Part 17 (1/2)
He was only, she knew, laying down the law of handicaps to some dissentient; but the words thrilled her. Poor Herbert! What had _his_ merits been? And then she wondered how long it had been since she had thought of him thus by his Christian name, as it were. Would it be possible----
”It's a story of Fate, really,” said one of the spectators at the entrance, to the ladies who were with him; his voice clearly audible in a sudden hush which had come to the dim veranda that grew dimmer and dimmer to the end, despite the swinging lamp. ”A sort of miracle play, called 'The Lord of Life, and the Lord of Death.' Yama and Indra of course. I saw it two days ago, and one of the actors is the best pantomimist--That's the man--now.”
Kate turned her eyes instinctively to the open s.p.a.ce which was to do duty as a stage. The play had begun; must have been going on while she was thinking, for a scene was in full swing. A scene? A misnomer that, surely! when there was no scenery, nothing but that strange dim curtain with its indefinite lights and shadows. Or was there some meaning in the dabs and splashes after all? Was that a corn merchant's shop? Yes, there were the gleaming pots, the cavernous shadows, the piled baskets of flour and turmeric and pulse, the odd little strings of dried cocoanuts and pipe cups, the blocks of red rock-salt. And that--she gave an odd little sigh of certainty--was the corn merchant himself selling flour, with a weighted balance, to a poor widow. What magnificent pantomime it was! And what a relief that it was pantomime; so leaving her no whit behind anyone in comprehension; but the equal of all the world, as far as this story was concerned. And it was unmistakable. She seemed to hear the c.h.i.n.k of money, to see the juggling with the change, the subst.i.tution of inferior flour for that chosen; the whole give and take of cheating, till the ill-gotten gain was clutched tight, and the robbed woman turned away patiently, unconsciously.
An odd, doubtful murmur rose among the squatting boys, checked almost as it began; for the shadowy curtain behind wavered, seemed to grow dimmer, to curve in cloud-like festoons, and then disclosed a sitting figure.
There was a burst of laughter from the entrance. ”Rum sort of G.o.d, isn't he?” came the voice again. But from the front rose an uneasy whisper. ”Yama! Sri Yama himself; look at his nose!”
Viewed without reference to either remark, the figure, if quaint, almost ludicrous, did not lack dignity. There was impa.s.siveness in the pea-green mask below the miter-like gilt tiara, and impressiveness in the immovability of the pea-green hands folded on the scarlet draperies.
”He answers to Charon, you know,” went on the voice again. ”I suppose it means that the _buniya-jee_ will need all his ill-gotten gain to pay fare to Paradise.”
Did it mean that? Kate wondered, as she leaned back clasping Sonny tighter in her arms, or was it only to show that Fate lay behind the daily life of every man. Then what a farce it was to talk of chance!
Yet she had pleaded for it, till she had gained it. ”Let him have his chance. Let us all have our chance. You and I into the bargain. You and I!” What made her think of that now?
A sn.i.g.g.e.r from the lads in front roused her to a new scene; a serio-comic dispute, evidently, between a termagant of a mother-in-law and a tearful daughter. Kate found herself following it closely enough, even smiling at it, but Sonny s.h.i.+fted restlessly on her knee.
”I 'ikes a funny man,” he said plaintively. ”Tell a funny man to come again, Miffis Erlton.”
”I expect he will come soon, dear,” she replied, conscious of a foolish awe behind her own words. Fate lay there also, no doubt.
It did, but as the termagant triumphed and the dutiful daughter-in-law wept over her baking, the figure that showed wore a white mask, the rainbow-hued garments were hung with flowers, and the white hands held a parti-colored bow.
The boys nodded and smiled. ”Sri Indra himself,” they said. ”Look at his bow!”
”Who is Indra, Mr. Jones?” asked a feminine voice from behind.
”Lord of Paradise. And that is the whole show. It goes on and on. Some of the scenes are awfully funny, but they wouldn't act the funniest ones here. And they all end with the green or white dummy; so it gets a bit monotonous. Shall we go and look at the conjurors now?”
The voices departed; once more to Kate's relief. She felt that the explanation spoiled the play. And that was no dummy! She could see the same eyes through the mask; curious, steady, indifferent eyes. The eyes of a Fate indifferent as to what mask it wore. So the play went on and on. Some of the Eurasians slipped away, but the boys remained ready with awe or rejoicing, while Kate sat by the c.h.i.n.k through which the light came more and more dimly as the day darkened. She scarcely noticed the actors; she waited dreamily for the Lord of Life or the Lord of Death; for there was never any doubt as to which was coming.
But the child in her lap waited indiscriminately for the funny man.
The thought of the contrast struck her, making her smile. Yet, after all, the difference only lay in the way you looked at life. There was no possibility of change to it; the Great Handicap was run on its own merits. And then, like an unseen hand brus.h.i.+ng away the cobwebs which of late had been obscuring the unalterable facts, like a wave collapsing her house of sand, came the memory of words which at the time they were spoken had made her cry out on their cruelty. ”What possible right have you or I to suppose that anything you or I can do now will alter the initial fact?” If he--that stranger who had stepped in and laid rude touch on her very soul, had been the Lord of Life or Death himself, could he have been more remorseless? And what possessed her that she should think of him again and again; that she should wonder what his verdict would be on those vague thoughts of compromise?
”Mrs. Erlton! Mrs. Erlton, everything is ready. Everybody is waiting!
I have been hunting for you everywhere. It never occurred to me you would be here after all this time. Why, you are almost alone!” Captain Morecombe's aggrieved regret was scarcely appeased by her hurried excuse that she believed she had been half-asleep. For the Christmas tree was lit to its topmost branch, the guests admitted, the drawings begun.
Perhaps it was the sudden change from dark to light, silence to clamor, which gave Kate Erlton the dazed look with which she came into that circle of radiant faces where Prince Abool-Bukr was clapping his hands like a child and thinking, as he generally did when his pleasures could be shared by virtue, of how he would describe it all to Newasi Begum on her roof. He drew a spotless white lamb as his gift; Major Erlton its fellow, and the two men compared notes in sheer laughter, broken English, and shattered Hindustani. And through the fun and the pulling of crackers, Kate, who recovered herself rapidly, flitted here and there, arranging, deciding, setting the ball a-rolling. There was a flush on her cheek, a light in her eyes which forced other eyes to follow her, even among the packed, prying faces, peeping from every door and window at the strange sight, the strange spell. One pair of eyes in particular, belonging to a slight, clean-shaven man standing beside two others who carried bundles in their hands, and who, having come from the inside veranda, had found s.p.a.ce to slip well to the front. They were the actors in the now forsaken drama of Life and Death. One of them, however, had evidently seen a Christmas tree before, since he suddenly called out in the purest English:
”The top branch on the left has caught! Put it out, someone!”
The sound seemed to discomfit him utterly. He looked round him quickly, then realizing that the crowd was too dense for the voice to be accurately located save by his immediate neighbors, gave a half apologetic sign to the older of his two companions and slipped away.
They followed obediently, but once outside Tiddu shook his head at his pupil.
”The Huzoor will never remember to forget. He will get into trouble some day,” he said reproachfully.
”Not if I stick to playing Yama and Indra,” replied Jim Douglas with a shrug of his shoulders. ”The Mask of Fate is apt to be inscrutable.”