Part 25 (1/2)

He laughed suddenly, with his old boisterousness and clapped me on the shoulder.

”This is the way out!” he shouted, and pointed to the silver tub that contained the champagne bottle.

His voice sounded loudly above the music.

”The way out!” he repeated. He got to his feet. His eyes were congested.

The sweat streamed down his cheeks. ”Here,” he called in his deep powerful voice, ”here, all you who are afraid--here is the way out.” He waved his arms. People stopped drinking and talking to turn and stare at him. ”Back to the animals!” he shouted. ”Back to the fur and hair and fles.h.!.+ I was up on the mountain top, but I've found the way back. Here it is--here is the magic you need, if you're tired of the frozen heights!”

He swayed as he spoke. Strangely interested, I stared up at him.

”He's delirious,” called out the emerald young woman. ”He's got that horrid disease.”

The manager and a couple of waiters came up. ”It's coming,” shouted Sarakoff; ”I saw it sweeping over the world. See, the world is white, like snow. They have robbed it of colour.” The manager grasped his arm firmly.

”Come with me,” he said. ”You are ill. I will put you in a taxi.”

”You don't understand,” said Sarakoff. ”You are in it still. Don't you see I'm a traveller?”

”He is mad,” whispered a waiter in my ear.

”A traveller,” shouted the Russian. ”But I've come back. Greeting, brothers. It was a rough journey, but now I hear and see you.”

”If you do not leave the establishment at once I will get a policeman,”

said the manager with a hiss.

Sarakoff threw out his hands.

”Make ready!” he cried. ”The great uprooting!” He began to laugh unsteadily. ”The end of disease and the end of desire--there's no difference. You never knew that, brothers. I've come back to tell you--thousands and thousands of miles--into the great dimension of h.e.l.l and heaven. It was a mistake and I'm going back. Look! She's fading--further and further----” He pointed a shaking hand across the room and suddenly collapsed, half supported by the manager.

”Dead drunk,” remarked a neighbour.

I turned.

”No. Live drunk,” I said. ”The champagne has brought him back to the world of desire.”

The speaker, a clean-shaven young man, stared insolently.

”You have no business to come into a public place with that disease,” he said with a sneer.

”You are right. I have no business here. My business is to warn the world that the end of desire is at hand.” I signalled to a waiter and together we managed to get Sarakoff into a taxi-cab.

As we drove home, all that lay behind Sarakoff's broken confused words revealed itself with increasing distinctness to me.

Sarakoff spoke again.

”Harden,” he muttered thickly, ”there was a flaw--in the dream----”

”Yes,” I said. ”I was sure there would be a flaw. I hadn't noticed it before----”