Dark Memory
Page 32
“You know, I have been in Africa eighteen years,” the priest said.
“Really? You do not look old enough.”
“I was sent out at twenty,” the priest said. “I speak of this for a reason; to let you know what I have experienced.” He was speaking very slowly. “I have seen natives die under the lash of settlers. I have seen slavers, and white men living with native women, and cannibals, and leopard men——”
The waiter came with the vermouth. The priest was silent. His face looked grim. He was remembering evil things. The waiter went away.
“Yes,” the priest said, “there have been many wicked men and women. But I don’t believe you are one of them.”
“I hope not, Father.”
“No. I am sure.” The priest looked at him. “Do you believe?”
“When I’m frightened,” Jay said, smiling.
“You are not a Roman Catholic?”
“No.”
“If you were,” the priest said, “you would understand what she is going through.”
“I think I do.”
“No. If you did you would not ask her to go.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree, Father.’”
“You want her to break the laws of God?” the priest asked.
“I don’t know what the laws of God are.”
“No. That is quite true. You are not one of ours,” the priest said. “That is why you do not understand. She is a Roman Catholic.”
“Yes, I know.”
The waiter came to the table. The glasses were empty. “Encore?” he asked.
“Will you have another?” Jay asked the priest.
“If you please.”
“And a cognac,” Jay told the waiter.
“She is a Roman Catholic,” the priest repeated. “She has been taught she must not marry a second time.”
“Yes.”
“If she goes with you,” the priest said, “she will no longer receive the comforts of her religion.”
“Isn’t that up to her?”
“Women are often confused,” the priest said. “Man is stronger, able to see more clearly.”
“What do you want me to do?”
The waiter came back with the drinks. He put a bowl of green olives on the table. Then he left.
“You must tell her you are going without her,” the priest said.
“I can’t do that.”
“If you love her, you will not want her to suffer.”
“I want her to do what she wants to do.”
The priest fingered his glass of vermouth.
“Don’t you want her to do what is best?”
“I don’t know what is best,” Jay said. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You are very lucky.”
“If you had faith, you would know too.”
“Perhaps.”
“Undoubtedly.”
The priest’s voice was flat. He was getting angry.
“Look, Father,” Jay said, “it’s really no use talking to me. Why are you?”
“She and her husband appealed to me for help with their problem.”
“Her husband did, you mean.”
“No. She asked my help, too.”
“Then why not talk to her?”
“It will be easier for her if you make the decision.”
“I’ve made my decision,” Jay said. “I want her to go with me.”
“You are very stubborn,” the priest said sharply.
“Yes.”
“And very wrong. I know what is best. Believe me,” the priest said, “it has been given to me to know what is best.”
Jay was silent.
“And so I must demand that you give this woman up.”
“By what authority?”
“By the authority given to me under the laws of God.”
“To hell with the laws of God,” Jay said.
For a moment the priest did not understand what he had said. Then he went white with anger. He sat absolutely motionless, his face white and stiff, and then he got up and walked away. Jay watched him leave the bar. Then he drank the cognac. The priest had not touched his second vermouth.
CHAPTER 37
IT WAS NOW quite dark outside. Jay could no longer see the pile of straw in the courtyard. Close to the window, where the lights of the bar reached, he could see cobblestones. They shone from the rain that was falling again. Three Belgian officials came into the bar. They nodded to Jay and sat at a table by the fire. The waiter brought them Dubonnets. They drank without talking. They looked tired. Jay called the waiter to his table.
“What time is it?”
The waiter took out the gold watch. “It is thirteen minutes of seven.”
“And the mail will leave at seven?”
“Out, monsieur.”
“Please bring me another cognac.”
He drank the cognac slowly and ate two of the olives. Who made the laws of God? he wondered. Certainly not God. They were made by the Hebrews as a code to follow in their time. It had been a good code and it probably worked then. That did not mean it was necessary to follow it now, especially as there were no prophets with beards and swords to enforce it. The priest had no beard or sword. He did have some authority, but only as long as you did not think things out. Religion depended on not thinking things out. He was really sorry he had said what he said to the priest, but he had wanted to show him how he stood. But it was really up to Eve. It was her religion and her problem. She had to think it out. She had ten minutes. It was such a short time. The important thing, he thought, was to be happy as much as possible. If the laws of God, or the Hebrews, or the priest, made you happy, by all means follow them. If it made you happy, really happy, to break them, by all means break them. That was how he felt. He did not know how Eve felt. But he did not want her to be unhappy. She had to decide. Ten minutes. He was so afraid she would decide with the laws. Oh, Eve, please come. Please forget the laws and come. Make me happy, and be happy, he thought. We can have such a happy time together. Such a wonderful time! Come. Oh, come!
The waiter stood by his table looking at him curiously. He asked the waiter what time it was. It was five minutes of seven by the gold watch.
“Thank you,” Jay said. “Please bring my bill. And some writing materials.”
He wrote a note to Mr. Palmer, asking him to send his clothes and equipment to Stanleyville, and gave it to the waiter to deliver. The three Belgians had gone into the dining room. He could see them eating at the table where he had sat with Eve. He ordered another cognac. The car should be along at any moment. A woman’s footsteps on the floor made his stomach turn over. But it was not Eve. It was Madame Chambord with the bill. He signed a fifty-dollar traveler’s check and she brought him change. The auto would be ready in two or three minutes, she told him.
“Bon voyage,” she said, smiling down at him.
“Thank you.”
The waiter went to serve the Belgians in the dining room. He drank the brandy slowly. He thought of drinking brandy with Eve in the forest. That seemed long ago. It would be a cold ride in the rain. He would meet Bill’s father in Stanleyville. He would tell him about Bill. That was the last thing he had to do. He could hold himself together until he did that. Then it did not matter what happened. He did not know where he would go from there. He did not care. One place was as good, or as bad, as another. Good-by, Eve. The waiter came to tell him the car was ready. He finished the brandy. He gave the waiter ten francs and got up.
“Your drinks were included in the bill,” the waiter said.
“That’s for you.”
“Merci, monsieur,” the waiter said. “Merci.”
Jay went out of the hotel through the parlor and crossed the veranda and went down the stone steps. A big touring car with side curtains was waiting, the motor going slowly and unevenly. In the path made by the headlights he could see the rain falling. The driver was not with the car. He took a deep breath of the cool, wet air.
“Monsieur.”
It was the waiter.
“What do you want?”
“Your traveler’s checks. You left them.”
“Oh, thank you.” He took the checks. “It was kind of you to bring them.”
The waiter looked at him curiously. “Are you ill, monsieur?”
“No.”
“This climate is difficult,” the waiter said. “Especially for those who are not accustomed to it.”
“I have heard so.”
The waiter looked at him again. “Bon voyage, monsieur.”
“The same to you,” Jay said in English.
The waiter went up the steps and into the hotel. Jay got in the rear seat of the car. There was a strong smell of damp leather and gasoline. The engine shook the body unevenly. He could see the hotel, large and black, through the glass in the rear curtain. He could see lights in some of the windows. Good-by, Eve. Good-by, darling. Good-by, good-by, good-by. The rain beat on the canvas top of the car. His skin felt damp. There was an electric bulb on the hotel veranda and under it he could see a man. It was the priest. He was watching the car. Jay could see his white face. He stood motionless, watching the car, his face blurred a little by the falling rain.
The driver came with a square luggage box. He was a young Belgian with a thick mustache. He put the box in front and then he opened the rear door and put a blanket over Jay.
“It’s going to be a cold ride,” he said.
“How long will it take?”
The driver shrugged his shoulders. “It says eleven hours on the schedule. But with the rain——”
The driver left the door open and got in the front seat. He gave the motor gas, and then let it idle again. Jay turned to look at the priest. He was standing by the light, watching the car. Eve came out of the hotel and walked down the steps. She came towards the car through the rain.
“Hello, darling,” she said.
He could not say anything. She got in the back seat with him and pulled the door shut. “We’re ready,” she said to the driver. Her face was wet. The driver put the car in gear.
“You’re crying,” Jay said.
“Yes. Isn’t it silly?”
“No.”
She looked at the priest. “I’m so frightened of him,” she said.
They both looked back at the priest as the car left the hotel. They could see his white face in the electric light. He did not move. The driver put the car in second gear and soon the rain hid the priest and then the hotel. They climbed out of town on the wet road.
“Don’t be frightened,” Jay said.
“I can’t help it.”
He kissed her.
“Oh, darling,” she said. “It’s all right now.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1940 by Jonathan Latimer
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8615-7
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