CHAPTER XIV
I LEARN MY DOOM
Horror is a feeling that cannot last long; human nature isincapable of supporting it. Sadness, whether from bereavement, ordisappointment, or misfortune of any kind, may linger on through life.In my case, however, the milder and more enduring feeling of sadnesshad no sufficient cause for existence. The sights which I had seeninspired horror, and horror only. But when the first rush of thisfeeling had passed there came a reaction. Calmness followed, and thenall the circumstances of my life here conspired to perpetuate thatcalm. For here all on the surface was pleasant and beautiful; all thepeople were amiable and courteous and most generous. I had light andluxury and amusements. Around me there were thousands of faces, allgreeting me with cordial affection, and thousands of hands all readyto perform my slightest wish. Above all, there was Almah. Everythingcombined to make her most dear to me. My life had been such that Inever before had seen anyone whom I loved; and here Almah was the onecongenial associate in a whole world of aliens: she was beautifuland gentle and sympathetic, and I loved her dearly, even before Iunderstood what my feelings were. One day I learned all, and foundthat she was more precious to me than all the world.
It was one jom when she did not make her appearance as usual. Onasking after her I learned that she was ill. At this intelligencethere came over me a feeling of sickening anxiety and fear. Almah ill!What if it should prove serious? Could I endure life here without hersweet companionship? Of what value was life without her? And as Iasked myself these questions I learned that Almah had become dearerto me than life itself, and that in her was all the sunshine of myexistence. While she was absent, life was nothing; all its value, allits light, its flavor, its beauty, were gone. I felt utterly crushed.I forgot all else save her illness, and all that I had endured seemedas nothing when compared with this.
In the midst of my own anxiety I was surprised to find that the wholecommunity was most profoundly agitated. Among all classes there seemedto be but one thought--her illness. I could overhear them talking Icould see them wait outside to hear about her. It seemed to be the onesubject of interest, beside which all others were forgotten. The Kohenwas absorbed in her case; all the physicians of the city were more orless engaged in her behalf; and there came forward as volunteers everywoman in the place who had any knowledge of sick-duties. I wassomewhat perplexed, however, at their manner. They were certainlyagitated and intensely interested, yet not exactly sad. Indeed, fromwhat I heard it seemed as though this strange people regarded sicknessas rather a blessing than otherwise. This, however, did not interferein the slightest degree with the most intense interest in her, and themost assiduous attention. The Kohen in particular was devoted to her.He was absent-minded, silent, and full of care. On the whole, I feltmore than ever puzzled, and less able than ever to understand thesepeople. I loved them, yet loathed them; for the Kohen I had at onceaffection and horror. He looked like an anxious father, full oftenderest love for a sick child--full also of delicate sympathy withme; and yet I knew all the time that he was quite capable of plungingthe sacrificial knife in Almah's heart and of eating her afterward.
But my own thoughts were all of Almah. I learned how dear she was.With her the brightness of life had passed; without her existencewould be intolerable. Her sweet voice, her tender and gracious manner,her soft touch, her tender, affectionate smile, her mournful yettrustful look--oh, heavens! would all these be mine no more? I couldnot endure the thought. At first I wandered about, seeking rest andfinding none; and at length I sat in my own room, and passed the timein listening, in questioning the attendants, in wondering what Ishould do if she should be taken from me.
At length on one blessed jom, the Kohen came to me with a brightsmile.
"Our darling Almah is better," said he. "Eat, I beseech you. She isvery dear to all of us, and we have all felt for her and for you. Butnow all danger is past. The physicians say that she will soon bewell." There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. It may have beencaused by the bright light, but I attributed this to his loving heart,and I forgot that he was a cannibal. I took his hands in mine andpressed them in deep emotion. He looked at me with a sweet and gentlesmile.
"I see it all," said he, in a low voice--"you love her, Atam-or."
I pressed his hands harder, but said nothing. Indeed, I could nottrust myself to speak.
"I knew it," said he; "it is but natural. You are both of a differentrace from us; you are both much alike, and in full sympathy with oneanother. This draws you together. When I first saw you I thought thatyou would be a fit companion for her here--that you would lessen hergloom, and that she would be pleasant to you. I found out soon that Iwas right, and I felt glad, for you at once showed the fullestsympathy with one another. Never till you came was Almah happy withus; but since you have come she has been a different being, and therehas been a joyousness in her manner that I never saw before. You havemade her forget how to weep; and as for yourself, I hope she has madeyour life in this strange land seem less painful, Atam-or."
At all this I was so full of amazement that I could not say one word.
"Pardon me," continued he, "if I have said anything that may seem likean intrusion upon your secret and most sacred feelings. I could nothave said it had it not been for the deep affection I feel for Almahand for you, and for the reason that I am just now more moved thanusual, and have less control over my feelings."
Saying this, he pressed my hand and left me. It was not the customhere to shake hands, but with his usual amiability he had adopted mycustom, and used it as naturally as though he had been to the mannerborn.
I was encouraged now. The mild Kohen came often to cheer me. He talkedmuch about Almah--about her sweet and gracious disposition, the lovethat all felt for her, the deep and intense interest which her illnesshad aroused. In all this he seemed more like a man of my own race thanbefore, and in his eager desire for her recovery he failed to exhibitthat love for death which was his nature. So it seemed: yet thisdesire for her recovery did not arise out of any lack of love fordeath; its true cause I was to learn afterward; and I was to know thatif he desired Almah's recovery now, it was only that she might livelong enough to encounter death in a more terrific form. But just thenall this was unknown, and I judged him by myself.
At last I learned that she was much better, and would be out on thefollowing jom. This intelligence filled me with a fever of eageranticipation, so great that I could think of nothing else. Sleep wasimpossible. I could only wait, and try as best I might to quell myimpatience. At last the time came. I sat waiting. The curtain wasdrawn aside. I sprang up, and, hurrying toward her, I caught her in myarms and wept for joy. Ah me, how pale she looked! She bore still themarks of her illness. She seemed deeply embarrassed and agitated atthe fervor of my greeting; while I, instead of apologizing or tryingto excuse myself, only grew more agitated still.
"Oh, Almah," I cried. "I should have died if you had not come back tome! Oh, Almah, I love you better than life and I never knew how dearlyI loved you till I thought that I had lost you! Oh, forgive me, but Imust tell you--and don't weep, darling."
She was weeping as I spoke. She said nothing, but twined her armsaround my neck and wept on my breast. After this we had much to saythat we had never mentioned before. I cannot tell the sweet words thatshe said to me; but I now learned that she had loved me from thefirst--when I came to her in her loneliness, when she was homesick andheartsick; and I came, a kindred nature, of a race more like her own;and she saw in me the only one of all around her whom it was possiblenot to detest, and therefore she loved me.
We had many things to say to one another, and long exchanges ofconfidence to make. She now for the first time told me all the sorrowthat she had endured in her captivity--sorrow which she had keptsilent and shut up deep within her breast. At first her life here hadbeen so terrible that it had brought her down nearly to death. Afterthis she had sunk into dull despair; she had grown familiar withhorrors and lived in a state of unnatural calm. From this my a
rrivalhad roused her. The display of feeling on my part had brought backall her old self, and roused anew all those feelings which in her hadbecome dormant. The darkness, the bloodshed, the sacrifices, all theseaffected me as they had once affected her. I had the same fear ofdeath which she had. When I had gone with her to the cheder nebilin,when I had used my sepet-ram to save life, she had perceived in mefeelings and impulses to which all her own nature responded. Finally,when I asked about the Mista Kosek, she warned me not to go. When Idid go she was with me in thought and suffered all that I felt, untilthe moment when I was brought back and laid senseless at her feet.
"Then," said Almah, "I felt the full meaning of all that lies beforeus."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, anxiously. "You speak as thoughthere were something yet--worse than what has already been; yetnothing can possibly be worse. We have seen the worst; let us now tryto shake off these grisly thoughts, and be happy with one another.Your strength will soon be back, and while we have one another we canbe happy even in this gloom."
"Ah me," said Almah, "it would be better now to die. I could die happynow, since I know that you love me."
"Death!" said I; "do not talk of it--do not mention that word. It ismore abhorrent than ever. No, Almah, let us live and love--let ushope--let us fly."
"Impossible!" said she, in a mournful voice. "We cannot fly. There isno hope. We must face the future, and make up our minds to bear ourfate."
"Fate!" I repeated, looking at her in wonder and in deep concern."What do you mean by our fate? Is there anything more which you knowand which I have not heard?"
"You have heard nothing," said she, slowly; "and all that you haveseen and heard is as nothing compared with what lies before us. Foryou and for me there is a fate--inconceivable, abhorrent,tremendous!--a fate of which I dare not speak or even think, and fromwhich there is no escape whatever."
As Almah said this she looked at me with an expression in which terrorand anguish were striving with love. Her cheeks, which shortly beforehad flushed rosy red in sweet confusion, were now pallid, her lipsashen; her eyes were full of a wild despair. I looked at her inwonder, and could not say a word.
"Oh, Atam-or," said she, "I am afraid of death!"
"Almah," said I, "why will you speak of death? What is this fate whichyou fear so much?"
"It is this," said she hurriedly and with a shudder, "you and I aresingled out. I have been reserved for years until one should be foundwho might be joined with me. You came. I saw it all at once. I haveknown it--dreaded it--tried to fight against it. But it was of no use.Oh, Atam-or, our love means death; for the very fact that you love meand I love you seals our doom!"
"Our doom? What doom?"
"The sacrifice!" exclaimed Almah, with another shudder. In her voiceand look there was a terrible meaning, which I could not fail to take.I understood it now, and my blood curdled in my veins. Almah clung tome despairingly.
"Do not leave me!" she cried--"do not leave me! I have no one but you.The sacrifice, the sacrifice! It is our doom the great sacrifice--atthe end of the dark season. It is at the amir. We must go there tomeet our doom."
"The amir?" I asked; "what is that?"
"It is the metropolis," said she.
I was utterly overwhelmed, yet still I tried to console her; but theattempt was vain.
"Oh!" she cried, "you will not understand. The sacrifice is but apart--it is but the beginning. Death is terrible; yet it may beendured--if there is only death. But oh!--oh think!--think of thatwhich comes after--the Mista Kosek!"
Now the full meaning flashed upon me, and I saw it all. In an instantthere arose in my mind the awful sacrifice on the pyramid and theunutterable horror of the Mista Kosek. Oh, horror, horror,horror! Oh, hideous abomination and deed without a name! I could notspeak. I caught her in my arms, and we both wept passionately.
The happiness of our love was now darkened by this tremendous cloudthat lowered before us. The shock of this discovery was overpowering,and some time elapsed before I could rally from it. Though Almah'slove was sweet beyond expression, and though as the time passed Isaw that every jom she regained more and more of her formerhealth and strength, still I could not forget what had been revealed.We were happy with one another, yet our happiness was clouded, andamid the brightness of our love there was ever present the dreadspectre of our appalling doom.
These feelings, however, grew fainter. Hope is ever ready to arise;and I began to think that these people, though given to evil ways,were after all kind-hearted, and might listen to entreaty. Above all,there was the Kohen, so benevolent, so self-denying, so amiable, sosympathetic. I could not forget all that he had said during Almah'sillness, and it seemed more than probable that an appeal to his betternature might not be without effect. I said as much to Almah.
"The Kohen," said she; "why, he can do nothing."
"Why not? He is the chief man here, and ought to have greatinfluence."
"You don't understand," said she, with a sigh. "The Kohen is thelowest and least influential man in the city."
"Why, who are influential if he is not?" I asked.
"The paupers," said Almah.
"The paupers!" I exclaimed, in amazement.
"Yes," said Almah. "Here among these people the paupers form the mosthonored, influential, and envied portion of the community."
This was incomprehensible. Almah tried to explain, but to no purpose,and I determined to talk to the Kohen.
A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder Page 14
