Time No Longer

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  He produced a queer affair which appeared to be two small triangles of black wood joined together at the apex and separated at the other extreme by a peg some two inches high. “This, Karl, is called the ‘soul-searcher.’ Look, you hold it in your hand and lift the apex to the level of your eyes. But instead of allowing your eye to follow the upward plane of one of the sides, you look through the space enclosed by the sides and then through the aperture. Try it.” Karl followed instructions. Eric backed away slowly until his whole face could be seen within the two-inch aperture through which Karl gazed. The young man smiled and waited, his eyes fixed on Karl.

  “Nonsense,” said Karl, peering. “I see nothing but your ugly face. Or perhaps you haven’t a soul to see?”

  “Keep on looking. Besides, there’s an incantation which you are supposed to keep on saying to yourself, silently: ‘I behold your soul. Nothing can blind my vision to the sight of your soul.’ Keep on saying that.”

  “Nonsense,” said Karl again, laughing. Indulgently, however, he repeated the incantation over and over to himself, until he began to feel bored, and Eric’s face seemed to grow smaller and clearer and sharper through the aperture, and finally seemed nothing more than a little carved face of ivory brilliantly lighted.

  Karl came to himself with a start, as though he had been hypnotized. He ceased the “incantation.” Immediately Eric’s face again became larger and less clear, the light fading. “What’s the matter?” asked Eric.

  Karl was silent. He lifted the triangle again with hands not very steady, and gazed through it. He kept repeating the incantation without his previous indulgence and amusement. It affected him like a hypnosis, for no doubt it was just that. The steady concentration of light on Eric’s face assisted this hypnotic state, and Karl’s own personality seemed to dim even to himself, and he was only vision and murmurous internal words, without thought.

  Again Eric’s face grew smaller and clearer and sharper and brilliantly lighted, yet, strangely, it seemed to approach closer until it seemed to be at the very opening of the aperture, within touching distance of Karl’s hand. The young Jew was still smiling; his expression was gay, his eyes shining with anticipation and boyish enjoyment.

  Then all at once Karl felt a cold amazed dread which almost made him drop the triangle. But he controlled himself; now his lips moved feverishly over the words of the incantation, as though he were afraid that he might forget them and break the spell.

  He saw Eric’s face, tiny, brilliantly lit, carved. But it was a dead face, in light. The eyes were closed, the nostrils distended, the mouth grimacing. Karl looked and looked again; he heard the deep somber beating of a drum, quickening, thundering. He did not realize it was the sound of his own heart. All his attention was concentrated in the vision of that dead face. He had never seen anything else but this, from all eternity, and for eternity he was condemned to look at it.

  Then all at once the face blurred, swelled, enlarged, and disappeared, and there was only the aperture with the head of Gilu, on the mantelpiece, grinning and glaring in it. Karl dropped the triangles. His hand was trembling quite violently. He looked up, bemused, and saw Eric standing beside him, grinning.

  “Well, what did you see, Karl? Did you see my soul, or my future, or anything? It seems you are supposed to see the future, too; the soul in the future. Very esoteric. What did you see?”

  Karl stared at him in silence for a moment or two, then said quietly: “Nothing at all. Except your face—smaller and clearer. That’s all.”

  Eric was childishly disappointed. “No! Is that all? What’s the matter with my face? I had half a dozen people, in Africa, look at me through the thing. They all said the same: nothing.”

  Karl smiled. “Is it possible you are superstitious? You, an authority on the hidden places of the mind? Whatever could be seen through this triangle, for instance, could be, only, the result of the converging rays of light. Such as occurs when one squints, thus making the focussed image clearer. I saw your face, smaller and sharper, but that is all.”

  Eric laughed. “Let me try.” He sat down and focussed the triangle on Karl’s face. Karl saw his lips moving silently in the incantation. He smiled again, leaned back and let Eric scrutinize him through the triangle. As he did so, he became aware that he was greatly tired. He refused to remember what had happened in this room between himself and Eric and Kurt; he did not want to remember, yet. He shut his mind, too, against the peculiar thing he had seen through the triangle. Nevertheless, his very grim effort to prevent remembrance and conjecture exhausted him.

  He heard an exclamation, muffled and somewhat afraid. Eric had dropped the triangle, and was staring at him blankly, as though seeing him for the first time. “Most extraordinary!” Eric muttered. He had turned quite pale. He stared more than ever. “Most extraordinary.” Then he laughed shortly, queerly. “You know, Karl, you have the gentlest and mildest face in the World; a Thomas Mann face. Full of dreamy intellect and noble idealism. Yes, truly; do not smile. And yet, and yet:—” He hesitated, resumed, to Karl’s amusement, in a bemused voice: “And yet, your face: it was terrible. If this is truly a vision of your face, maybe your future face, you have a terrible soul, a terrible future. I would not like to encounter you, if you wore a face like that directed at me. It was a face that would stop at nothing, when the spirit behind it was aroused. It would not stop at murder, at anything horrible.”

  Karl laughed with pure enjoyment and a shamed sense of passionate relief. What nonsense! “I tell you, Eric, it is due to the converging of light and lines! I, terrible! Why, I’m even a vegetarian at times!”

  But Eric said, without smiling, and in a peculiar voice: “I should like to see Kurt’s face through this!” He stood up, and began to rummage in the box again, gravely. “When Socrates said: ‘Know thyself,’ he must have laughed sardonically.”

  Karl’s amusement increased. “I shall be afraid to look in the mirror tonight. I’ll be afraid that Gilu’s face will look back at me.”

  Eric shot a swift glance at the mummified head. Then the glance fixed. After a moment or two, he went back to his rummaging, and said nothing more. But he seemed preoccupied.

  “Now, this,” he said, bringing out a queer object, “is a phallic talisman.” He began to exclaim over the various other talismans and amulets and charms which he took from the box. Karl listened with deep interest. He had always had a sheepish interest in primitive occultism. Eric had an easy and fascinating way of talking, which had made his classes the most popular in the university. Karl was quite enthralled; he leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. His face was mild and sweet and absorbed, the face of a gentle dreamer and student.

  “I have always believed, with Shakespeare, that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy,” said Eric. “Now, don’t call me superstitious! But my own researches into the dark crevices and pits and caverns of the human psyche have convinced me that here is a submerged continent still undiscovered, and, in a way, frightful. Who knows how deep the crevices are, or what the pits and the labyrinthine caverns contain? A few isolated acts and words, mostly futile or violent, emerge to the surface of the sea, which spreads over this vast and secret world. But that subterranean world is still hidden, full of unsuspected, and perhaps awful things. Sometimes, I feel that psychologists are presumptuous children, who will at any moment dredge horror to the surface, and die of the fright of it, and make all other men die.”

  Karl laughed gently. “No wonder that Kurt sneers at psychology, and calls it the ‘inexact science’! World of dreams. But very interesting.”

  But Eric said strangely: “‘World of dreams.’ But the most potent world of all. Jesus knew this, and could command it. So did all the other messiahs and leaders. And so, perhaps, does Hitler.”

  Karl looked at him swiftly. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it firmly.

  “It is a world,” said Eric, “that is at the command of tho
se who know of it, and have power over it. Confucius, Jesus, Buddha—these had power over it, for profound and beautiful good. And then, there are others, who have the power and use it for evil. I tell you!” he exclaimed, “there are really devils!”

  “Devils! Now, Eric, this is really too much!”

  Eric shook his head fiercely. “Devils! I’ve seen them! I tell you, I’ve seen them! Let me tell you.

  “My friend, the chief, took a sort of devotion to me. You see, he was an old man, and all his wives together had given him only a daughter. And then his youngest and favorite wife, taken in last desperation, was pregnant. The witch-doctors had assured him that she would give him a son. She was a pretty thing, with finer features than the other women of the tribe, and had an intelligent look. Then, just before we arrived at this village—it was almost a town, with autocratic rights over three dozen other villages—this wife became extremely ill. When we arrived, we found the witch-doctors leaping about, screaming incantations. A human sacrifice had even been thrown to the crocodiles, and they were preparing the greatest sacrifice—the hurling of the chief’s oldest wife into the river.

  “I can’t tell you how weird it was! The moon was bright yellow above the jungle, and the noises the witch-doctors were making, and the torches, had disturbed all the birds, and they were shrieking and clamoring like lost souls. The village was ringed with fires, and the air vibrated with drums and the wailing of women. How hot it was! and the leaping priests and doctors, painted until they were no longer human and oiled till they shone, made it all seem like an inferno. I heard the distant screaming of monkeys, and the yelping of obscene wild beasts in the depths of the tangled jungles. I could smell the fires and the sweat and the acrid animal odors, and the dried burnished grass. When we came, the dancing and leaping and shrieking stopped, and we saw all their eyes, glistening in the moonlight and the torchlight.

  “We had a small amount of typhoid serum left, after we had inoculated the people of another village. We found that this big village had not escaped the plague. But then it had passed. Every one felt safe. Then this young wife had become violently sick, and was dying, big as she was with child. We persuaded the chief to let us look at her. The witch-doctors protested, and threatened us. But the chief had visited the coastal cities, and had a respect for white knowledge. He let us see his wife. There she lay, almost in extremis, unconscious. I drove them all out, and shot her full of all the serum we had left, and called the women back to her hut.

  “It was exceedingly dangerous, as we soon found out. We were treated hospitably enough, and the chief led us to his hut and ordered food and water for us. But we discovered that we were being furtively guarded. We knew then that we would pay the penalty if the woman died. This so unnerved me that I went back to the girl and nursed her myself all night. My God! I was frightened to death. At one time I thought she was gone. I’ll never forget that night!

  “Then at dawn she awoke to consciousness and could speak a little. Her fever was down. She was on the way to recovery.”

  Karl listened, smiling but intent.

  “The chief could not do enough for us. I tell you, it was pathetic! He grovelled; he kissed our hands. But the woman’s weakness told on her; she gave birth to her child that evening. Again we nursed her through it all, taking turns, driving off the women, though it was a law of the tribe that no man could be present at a birth. Thank God for the chief’s brief visits to the coast and civilization! Yes, it was a son. The chief’s first son. Small and feeble, but a son. He lived, and so did the woman.

  “They would not let us go after that. It was amusing. In some way, the chief seemed to believe that I was directly responsible, not only for the saving of the mother’s life, but for the sex of the child! And believe it or not, that child was solemnly given my name! Eric!”

  Karl laughed wholeheartedly. Kurt, downstairs, pacing up and down in his library, alone, heard the laughter of Karl and Eric. He clenched his fists; his sensitive and suspicious German soul was convinced that the laughter was directed at him. He was filled with hatred and rage.

  “And so, I have a spiritual son, in Africa!

  “The chief wanted the women to strip themselves of all their charms and jewels, for us. We would not allow it, of course. He wanted to give us everything he had. He offered to adopt me as his older son. Naturally, the priests were furious. But I had an idea. I told the chief that I wished to see some magic.

  “Now, I had really embarrassed him. The witch-doctors and priests refused with an awful ballyhoo. They prophesied dire things for the tribe if a white man were initiated. I should have been more generous, for I had put the poor old chief in a very bad position. But my curiosity grew stronger as the witch-doctors and the priests grew more hysterical. Finally the chief, in great irritation, told them to shut up and let him think. That again, was the result of his coastal visits. I do not suppose any one had ever dared before to tell them to shut up. After their first stupefaction, they acted like all other witch-doctors and priests do in every other country and nation; they sulked and muttered and threatened, and kept looking at me with fiery and vengeful eyes.

  “Then the chief, after a night’s thought, decided that I should have what I desired. You should have heard the clamor of the witch-doctors. If they had known what resignation means, they would have resigned.”

  He paused. Karl, absorbed, leaned forward, smiling but excited. “Go on, Eric, go on!”

  “I, only, it was finally decided, should see the magic. My friends raised a fearful clamor. But it was no use. They expressed their opinion of my selfishness very bitterly. But what could I do?

  “That night I was awakened by the chief himself, who whispered that the time had come. He was very solemn; he made me promise that I would not hold him accountable for anything that I would see or hear. Then he begged me, for the last time, to reconsider. I told him that I, myself, was a sort of witch-doctor—a very superior witch-doctor! I was in Africa solely, I assured him, to learn of new magic. That seemed to relieve him. My own words made me think: I finally became convinced that I was, in truth, only a witch-doctor, and that Freud was the greatest witch-doctor of us all!

  “The chief then went to see the priests, who stood about, muttering and glowering, and he told them what I had told him. They were impressed, though suspicious. One of them asked me what magic I could do. I looked him directly in the eye, and told him truly that my magic power enabled me to change swine into men. Karl, do not laugh! Is it not really true? Does not psychoanalysis free men from obscure and obscene and criminal obsessions? Was not Jesus the greatest psychoanalyst?

  “One of the younger priests cynically suggested that I change one of the tribe’s swine into a man. I assured him that when the moon was at its full, as it was this night, my magic was reversed, and I could only change men into swine. I offered to demonstrate my power right then, if the young priest would himself volunteer for the experiment, but for some reason he declined. They believed me now.

  “We had no torchlight now. We wound about in almost total darkness through the fetid and steaming jungle; the matted vines and vegetation overhead shut out the moon until only splinters and slivers of it shone with a yellow light in the darkness. Never have I smelt such smells, such corruption. All about me I could hear crashes and whines and the breath of beasts. Scores of eyes gleamed here and there and disappeared. And the heat! It was a Turkish bath, sweltering and fuming. I was stung by insects; I stepped on small crawling things. I stumbled, felt thorns and vines tear me. Sweat ran down my whole body. I became sure, at last, that they had taken me into this boiling hell of vegetation and blackness and smells to murder me quietly.

  “Karl, if you have ever believed, as all others believe, that vegetation is insensate and has no consciousness, I wish to tell you now that this is not true. This particular vegetation through which I struggled had a foul and malignant life; it demonstrated a gleeful delight in clutching me and tripping me, and revealed a personal hatr
ed. It stank, too, as if my presence evoked an evil soul from it. I was a mass of cuts and punctures when we finally emerged onto the banks of a broad glitter of gold under an open black sky. It was the river. We got into flat boats, all in utter silence, and rowed out towards a small tufted island in the middle of the stream. Now I detected a gloating and anticipatory grin on the savage faces of the priests. I saw the glare of their rolling eyes, saw the glisten of the moonlight on their naked bodies. They were no more human than the drifting log-like crocodiles that infested the water.

  “We reached the island, still in silence. The island was very small, and was forbidden to all but the priests and the chief. In the center, in a clearing, was a ring of fire-blackened stones. The priests squatted about this ring, and I squatted too. The center of the ring remained empty, like a small circular stage.

  “I expected drums, incantations, hysteria, leaping and screaming. But there was none of this. The priests just squatted like statues of black gleaming marble and did not move a muscle. Even their eyes did not move; I saw the fixed white glaze of them. They looked only at the circle. I was disappointed. I scratched my insect bites, and my haunches ached. But I was the only thing that moved. In that golden moonlight there was the most profound silence. The heat seemed to grow more intense.

  “Then I, too, fixed my eyes on the empty moonlit space and waited.

  “My mind wandered; I became less aware of where I was. So it was that the first thing I saw in that space did not momentarily alarm or interest me.

  “I saw leaping red stars, small and glittering, hurtling about like huge fireflies. I thought at first that they were a sort of tropical firefly, until I saw their number rapidly increase. There was a fixity about their light which showed they were not any sort of insect. They were like a cloud of fiery snowflakes, whirling about, drifting, rushing together, exploding apart.