able to get up for a few hours. The weather remained fine. A fluid beauty spread over the island and the lake. Our lake-dwelling hosts were full of goodwill, politeness and sympathy.
A week went by. The young woman was almost entirely well again, but a great anxiety was born: the captain had not come back.
One afternoon, seated on the shore, I was doing my best to console Sabine, without succeeding in calming her anxiety.
“I’m afraid!” she repeated.
I no longer knew what to say. A shadow extended nearby. On turning round, I saw that it was the Water-Man who had rescued us, with whom we had established a particularly amicable relationship. He smiled, and showed us a large gray swallow peculiar to the region, and very friendly. When he came closer, he handed the bird to me.
“What is it?” asked Sabine.
I immediately spotted the shaft of a quill attached to its pale underside, which I detached. It contained a thin sheet of tissue-paper.
“A letter from your father!”
There were only the following words:
Reached port. Ankle sprained in fall. Nothing serious, but am delayed. Don’t worry, but above all, wait for me. Don’t leave the island.
Sabine burst into tears. Personally, I was astonished that the captain had thought of making use of the little messenger. The Water-Man’s smile suggested to me that the idea had not originated with Devreuse. My companion continued to show distress.
“Sabine!” I whispered, gently. “It’s not dangerous…a sprained ankle. The effect will only last a couple of weeks…”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
The Water-Man had disappeared. Sabine was no longer crying, but she was mournful. I put my arms around her slender neck. Her blonde head rested on my shoulder, and my eyes were reflected in hers. I had never been so happy, in spite of our tribulations.
She was weak and tired. She only wanted reassurance. The clear sky and the tremulous shadows enveloped her with divinity. Oh, the mysterious power that has created Love, the vanquisher of Death!
V. The Inhabitants of the Lake
The days went by.
We were becoming increasingly fond of the marvelous lake, going to visit its islands with our aquatic friends. Groups of young men and women pushed our raft playfully, swimming around us in the near-transparent water. We took breaks on cool shores, beneath slender willows or tall poplars.
The best thing about that delightful life, however, was the superior charm of our hosts themselves, whom we were beginning to understand, and with whom we could exchange a few words. It was, however, them who were learning our language. Our ears remained impotent to analyze the sounds they exchanged with one another.
Their mores were simple and facile. The notion of family was entirely foreign to them. I think the entire population of the lake amounted to about 1200 individuals. Men and women raised the children without distinction, we never saw any of them neglected.
Their dwellings were made of wood covered with moss and twigs, with gaps for windows. They made little use of them during the fine season, and must have been used mostly as shelters for hibernation. Their cooking was done in the open air, and their diet consisted entirely of fish, eggs, mushrooms and a few wild vegetables. They did not eat their domestic birds or any other warm-blooded animals. We understood that they would be disgusted by seeing us eat them, so we contented ourselves with their dietary regime. Our health thrived on it.
They had a few weapons, including a kind of helical harpoon, which they could not only throw over the water in a straight line, but also in a series of curves, making it come back to them like an Australian boomerang. They used it to catch big fish. It must be said that the fish in the lake were the cleverest I have seen, doubtless because of the presence of the aquatic men—who, over the generations, had accustomed them to more subtle defenses than are customary. Our hosts had succeeded in domesticating many; they did not kill those, only consuming their eggs. On the other hand, they were keen hunters of pike and perch.
Their industry was uncomplicated, although they were familiar with the art of pottery and the elements of carpentry and joinery. They did not use metals at all, but fashioned their harpoons, saws, axes and knives from a kind of strong, hard jade.
All in all, the simplicity of their material needs scarcely inclined them to industry. Their way of life was more poetic than practical. I never saw creatures freer from all concern with the encumbrances of property. They seemed to have retained only the elements of happiness, ridding themselves of all vain suffering. Not that they were lazy, though; they loved exercise, undertaking aquatic journeys to the point of exhaustion. They w
ere incessantly in motion, like cetaceans. Unlike savages, who follow determined hunts with long days of idleness, they remained untiringly active.
This prodigious activity had no productive aim, however; it was their dream. They swam, sailed and bounded as other people rest. Apart from underwater hunts—only undertaken against carnivorous fish—theirs was movement for movement’s sake.
I saw them solve extraordinary problems of movement, exhibiting a variety of attitudes and trajectories compared with which the suppleness of a swallow or a salmon is clumsy. Their games were merely a continuous deployment of the art of dance-swimming, complex and suggestive ballets. On seeing them darting and turning, describing spirals around one another, precipitating themselves into whirlpools 20 or 30 at a time, one sensed that they had a kind of dynamic, or muscular consciousness unknown to other humans.
They are particularly admirable in the moonlight. I witnessed underwater festivals so beautiful, so graceful and so dreamlike, composed of evolutions so various, that nothing in this world can compare with them. When large numbers participated in them, these festivals were accompanied by a strange phenomenon. The water, moving rhythmically by virtue of their ballet, gradually acquired a euphonic voice. That voice, party to an indescribable melody, a secret murmur, a harmonious whisper, increased slowly and ineffably. The Element trembled and sang, sending forth a great moist hymn—O untranslatable softness, O prodigiously penetrating voice!—which caused us to weep tears of exaltation.
Then, I remembered the Legend, of the victorious voice of Sirens, which the navigators of old thought they heard over the waves. Was that not what we heard in the silvery night, but so benevolent and fraternal! And how superior it was to the myth, for it was the Water itself, the Lake, that was singing—it was the great rumor of the waves, submissive to the rhythm of the Water-Men, as Forests here may sometimes be submissive to the rumor of the Winds.
The World of the Variants Page 3
