‘Poor fellow,’ thought Oakley. ‘Right off his dot. How the deuce can I put him back on it?’ But he went on trying. If Ben could be induced to forget Higher Morality for a while and to press his advantage with conventional art, there might be very satisfactory issues. He might save his grubby skin, and the fairer skin of an attractive girl might also be saved. Oakley was quite partial to Ben’s ideas, and he didn’t mind the Higher Morality in the least, but one had to be practical and to keep steady. ‘You say that the way to help a thing is to do the thing,’ he remarked.
‘Yus,’ nodded Ben.
‘What thing are you going to do?’
‘I dunno.’
‘When are you going to know?’
‘I dunno.’
‘You’re not going to wait for another clap of thunder, are you?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Who, exactly, do you think you are?’
‘I dunno. I feels funny. P’r’aps I’m goin’ ter act funny. P’r’aps I’ll go inter them trances, and then come aht fer a bit ter ’ave a bite, and then go back agine. This might be the larst time I ever torks to yer proper. I dunno. I dunno nothink, ’cept that I feels funny. Yer remember when ’e pricks me stummick? Wot did yer think I was goin’ ter do?’
‘Scream the place down.’
‘That’s jest wot I thort. I ’ad me throat orl ready. But I didn’t. No. Why? I jest smiled. Yus. Why?’ He rose. His eyes were slightly glazed. ‘Ter mike this plice a plice fit ter live in. Ter stop thievin’ and killin’. Ter mike ’em orl see light! That’s why I bin sent ’ere. Me, wot’s nothink, ’as bin mide somethink … Lumme, I’m goin’ orf.’
His eyes became more glazed. Oakley got ready to catch him. He wondered whether, after all, Ben’s strange condition might prove more effective than mere cleverness, and whether it was mistaken tactics to argue with him.
‘Right, Oomoo,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’ll stand by you. But just remember this—for it’s all that matters. Sometimes, as a poet once said, to do a great right you’ve got to do a little wrong. You may find it so here. You may find that these natives won’t obey you—not even Oomoo—if you don’t go a bit slow with them. You may find that—that you’ve got to take life to save life. Are you listening? You may find that unless you act in a way they can understand, you’ll get no response, and that everything will go phut.’ He paused. He did not know whether Ben were listening or not. And then, into his own breast, entered something strange and new. ‘Ben!’ he cried. ‘There’s a girl on board—don’t forget—and she’s the one who’s in danger now!’
There was no reply. He paused abruptly. He rounded on himself.
‘Hell!’ he shouted. ‘What’s it matter?’
Then he became quiet, and the old cynical lines returned to his face, and the light died out of his eyes.
‘It’ll be all the same a hundred years hence, Ben,’ he said.
He sat down at the foot of the throne, folded his arms, and waited.
17
Noughts and Crosses
‘That’s twenty-three to me and twenty-one to you,’ said Ruth, drawing a line with rather weary triumph through three crosses. ‘You’ll have to hurry if you want to overtake me—there’s only room for about three more games.’
The pencil was Haines’s, and they were using the back of Oakley’s glossary to write on.
Haines did not reply. As she drew the ‘board’ for their forty-fifth contest, he stared at her fingers abstractedly.
‘Yes, they do rather need a manicure,’ observed Ruth. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a Beauty Parlour on the island … What were you really thinking of?’
‘Your fingers,’ he replied, ‘though not that they needed a manicure.’
‘I was thinking of this sheet of paper,’ said Ruth. ‘How did it get on this island?’
‘I must ask Oakley,’ answered Haines. ‘It’s terribly important.’
‘Why?’
‘Sorry, Ruth. That was supposed to be humour. The best I can manage.’ He gave a sudden exclamation. ‘What the deuce am I doing?’
‘All you can, my dear,’ she returned. ‘This is one of the times when doing nothing’s best. But I know it’s—trying.’
‘Trying!’ He raised his eyes from the paper and met hers. ‘Of course, you’re too plucky to exist!’
‘I’m nothing of the sort,’ she retorted, colouring slightly. ‘I’m just a girl in a mess, with a lot of other people in the same mess, and trying not to make a nuisance of myself by fainting. We’ll all get through this, somehow.’
‘Yes—and a lot I’ll have had to do with it!’
‘That sounds like ego.’
‘It is ego—though thanks for reminding me. I’m bursting with ego! Here am I, plonked in the middle of a situation that’s shouting for heroics—and all I can do is to play noughts and crosses.’
‘You’re not even doing that,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s your turn to start, and it’s my turn to let you win. Here’s the pencil.’ As he took the pencil and drew a nought she added, ‘But the situation isn’t shouting for heroics, Tom. The last thing it wants is heroics. It’s begging for patience which is just what you’ve given it. Let’s have the pencil.’ He handed it back to her, and she drew a cross. ‘Besides—you are doing something.’
‘What?’
‘You’re making the situation tolerable. Can you imagine—can you imagine—what it would be like—for me—if I were alone with all those others? If you weren’t sitting by me at this moment playing noughts and crosses?’
He smiled.
‘They are a bit difficult,’ he admitted.
‘Difficult? They’re hopeless!’ she exclaimed. They did not hear her, for three had departed, and the fourth was asleep. ‘Smith’s a blight, and Medworth’s a scamp—’
‘And Cooling?’
‘Well, I like Cooling. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I do.’
‘Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Because he’s a scamp, too. A different sort of a scamp, but a scamp. My solicitor—’
‘What, have you got a solicitor?’
‘Yes. He’s a sort of guardian, and looks after my money for me. He told me once never to put any money into a company Lord Cooling had anything to do with. There’s a tip for you. “Men like that ought to be in prison,” he said, “but only sometimes get there.” Just the same, I like him. And if ever he does go to prison, I’ll send him some grapes. Your play.’
‘I’d like him better,’ grunted Haines, ‘if he’d drop that gold standard idea. Your play.’
‘It was Medworth’s idea.’
‘But he’s backing it. Did you ever know such fools? All three of them trying to sneak up to the Temple at this moment—unless that clap of thunder’s turned them back! I’ll tell you one thing that’s handicapping us, Ruth—making us helpless. There’s no cohesion. No unity. We don’t make a team. We’re all sorts. If I suggest a thing, they down it. If they suggest a thing, I down it. The next voyage I make we’ll have ship-wreck drill! Then we’ll know what to do!’
‘Jolly good idea, Tom. There’s my cross. Now put your nought and win.’
He put his nought and won. Then he glanced towards Miss Noyes, who was snoring gently against the hut. Then he looked towards the entrance to the compound, where the native guards lay on their faces. They, too, might have been asleep for all the movement they made. They had fallen flat the moment they had heard the gong, and had not stirred since.
‘Has it struck you how extraordinarily obedient these natives are?’ he said. ‘Like children. There must be an amazing power somewhere on the island.’
‘Of course there is,’ she answered. ‘We’ve just seen it.’
‘The High Priest? Yes. I wonder whether our comic stoker is going to wrest the power from him?’
‘I believe he will.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Haven’t any idea.’
‘And what will he do with the power if he gets i
t?’
‘That’s easy. He will raise his hand, and Oakley will tell them that means, “Oomoo orders you to let the prisoners go, and to give them your largest canoe, and to fill it with food—which they will select—and to wish them God speed or Oomoo speed!” Then it will all happen, and we shall live happily for ever after.’
‘Yes—that’s the bright side.’
‘I always look on the bright side.’
‘I agree with the principle. But—just in case Ben isn’t winning against the High Priest—let’s look at the dark side.’
‘All right. What do you see?’
‘A scrap.’
‘I can do my bit. Feel!’
She held out her arm. He felt her muscle, and approved.
‘But we’d come off second best,’ he said. ‘So, after all, it mustn’t be a scrap.’
‘What’s the alternative?’
‘Sheer flight.’
‘Well, my legs are as good as my arms, and I can run even harder than I can hit. But where do we run to?’
‘The sea.’
‘And have a bathe?’
‘No, we have a boat. That big canoe you mentioned just now. We take it without the permission.’
‘Where do we find it?’
Suddenly he stared at her, and hope and shame shone in his eyes.
‘My God! What fools—what mugs! Why, that’s our job, isn’t it? That’s our plan! Instead of wasting this time on a mad errand to the Temple of Gold, we ought to have been searching for a boat! There must be canoes somewhere, and here’s our chance to find them … if it’s not too late!’
He jumped up.
‘Do you mean—you’re going now?’ she exclaimed.
‘Don’t you agree?’ he asked.
‘Yes—of course!’ she gulped. ‘Only—I’ll go with you!’
But he shook his head.
‘I’ll be better alone,’ he said. ‘Quicker, too.’ He saw she was going to argue, and jerked his head towards the hut. ‘Besides, there’s Miss Noyes. Can we leave her here all by herself?’
‘You win,’ murmured Ruth unhappily. ‘But—Tom—come back!’
‘You bet I’ll come back!’ he assured her. ‘That’s all I’m going for!’
With a smile that failed utterly to convey the impression that there was no danger, Tom Haines crept towards the entrance to the compound and slipped past the prostrate guards. He wondered at the ease with which he did this. Cooling, Medworth and Smith had wondered the same thing before him when they had slipped by with similar ease on their way to the Temple. They did not know that such occasions, when the slightest disobedience would bring the wrath of the gods and perhaps, also, the High Priest’s boiling pot, were accompanied by a sort of self-protective stupor. The guards would respond to one thing only—the sound of the second releasing gong. To all else—the hardness of the ground, sharp stones pressing into their stomachs, insect bites, tickles, stiffness, aches, soft little noises creeping by them, even thunder claps—they were or strove to be oblivious. They could lie thus for hours—and sometimes did.
It was this circumstance that permitted the four male prisoners to make their respective escapes from the compound. We will shortly follow them; but first we will stay with Ruth, who found this new ordeal the worst so far endured. After watching Haines go, she waited with anxiety and envy. She was anxious about his danger, but envious of its definiteness. It was this waiting, this constant brooding expectation, this sinister silence and atmosphere pregnant with unknown things that played the devil with one’s nerves, and when she had sympathised with Haines’s forced inactivity, she had been sympathising with herself.
But now he was on a job. His moody eyes had leapt with sudden life, inspired by an enthusiasm far beyond Noughts and Crosses. For a few moments, foolish moments which brought self-wrath afterwards, she almost wished he had not thought of the job and that they were still playing their silly useless game. She stared at the paper with its patchwork of crowded lines as though it were some relic of the unredeemable past.
Then, ‘Don’t be a silly schoolgirl!’ she said aloud. ‘Stop thinking of yourself. Think of other people. Think of Miss Noyes!’
Miss Noyes was still snoring gently. She had not slept like this for a long time. Fatigue had beaten fear, and when she woke up she would be a little ashamed, and pretend perhaps that she had not really been asleep at all. Had Ruth been inside Miss Noyes’s dream she might have envied her, too; but the snoring—a peculiarly unnerving sound, and lacking the discipline of the waking state—gave no clue to that fact that Miss Noyes was reviewing a company of black Girl Guides, telling them that it was a very good joke, but that they couldn’t deceive her and were to go off at once and wash their faces; and by her side was Mr Smith, perfectly groomed, waiting to take her to a church and marry her. The only trouble was that Mr Smith wore a necklace of miniature skulls round his neck, looking like the relics of some former life reduced to convenient size … yes, she would have to speak to him about the necklace …
‘Asleep! How can she!’ murmured Ruth.
The minutes slipped by. The silence seemed to grow more and more intense. She waited for something to break it. The second gong. No, not the second gong! A bird. A flutter. Footsteps. A movement outside the bamboo wall. Tom’s voice. Anybody’s voice. Anything at all!… Of course—there was the snoring …
‘I know! I’ll play another game of Noughts and Crosses!’ she said.
She spoke aloud. Her voice was company, and she wanted to be sure that she still had it. Her throat was getting strained and tight, like every other part of her. She was realising that she needed Tom very much indeed. She played with an imaginary Tom. She made his noughts for him. She let him win, though it wasn’t his turn.
‘There, that’s twenty-three all,’ she said. ‘Well played!’
She gasped at herself.
‘My God, what’s happening to me?’ she wondered. ‘Am I really cracking up? I wouldn’t have thought it of me!’
The trouble was, she was beginning to think. Oakley had made a permanent habit of numbness, but she could only numb her intelligence temporarily. She had set her soul against believing. She had tried to cheat knowledge. But now knowledge began to sweep back like a frightening tide, and reality gripped her. She fought a desire to scream.
She thought of Oakley, recalling his last remark as he had been about to leave them. ‘If you want to try a spot of sauve qui peut, don’t say I’m stopping you.’ How ridiculously the man talked! A spot of sauve qui peut! He had looked hard at Tom while he had said it. Why was that? She knew why it was as she put the question to herself. The High Priest had conveyed something to Oakley, and it was a definite threat to—her! That was why Oakley had looked at Tom.
Suddenly she listened. She thought she heard a faint, metallic droning through the silence. Or was it imagination? She did not know whether she were really hearing it or not. It might be a sound within herself—the sound fear makes just before it bursts.
She turned to Miss Noyes, still sleeping and dreaming and snoring against the wall of the hut.
‘I’m going to be damned mean—I’m going to wake her,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to have company! Even Miss Noyes’s company!’
She ran towards the hut. She stretched out her hand, to take Miss Noyes’s shoulder and shake it.
‘No—I won’t!’ Her hand dropped limply. ‘That would be too caddish!’
She turned slowly, and as she did so her hand went up to her heart. At the entrance stood the High Priest.
18
Gold
When Lord Cooling, Ernest Medworth and Henry Smith slipped silently by their guards and found themselves outside the prison walls, they beheld an astonishing sight. They had expected to see a few prone spearmen, but they had not anticipated thirty or forty. The obedient fellows lay on their faces like corpses on a battlefield, without any sense of formation or order. Most of them lay singly, but a few lay in small groups, sprawling over each oth
er as though suddenly stricken down by a plague. Their disposition was eminently satisfactory to the Englishmen, but, as Cooling pointed out later, it was also rather insulting.
The beholders did not pause to dwell on the astonishing sight. They put it behind them as quickly as possible, diving down a track that appeared to be in the direction of the village and of the height beyond. The track zigzagged down into a little dip, then zigzagged up out of it. Over a brow they struck the first huts.
‘We must be quiet here!’ muttered Smith, making the first noise since they had started.
‘Shut up!’ whispered Medworth, making the second.
But their precautions were unnecessary, for the village they tiptoed through looked deserted, and if the walls of the huts had dissolved they would merely have seen a repetition of the sight they had beheld outside the compound. Only in this case the natives would not have been spearmen; they would have been women, old men, and children.
They left the village, and passed, without knowing it, the larger hut in which Ben and the High Priest were having their silent encounter. They began to ascend the track to the height on which the Temple stood. The hearts of Medworth and Smith pumped with fear, relief, and excitement. Cooling’s alone remained normal.
‘Charming scenery,’ observed the latter when he felt it was safe to speak. Though collected, he was taking no unnecessary risks.
‘Yes—reminds one of Madeira,’ answered Smith, puffing, and trying to be social.
‘You know Madeira?’ inquired Cooling.
‘Well, I’ve seen the posters,’ replied Smith. ‘But p’r’aps I’m thinking of Corsica. One of those places you cruise to, anyway.’
‘I suppose it is wise to talk?’ queried Medworth.
‘Provided we continue to keep the conversation really intelligent,’ responded Cooling. ‘Wiser than walking so near that precipice.’
Then came the unexpected clap of thunder that nearly sent Medworth down the precipice. Smith, fortunately in the middle of the track, did fall flat.
‘Going native?’ asked Cooling as Smith picked himself up.
Little God Ben Page 12
