XIV
TELLS HOW SHIRAZ, THE PUNJABI, ADMITTED THE FRAILTIES OF ORDINARYHUMANITY, AND HOW CORYNDON ATTENDED AFTERNOON SERVICE AND CONSIDERED THEVEXED QUESTION OF TEMPERAMENT.
The day following Coryndon's vigil outside the lonely house by the riverwas dull and grey, with a woolly sky and a tepid stillness that hunglike a tangible weight in the air. Its drowsiness affected even thenative quarter, but it in no way lessened the bustle of preparations fordeparture on the part of Coryndon, who ordered Shiraz to pack enoughclothes for a short journey, and to hold himself in readiness to leavewith his master shortly after sunrise the following day. His master alsogave him leave to go to the Bazaar and return at his own discretion, ashe was going out with Hartley Sahib.
It was about noon, when the sun had struggled clear of the heavy clouds,that Shiraz found himself in the dark colonnade locking an empty housebehind him with his own key, and, being a stately, red-bearded followerof the Prophet, with a general appearance of wealth and dignity, hewalked slowly until he came to the doorway of Leh Shin's shop. His stepcaused the Chinaman to look up from the string bed where he lay, gaunt,yellow and unsavoury, his dark clothes contrasting with the flowingwhite garments of the venerable man who regarded him through hisspectacles.
"The hand of Allah has led me to this place," said Shiraz in his low,reflective tones. "I seek for a little prayer-mat and a few bowls ofbrass for my food; likewise, a bed for myself, and a bed of lesser valuefor my companion. Hast thou these things, Leh Shin?"
Leh Shin went into his back premises and returned with the bowls and theprayer-mat.
"The bed for thyself, O Haj, and the bed of lesser value for thy friend,I shall make shift to procure. Presently I will send my assistant, theeyes of my encroaching age, to bring what you need."
"It is well," said Shiraz, who was seated on a low stool near the door,and who looked with contemplative eyes into the shop.
Leh Shin huddled himself on to the string couch again, and the slowprocess of bargain-driving began. Pice by pice they argued the question,and at last Shiraz produced a handful of small coin, which passed fromhim to the Chinaman.
"I had already heard of thee," said Leh Shin, scratching his loosesleeves with his long, claw-like fingers. "But thy friend, the Burman,who spoke beforehand of thy coming, and who still recalls the mixture ofhis opium pipe, I cannot remember." He hunched his shoulders. "Yet eventhat is not strange. My house by the river is a house of many faces,yet all who dream wear the same face in the end," his voice croonedmonotonously. "All in the end, from living in the world of visions,become the same."
Shiraz bowed his head with grave courtesy.
"It was also told to me that you served a rich master and have stored upwealth."
"The way of honesty is never the path to wealth," responded Shiraz, intones of reproof. "So it is written in the Koran."
Leh Shin accepted the ambiguous reply with an unmoved face.
"Thy friend is under the hand of devils?"
He put the remark as an idle question.
"He is tormented," replied Shiraz, pulling at his beard. "He is muchdriven by thoughts of evil, committed, such is his dream, by anotherthan himself; and yet the _Sirkar_ hath said that the crime was his own.The ways of Allah are veiled, and Mah Myo is without doubt no longerreasonable; yet he is my friend, and doth greatly profit thereby."
"Ah, ah," said the Chinaman, placing a hubble-bubble before his guest,who condescended to shut the mouthpiece in under his long moustache,while he sat silently for nearly half an hour.
"Dost thou sell beautiful things, Leh Shin?" he asked. "I have a gift tobestow, and my mind troubles me. The Lady Sahib of my late mastersuffered misfortune. She was robbed by some unknown son of a jackal, andthereby lost jewels, the value of which was said to be great, though Iknow not of the value of such things."
Leh Shin curled his bare toes on the edge of his bed and looked at themwith a great appearance of interest.
"Was the thief taken, O son of a Prophet?"
"He was not. I have cried in the veranda, to see the Lady Sahib'ssorrow, and I have also prayed and made many offerings at the Mosque,but the thief escaped. Now that my service with the Lord Sahib isfinished, and as he has assisted my poverty with small gifts, I wouldlike to make a present to the Lady Sahib. Some trifling thing, costing asmall sum in rupees, for her grief was indeed great, and it may avail toconsole her sorrow."
"For which sorrow thou, also, wept in the veranda," added Leh Shin.
"The Lady Sahib had many bowls of lacquer, some green, some red, somespotted like the back of a poison snake, but she lacked a golden bowl,and, should I be able to procure one for a moderate price, it would addgreatly to her pleasure in remembering her servant, for, says not theWise One, 'a gift is a small thing, but the hand that holds it may notbe raised to smite.'"
Shiraz, all the time he was speaking, had regarded the Chinaman frombehind his respectable gold-rimmed spectacles, and he noticed that LehShin did not seem to care for the subject of lacquer, for his facedarkened and he stopped scratching.
"I deal not in lacquer," he said quickly. "Neither touch thou theaccursed thing, O Shiraz. Leave it to Mhtoon Pah, who is a sorcerer andwhose lies mount as high as the topmost pinnacle of the Pagoda." TheChinaman's lips drew back from his teeth, and he snarled like a dog. "Iwill not speak of him to thee, but I would that the face of Mhtoon Pahwas under my heel, and his eyeballs under my thumbs."
"Yet this golden bowl has been in my thought," the voice of Shirazflowed on evenly. "And I said that here, in Mangadone, I might find suchan one. Thou art sure that lacquer is accursed to thine eyes, Leh Shin?That thou hast not such a bowl by thee, neither that thy assistant, whenhe seeks the bed for myself and the lesser bed for my friend, could notlook craftily into the shop of this merchant, and ask the price as hepasseth, if so be that Mhtoon Pah has such a bowl to sell?"
Leh Shin spat ferociously.
"There was a bowl, a bowl such as you describe, O servant of Kings, andI thought to procure it, for word was brought me that Mhtoon Pah hadneed of it, and I desired to hold it before him and withdraw it again,and to inspire his covetousness and rage and then to sell it from my ownhand, but he leagues with devils and his power is great, for, behold,Honourable Haj, the bowl that was mine was lost by the man from the seaswho was about to sell it to me. Lost, in all truth, and after the lapseof many days, Mhtoon Pah had it in his shop, and sold it to the LadySahib."
"The hands of a man of wealth are more than two," said Shirazoracularly.
"Nay, not so, for all thy learning, Pilgrim from the Shrine of Mahomet.The hands of this merchant, at the time I speak, were as my hands, orthine," he held out his claws and snatched at the air as though it washis enemy's throat. "For his boy, his assistant, the Christian Absalom,who served him well, and whom Mhtoon Pah fed upon sweets from thevendor's stall, was suddenly taken from him, and has vanished, like thesmoke of an opium pipe."
Shiraz expressed wonder, and agreed with Leh Shin that sorcery had beenused, shaking his head gravely and at length rising to his feet.
"The shadows lengthen and the hour of prayer draws near. It is time forthe follower of the Prophet to give a poor man's alms at the gate of theMosque, and to pray and praise," he said. "Thy assistant tarries, LehShin; let him go forth with speed and place my purchase in thy keeping,since I met thee in a happy hour, and shall return upon the morrow fromthe _Serai_, where it is Allah's will that I pass the night in peace."
Walking with a slow, regular pace, he left the native quarter, andtaking a tram, got out on the road below the bungalow where Hartley'sservant waited in the veranda.
"Thy Sahib has cursed thy beard and thine age, and says that he willreplace thee with a younger man if thy dealings in the Bazaar are ofsuch long duration."
"Peace, owl," said Shiraz. "The Sahib can no more travel without myassistance than a babe of one day without his mother. Presently, whenthe Sahib has drunk a peg, he will return to reason."
"The Sa
hib is not within; he has but now gone out once more, askingfrom my Sahib for the loan of a prayer-book. Doubtless, there is a_Tamasha_ at the 'Kerfedril,' and Coryndon Sahib goes thither to pray."
"I shall place the buttons in his shirt, and recover an eight-anna piecefrom the floor, which the master dropped yesterday, to deliver to himwhen he shall return. Seek to be honest in thy youth, my son, for inlater life it will repay thee."
Hartley's boy had not been mistaken when he heard Coryndon ask for aprayer-book and saw him go out on foot. The small persistent belloutside St. Jude's Church was ringing with desperate energy to collectany worshippers who might feel inclined to assemble there for evensong,and the worshippers when collected under the tin roof numbered nearly adozen.
It was a bare, barn-like Church, for the wealth of the Cantonment hadflowed in the direction of the Cathedral. The punkah mats flappedlanguidly, and the lower part of the church was dark, only the chancelbeing lighted with ungainly punkah-proof lamps, and the two altarcandles that threw their gleam on a plain gold cross, guttered in theheat. A strip of cocoa-nut matting lay along the aisle, and the chanceland altar steps were covered in sad, faded red. The organist did notattend except on Sundays or Feast Days, and the service was plain,conducted throughout by the Rev. Francis Heath.
Coryndon took a seat about half-way up the nave, and when Heath cameinto the church, he watched him with interest. He liked to watch a man,whom it was his business to study, without being disturbed, and Heath'sface in profile, as he knelt at the reading desk, or in full sight as hestood to read the lesson, attracted the fixed gaze of, at least, onemember of the small congregation. There was no sermon and the servicewas short, and as he sat quietly in his place, Coryndon wondered whatfrenzied moment of fear or despair could have driven this man into thecompany of Joicey and Mrs. Draycott Wilder, unconscious perhaps of theirconnection with him, but linked nevertheless by an invisible thread thatwound around them all.
Beyond the fact that he had seen Mrs. Wilder, he had not taken her underthe close observation of his mental microscope. She stood on one sideuntil such time as he should have need to probe into her reasons forsilence, and he wondered if Hartley was right, and if, by chance, theearnest face of the clergyman, with its burning, stricken eyes, hadappealed to her sympathy. Could it be so, he asked himself once ortwice, but the immediate question was the one that Coryndon gave hismind to answer, and just then he was forming an impression of the Rev.Francis Heath.
He looked at his hands, at his thin neck, at the hollows in his cheeksand the emotional quiver at the corner of his mouth, and he knew the manwas a fanatic, a civilized fanatic, but desperately and even horribly inearnest. A believer in torment, a man who held the vigorous faith thatmakes for martyrdom and can also pile wood for the fires that burn thebodies of others for the eventual welfare of their souls.Unquestionably, the Rev. Francis Heath was a man not to be judged by anaverage inch rule, and Coryndon thought over him as he listened to hisvoice and watched his strained, tempest-tossed face. Whether he wasinvolved in the disappearance of Absalom or not, he recognized thatHeath was a strong man, and that his ill-balanced force would need verylittle to make him a violent man. It surprised him less to think thatHartley attached suspicion to the Rector of St. Jude's than it had atfirst, and he left the church with a very clear impression of theclergyman put carefully away beside his appreciation of Leh Shin'sassistant. He had caught just a glimpse of the personality of the man,and was busy building it up bit by bit, working out his idea by firsttrying to fathom the temperament that dwelt in the spare body and droveand wore him hour after hour.
The Rev. Francis Heath had paid some Chinaman to keep silence, butthough he might pay a Chinaman, he could do nothing with his ownconscience, and it was with a hidden adversary that he wrestled day andnight. Coryndon's face was pitiless as the face of a vivisectingsurgeon. Had she known of his mission, Mrs. Wilder might have beaten herbeautiful head on the stones under his feet, and she would have gainednothing whatever of concession or mercy.
Atkins and the Barrister were dining with Hartley that night, and asCoryndon never cared to hurry over his dressing, he went at once to hisroom and called Shiraz.
"All is well, my Master," said Shiraz, in a low voice. "But it would bewise if the Master were to curse his servant in a loud voice, since itis expected that he will do so, and the monkey-folk in the servants'quarter listen without, concealing their pleasure in the Sahib's wrath."
When the proceedings terminated and Coryndon had accepted his servant'slong excuse for his delay, the doors were closed, Shiraz having firstgone out to shake his fist at Hartley's boy.
"Thus much have I discovered, Lord Sahib," said Shiraz, when he hadexplained that the house was in readiness and the necessary furniturebought and stored temporarily at the shop of Leh Shin, the Chinaman."There is an old hate between these two men, he of the devil shop, andthe Chinaman, a hate as old as rust that eats into an iron bar."
Coryndon lay back in his chair and listened without remark.
"Among many lies told unto me, that is true; and again, among many lies,it is also true that he had not, neither did he ever possess, the goldlacquer bowl, on the subject of which my Master bade me question him. Heknows not how Mhtoon Pah found it, but he believes that it was through asorcery he practised, for the man is as full of evil as the chattilifted from the brink of the well is full of water."
Coryndon smiled and glanced at Shiraz.
"And you think so also, grandson of a Tucktoo, for though you are old,your white hairs bring you no wisdom."
"I am the Sahib's servant, but who knoweth the ways of devils, sincetheir footprints cannot be seen, neither upon the sand of the desert norin the snows of the great hills?"
"Did he speak of Absalom?"
"He told me, Protector of the Poor, that the boy, though of Christiancaste, was to Mhtoon Pah as the apple of his eye, and that he fed himupon sweets from the vendor's stall. Let it be said, for thy wisdom tounravel, that therefore Leh Shin felt mirth in his mind, knowing thatthe heart of his foe was wrung as the _Dhobie_ wrings the soiledgarment."
Shiraz fell silent and looked up from the floor at the face of hismaster, who got up and stretched himself.
"Is my bath ready, Shiraz?"
"All is prepared, though the _pani walla_, a worker of iniquity, stealsthe wood for his own burning; therefore, the water is not hot, and illis done to the good name of Hartley Sahib's house."
When he was dressed he strolled into the drawing-room, and sat down atthe piano, playing softly until Hartley came in.
"Shall you be away long, do you suppose?" he asked, looking withinterest at Coryndon's smooth, black head.
"I may be, but it is impossible to tell. If I want you, I will send amessage by Shiraz."
The dinner passed off without incident, and not once did Coryndon openthe secret door of his mind, to add to the strange store of facts he hadgathered there. He wanted nothing from Atkins, who knew less of the Rev.Francis Heath than he did himself, and he had to sustain his role ofignorance of the country. The two men stayed late, and it seemed toCoryndon that when men talk they do more than talk, they tell manythings unconsciously.
Perhaps, if people realized, as Coryndon realized, the value ofrestrained speech, we should know less of our neighbours' follies andweaknesses than we do. There was a noticeable absence of interest inwhat anyone else had to say. Atkins had his own foible, Fitzgibbon his,and Hartley, who knew more of the ways of men, a more interesting, butnot less egoistic platform from which he desired to speak. They seemedto stalk naked and unashamed before the eyes of the one man who nevergave a definite opinion, and who never asserted his own theories orurged his own philosophy of life.
Coryndon listened because it amused him faintly, but he was glad whenthe party broke up and they left. What a planet of words it was, hethought, as he sat in his room and reflected over the day. Words thatought to carry value and weight, but were treated like so many loosepebbles cast into void space; and
he wondered as he thought of it; andfrom wondering at the wordy, noisy world in which he found himself, hewent on to wonder at the greater silence that was so much more powerfulthan words. "The value of mystery," was the phrase that presented itselfto his mind.
During the evening, three men had enjoyed all the pleasure ofself-betrayal, and, from the place where he stood, unable ever toexpress anything of his own nature in easy speech, he wondered at them,with almost childlike astonishment. Fitzgibbon, garrulous and loose oftongue, Atkins, precise and easily heated to wrath, conscious of somehidden fear that his dignity was not sufficiently respected, andHartley, who had something to say, but who oversaid it, losing gripbecause of his very insistence. Not one of them understood the value ofreserve, and all alike strove to proclaim themselves in speech, notknowing that speech is an unsound vehicle for the unwary, and thatpersonality disowns it as a medium.
Out of the mouth of a man comes his own condemnation: let him prosperwho remembers this truth. The value of mystery, the value of silence,and above all things, the supreme value of a tongue that is a servantand not a master; Coryndon considered these values and wondered again atthe garrulity of men. Talk, the fluid, ineffectual force that fills theworld with noise, that kills illusions and betrays every latentweakness; surely the high gods laughed when they put a tongue in themouth of man. He pinched his lips together and his eyes lighted with apassing smile of mirth.
"In Burma, there are no clappers to the bells," he said to himself."Each man must strike hard before sound answers to his hand, and trulyit is well to think of this at times." And, still amused by the fleetingmemory of the evening, he went to bed and slept.
The Pointing Man Page 14
