The Judas Tree

by A. J. Cronin

  ‘Oh, what a horrible old man,’ exclaimed Leonora. ‘ He’s worse than the chief.’

  ‘That’s the witch doctor and rain maker. When the droughts came, and they were frequent, his job was to dispel them with magic. And when his mumbo-jumbo didn’t work he blamed it on the bad medicine of the new religion. During my second year we had a dry spell so prolonged and serious that things looked very bad for us. I don’t think I ever prayed so hard for rain – I almost cracked the heavens.’

  ‘And the rains came,’ Leonora murmured in a dreamy voice. She already felt herself a little in love with Willie.

  ‘No, not a drop,’ Willie said calmly, and paused. ‘But I had a sudden idea, an inspiration if you like – that my spring, which disappeared high on the hill, might be running down the slope underground. I’d never done a stroke of water divining in my life but I cut myself a mangana twig, which was the nearest I could find to hazel, asked the good Lord to help me if He didn’t want to see His servant without a head, and started walking down the hill towards the village. By the time I got there the whole tribe were round me, watching, including our friend there on the screen. Suddenly, just outside the chief’s hut, the twig gave a twitch. I thought it might only be my shaky nerves, but I took a chance and told them to dig. Twenty feet down we came on a rushing subterranean stream that went right through the centre of the village. I couldn’t describe to you the wild scene that followed, for I was on my knees reciting the fourteenth Psalm, but since that moment we have never lacked water and it was then that I made my first converts.’

  There was a ripple of interest and appreciation, a spontaneous reaction that fell warmly on Moray’s ears. Now a full partner in this splendid enterprise, he exchanged a quick communicative glance with Kathy.

  Meanwhile Willie had resumed, describing the further progress of the Mission, the slow and painful emergence from darkness to light of a savage, isolated tribe. There had been setbacks of course, and some bad disasters. His original church had been burned down and when, having gained a mastery of the language, he tried to change the tribal initiation rites, in which youths and young girls were subjected to indescribable indignities, he’d had a difficult time. But for the intervention of Tshosa the entire Mission would have been wiped out. As it was, three of his converts were killed and several attempts made on his life. The following year a Swedish missionary, his nearest neighbour, ninety miles away, and his wife and two little daughters were murdered – all beheaded. It was so difficult to change the hearts of men inured to brutality and bloodshed that he had determined to concentrate on the children; by early teaching he could obtain positive results, and for this reason he had built the school and, later, the orphanage. He showed several slides of these little ones grouped around Daniel the catechist, now an old man, touching photographs which caused Leonora to exclaim: ‘ Oh dear, aren’t the whites of their eyes so divinely pathetic.’

  ‘Their eyes are pathetic because so many of them have trachoma. And as you see, some of the faces are pitted with smallpox scars.’

  ‘Then it’s not a healthy district?’ someone asked.

  ‘Unfortunately not. Malaria is still endemic, sleeping sickness too, and we get a lot of hookworm and filariasis, even an odd case of leprosy.’ So the main necessity was now a hospital, and – with a half smile towards Moray he hoped to have this soon. Proper medical treatment would prove of immense benefit. Still, after nearly twenty years of continuous labour he was not ashamed of the results: the fine stone church, the school and orphanage, the proper mission house – he displayed them on the screen – all were rather different from that first mud shed. And he now had over three hundred practising church members, besides four catechists and several out-stations in the bush which he visited in rotation every month in his jeep. Needless to say, they still had their troubles. He was worried over the situation that might develop in the neighbouring province of Kasai. If the civil authority failed there, now that the Belgians were going out, there might be some disorders. And they were very near, in fact two of his new out-stations were actually across the border. Nothing had happened so far, at least nothing to speak of, but because of the possibility of trouble he must get back to the Mission quickly, to be on hand if needed.

  ‘And now,’ Willie said, with an apologetic smile, looking at the clock, ‘that’s about all. I only hope I haven’t bored you and that you’ll forgive me for having taken so much of your time.’

  When he concluded there was a cordial round of applause, a tribute only faintly tempered by the slight note of misgiving on which the talk had ended. Encouraged by the general approbation which, through his inclusion in the scheme of medical reform, must apply in some measure to himself, Moray seized the appropriate moment and stood up. He was normally a confident speaker but now he was restrained, almost humble. Still, the words came to him.

  ‘I think I speak for all of us, in offering warmest thanks to our good friend for his stimulating and moving discourse. His has been a supremely brave and unselfish accomplishment – an epic humanitarian achievement. Incidentally,’ he added, striving for humorous parenthesis, ‘if you should wish to express your appreciation in more tangible form, a salver has been placed for that purpose in the hall. And now,’ he followed on quickly, ‘ if I may impose upon you for a moment, I should like to add a personal postscript to what has already been said.’ He paused, almost overcome by a rush of feeling. ‘ The truth is … I’ve come to a decision that may surprise you … but which I hope you will hear with understanding.’

  A stir passed over the audience, a decided stir.

  ‘You might imagine it to be a sudden decision. It is not. Although I’ve been happy here I’ve been conscious of a prompting, an urge, one might say, towards a more active, a more useful existence, in which my medical knowledge might be utilised, not for reward but for good. And in how remarkable a manner that intention has been given effect. Early last month it so happened that I felt myself recalled to my native country. Here I made contact with a family I had known and loved in my youth, a family, in short, of which Kathy and Willie are members. Kathy I had not known, the joy of finding her was therefore all the greater. Willie I already knew. He and I, in those early days, had been friends, he as a little lad, I as a thoughtless though striving youth, and often, during our long conversations, he had thrilled me with his boyish enthusiasm for the missionary life. And now the wheel has turned full circle.’ He paused, so affected he could scarcely go on. ‘My friends, I don’t want to weary you with the story of a soul’s regeneration. I will say simply that I am going out with Willie to the Mission, as a doctor, and Kathy, my dear Kathy,’ he moved over to where she stood beside the projector and placed his arm about her shoulders, ‘will be there with us, as my wife.’

  Now, indeed, there was a marked reaction which took the form of an immediate silence, followed by a sudden outburst. In a hurry, everyone got up and began to speak at once. Congratulations were showered on Moray, his hand was shaken, the ladies pressed round Kathy.

  ‘More champagne,’ Stench shouted. ‘A toast to the bride and groom.’

  Champagne was available, the toast was drunk, it seemed as though the party would begin all over again. Most encouraging of all was Madame von Altishofer’s composed acceptance of the accomplished fact. He had feared trouble, some marring exhibition of pique or displeasure, but no, her behaviour had been perfect, a smile of congratulation, gently tinged with sadness perhaps, yet a definite smile for him, and for Kathy a kiss upon the cheek.

  Indeed, when half an hour later the others had begun to leave and, standing in the hall, he was speeding them on their way, she stopped briefly for a final word.

  ‘Dear friend, I rejoice in your happiness. Such a sweet child. All that – and heaven too, with this splendid new work.’

  ‘You are most kind, Frida.’

  ‘Ah, I had a premonition that we should lose you, even when I was at Baden and you did not write.’

  ‘I always knew
you were intuitive,’ he said guardedly.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. But all that is past. Now is the time to be practical, to show the value of a true friend who also is, as you say, matter-of-fact. Your déménagement in so short a time will be most difficult. You will need help, and if you wish I can give it. Your little one tells me she leaves with her splendid Willie tomorrow. I would wish to come then, but as you may be at the airport … yes? … very well, shall I come the day after?’

  ‘You’re most thoughtful,’ he said, realising after a moment’s reflection that nothing could be more acceptable. She was so capable, and already he had begun to worry about the complexity of the arrangements that must be made. ‘I shall expect you. And thank you.’

  She smiled, and passed through the door.

  Immediately he hurried back to rejoin Kathy and Willie in the salon. He took the salver from the hall table with him.

  ‘Well, was it a success?’ he asked gaily.

  ‘It went ever so well,’ Kathy said, looking flushed and happy.

  ‘Did you think so too, Willie?’

  He nodded. He was sitting down, looking tired.

  ‘They were all very kind.’

  ‘Let’s just see how kind,’ Moray said slyly. He was in tremendous spirits. With the air of a conspirator he handed the salver to Kathy and, while she held it, began to count the money-There was a respectable heap of fifty-and hundred-franc bills and one coin – a two-franc piece.

  ‘I bet that’s from little Gallie,’ Moray laughed.

  ‘Then it means a lot,’ Willie said, unexpectedly.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kathy agreed warmly. ‘ I liked her much the best.’

  There was a pause, then Kathy said again:

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten that bit of paper at the bottom?’

  ‘Have I? Good lord, don’t tell me someone’s chipped in with a bad cheque. Take a look, Kathy.’

  She gazed at the cheque, quite speechless, then she handed it to Willie. Still silent, she looked at Moray, then suddenly put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Next day, at two in the afternoon, Moray arrived back from Zurich, still rather cast down by the departure of Kathy and Willie for Edinburgh on the noon plane, yet charged with vigorous purpose. Only eleven days remained before he would join them at London Airport, and much must be accomplished in that brief span; the need for immediate action was imperative. As he let himself into the house – following the departure of his guests he had given Arturo and Elena the afternoon off – he felt glad of Madame von Altishofer’s promise of assistance and hoped she would not fail to turn up next morning.

  However, he had only begun to go through his mail in the study when, to his surprise, he heard the beat of her litle Dauphine in the drive. Leaving unopened the Journal of Tropical Medicine, to which he had just subscribed, and a parcel of lightweight nylon camping equipment that promised to be interesting, he went to meet her.

  ‘Am I too prompt?’ She spoke briskly, looking extremely workmanlike in a grey linen skirt and knitted grey cardigan. ‘I happened to see you pass in the Humber and thought not to waste the afternoon.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ he agreed heartily, leading the way into the library. ‘There’s so much to do, the sooner we start the better.’

  ‘Tell me then, what, roughly, are your plans?’ She sat, not in the chair, but on the arm, indicating instant obedient readiness.

  ‘The villa, of course, will be put on the market. Arturo and Elena will move into the chalet and act as gardiens of the property until it is sold.’

  ‘And your things?’

  ‘My pictures and silver must go provisionally to the bank. Their ultimate disposition will be in my lawyer’s hands – Stieger is a most reliable man. My furniture and books can remain here temporarily – quite safe if the house is shuttered.’

  ‘These lovely books,’ she exclaimed, looking at the long double rows of fine Sangorski bindings. ‘You cannot leave them so, in a shut-up house, or they will become altogether foxed. Every one must be separately wrapped, and that is something I can do for you.’

  ‘Arturo …’ he began.

  ‘No.’ She got up smilingly. ‘He will have enough on his hands. And he is so overthrown by your going, he is not fit for anything extra. Besides, I love books; my father had a famous library at Kellenstein. So off to your own work and leave this to me.’ As he moved towards the door, she added, tactfully, but with a glance both ironic and approving: ‘By the way, I suppose you have read Mr Stench’s article in the Tageblatt.’

  ‘I haven’t seen today’s papers. What article?’

  ‘It is a piece about your party for the Mission, but there is much in it about you, and of your courage in going out there, in spite of this tribal affair. It is most flattering.’

  He reddened, chiefly from pleasure, thinking of his friends in Melsburg and so many others in the canton who would read of him.

  ‘Archie is rather a nuisance,’ he said. ‘Though basically good at heart. I hope he didn’t overdo it. And what’s this tribal affair?’

  ‘Apparently an outbreak of some sort, probably no more than the general unrest your friend referred to in his lecture. Now tell me, where may I find lots of wrapping paper?’

  ‘In the pantry. Elena has stacks of it in a cupboard.’

  When she went off he stirred himself and set about his first important task, to make the inventory of his antiques. This was something after his own heart and as he toured the house with paper and pen, noting down this piece and that – the Charles II red lacquer cabinet bought at the Antique Fair in London, the exquisitely mellowed Queen Anne bureau listed in Macquoid’s classic The Age of Walnut, the Louis XVI fauteuils he had bid for successfully at the Parke-Bernet Galleries – waves of recollection, of bitter-sweet nostalgia, flowed over him. It was hard to part with these costly trifles, yet never had he felt so spiritually elevated, so convinced of the merit of his renunciation. Archie Stench was right. He was doing a worth-while thing.

  The tabulation was not quite complete when, at five o’clock, Madame von Altishofer found him brooding over his Elizabethan buffet in the dining-room.

  ‘Time for tea,’ she announced.

  He looked up.

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘Not nearly. The books alone will take at least another half day. But workers of the world require refreshment. And I have presumed to make a few amaretti.’

  The break was in fact most welcome.

  ‘What good biscuits,’ he remarked. ‘I never associated you with the domestic virtues.’

  ‘One learns from necessity – and disappointments, of which I’ve had many. Please take another.’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’ He smiled deprecatingly. ‘ The impression I’ve received lately is that I’m rather over-addicted to the pleasures of the table.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ she said spiritedly. ‘Now especially, to build your strength, you should be eating well. Goodness alone knows what wretched fare you will get out there.’

  ‘I’ll be all the better for it. I supped plenty of porridge in my youth.’

  ‘In your youth, yes, dear friend.’ She smiled tolerantly. ‘But now?’

  A brief silence followed this remark, during which she gazed round the, as yet, undenuded room, her eyes coming to rest on the lovely pastel of Madame Melo and her child.

  ‘Do you remember the afternoon you showed me the Vuillard? It seems only yesterday, yet so much has happened in that short time. Promise me to keep your paintings on the walls until the last possible moment. You often told me you could not live without them, and certainly that you would never sell them.’ Althought seemed to strike her. She hesitated, glanced away, then towards him, finally exclaimed impulsively: ‘ Must you really sell your home? Couldn’t you keep it, well, as a kind of rest house which you could fall back on in case of need? Dear friend, I worry about you, and the last thing I wish is that you should get one of those tropica
l diseases that have broken up poor Willie. And what a catalogue he recited, malaria, sleeping sickness, leprosy and the rest; the poor man looks ill enough to have half of them himself.… But as I was saying, if you should contract something serious, at least you would, have a safe place in proper climate to recover and recuperate.’

  He looked at her, at first frowning, as in doubt, then, thoughtfully. The idea had never occurred to him and, at first sight, it appeared to have considerable merit. Why should he sell out in a blind rush; he had not the slightest financial need. Besides, if he took time, with mounting property values he would undoubtedly secure a far better price. But no, no, that would be merely temporising, playing around with half-measures, a dangerous procedure at all times. He was going for good, and would not return. He shook his head decisively.

  ‘No. I prefer to make a clean, sharp cut.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you are right. Always you see things so clearly, never thinking of yourself. I did wrong to make such a weak proposal, but it is because I think only of you. God knows I shall never for one moment have peace once you are out there.’