Part 5 (2/2)
Gabrielle dared not turn her head. She knew that something stood there watching her. Another gust of wind seemed to come from the stars and burst the half-closed cas.e.m.e.nt open.
”Dad!” she cried in her terror, as she felt a hot breath against her face.
”Dad!” echoed the walls of her room in mockery.
”Who are you?” she managed to wail out.
”Who are you?” came the relentless echo.
She had just caught sight of her face in the mirror. Even the fear of that presence in the room was somewhat subdued, so unbounded was her astonishment at seeing the reflection that stared back at her from the bright gla.s.s-it was not her own face that she saw, but the face of a wildly beautiful, dark-blooded woman!
She stared again, paralysed with horror. The fiery eyes mocked her fright and astonishment. Then the expression changed: the face seemed to appeal and smile half sadly at the girl.
It was not a monstrous Nothing that gazed upon her. She turned to flee from the terrible presence. But in a second it had leapt out of the mirror-had sprung at her! So it seemed to the terrified girl; but the figure was standing _behind_ her, staring into the mirror over her shoulders like some relentless, cruel Nemesis from her helpless past, a hideous thing that had searched for centuries-and found her at last!
Old Everard slept on. He heard nothing of the terrible conflict in the room three steps up, where his daughter struggled in the awful grip of that temptress who had found her-a woman from some long-forgotten forest grave in the Malay Archipelago.
It was not madness; nor did the struggle exist only in her imagination.
The sheets were torn, the counterpane rent in twain, as that merciless phantom tried to overpower the girl.
Only those who have been true wors.h.i.+ppers in the great Papuan tambu temples who have seen and heard the magic of the heritage rites, can guess what really happened in the girl's room. Only those who have experienced a like experience secretly know how she felt as she attempted to overthrow that deadly visitant. For a few seconds their two figures swayed in the dark. The oil lamp had been knocked over! Then the small door of the bungalow suddenly opened: Gabrielle had escaped. She ran out into the moon-lit night! Just for a second she stood under the windless palms, staring first one way and then another, as though she longed to leap over her own shoulders-escape from herself. Up the slopes she ran, and down into the distant hollows by Fallamboco. She pa.s.sed the derelict hut where the high priest dreamed before he died and was buried just in front of his front door. The broken, crumbling wooden idol still stood on his grave, its bulged gla.s.s eyes staring in immutable insolence as Gabrielle rushed by. She stopped by the lagoons at Felisi, where the huddled waters lay, the sacred waters that washed the beautiful bodies of the dead brides ere they were buried safe in the highest mahogany-tree of Bougainville.
She was not surprised when she stooped and gazed on her reflection in the waters and saw a second image beside her own in those silent depths.
Standing there in her hastily donned night attire, her hair outblown, her chemise torn to rags at one shoulder, her blue robe clinging to her delicate figure, she looked around in despair. Only the mountains looked on silently as their giant stone heads seemed to stare like Fate across the desolate landscape and out to the moon-lit seas. She looked at the sky and groped in some blindness, lifting her hands in mute appeal. Some past heathen life possessed her. A crawling, half-human-shaped cloud blurred the moon's face, failing suddenly, like a dark hand. It was not a cloud to Gabrielle's changed eyes as the shadow fell over the weird landscape; it was a big thumb busily tattooing the sky, as one by one the dim constellations rebrightened on their darkened background.
She stood alert and peered over her shoulder, her face and eyes bright with startled delight-she heard the tribal drums beating.
Those sounds were real enough. Even the young apprentice in his room over the hills jumped as he heard the booming, then put his head out of his window and bobbed it back, startled like a frightened child.
Gabrielle recognised those sounds. The long, low-drawn chant was familiar to her ears. Softly they came, weird undertones drifting across the silence. Like a monstrous rat that had wings, something whirred across the sky and gave a wretched groan as it swept out of sight.
”Ta Savoo! Ta Savoo!” (”Come on! Come on!”) said a voice beside her. A shadowy hand was laid upon her shoulder. The horror of that presence had already vanished. She startled the hills by bursting into a silvery peal of laughter; then away she ran, on, on, into the depths of the forest.
On the brightest tropic night the forest depths were dark with lurking mystery; the mult.i.tudinous twistings of the giant trees and their gnarled limbs, all thickly lichened with serpent-like vines, made a wonderful depth of brooding silence and unfathomable light, and in the moonlight looked like some mighty forest of twisted coral miles down under the sea.
White men would sooner walk miles than pa.s.s through those depths by night. ”No, thank ye! No tabooed b-- heathen forest for me!” they said, as they gave a knowing glance. And none could persuade them. Old Sour Von Craut simply shrugged his shoulders, spread out his fat hands and intimated by raised eyebrows that it was the most natural thing on earth to have found the dead beachcomber, with ears and eyes missing, in the forests behind Felisi beach.
Even Gabrielle stopped running, gave a startled moan and looked up in the dim light. Something screamed and gave a mocking laugh; it was a red-striped vulture. The girl saw the whitened bones of its eyrie as it stood up and flapped its wings. For it had made its nest amongst a dead man's bones, a grave up there in the palms of the tabooed forest. Just for a moment she crouched in fear, but not because of that sight over her head. An aged dark man with a large nose was pa.s.sing along, not ten yards off, chanting to himself. It was Oom Pa, hurrying back from the festival outside Parsons's grog shanty. He had a bamboo rod across his shoulders, Chinese fas.h.i.+on, wherefrom his calabashes swung as he disappeared in the depth beyond. In a few seconds Gabrielle was off again. She had been that way before, so knew the near cuts to the villages and tambu temples. As she ran out of the bamboo thickets she caught a first glimpse of the hanging lamps. A breath of wind had swept through the forest, blowing the thick, dark leaves aside that made the natural taboo curtain to the festival spot. She saw the whirling figures of the tambu maiden dancers. She heard the weird music of the flutes and tw.a.n.ging stringed gourds. The chants only increased the wild feeling of savagery that was delighting her soul. She did not hesitate, but deliberately pushed aside the bamboo stems and stood in the presence of that secret midnight throng of sacred wors.h.i.+ppers and the great tambu priests. For a moment the dark heathen men and affrighted women stared from their squatting mats in astonishment, the expression on their faces strangely resembling the carved surprise of the big wooden, one-toothed idol that stood six feet high, staring with gla.s.s eyes from behind the taboo stage. Even the dancing tambu maidens swerved slightly in their sacred movements, their steps put out of gear as Gabrielle, with hands uplifted, and eyes staring strangely, appeared before that _pae pae_.
The head priest coughed in astonishment; then he rose and wailed out: ”Taboo! She is white, and such are tabooed by the G.o.ds!”
As he brought his club down with a crash, anger come into the dark eyes of the sacred chiefesses, who had leapt to their feet, all disturbed while they had been paying obeisance to the wooden Idol Quat (chief G.o.d of the skies). It was a specially private occasion, only the greatly trusted allowed to attend. One stalwart chief stepped forward as though he intended slaying the girl on the spot. Old Oom Pa, who had barely wiped the perspiration from his brow and flung down his calabashes of bribes, gazed with as much surprise as anyone on Gabrielle. Then, seeing that harm might come to the girl, he hastily stepped forward and said: ”Hold, O chiefs; this papalagi has that in her eyes which tells she is under the influence of our G.o.ds. And, therefore, is she not one of us?”
He swiftly turned and said something in the guttural language of his tribe. Whatever he said was for Gabrielle's benefit, for it greatly calmed the fears of the huddled dark men and their women-kind. In a moment the fierce resentment towards Gabrielle changed to wild grunts of welcome. One aged priest who was grovelling on his stomach before the dwarf taboo idols that were receiving the sacred slanting moonbeams through the palms prostrated himself at Gabrielle's feet. The white girl looked round her like one who stared in a dream, then she gave a merry peal of laughter. The handsome, tattooed braves who stood leaning on the palm stems gave a hushed cry of admiration as they saw the girl standing, bathed in moonbeams, her hair wildly dishevelled, her eyes like stars, her arms as white as coral as she made mystical movements in a dance they did not know. The old priest, who was at her feet lifted his face and chanted some prayer to her eyes.
This act of the priest made the chiefs and chiefesses think that the girl was there by special decree of their _kai-kai_ (sacred moon G.o.ds).
In a moment the whole tribe had followed the priest's act, hod surrounded the girl and were moaning and grovelling at her feet.
”Tala Marama Taraban!” (”'Tis a spirit-girl!”) they whispered in an awestruck voice as they lifted their chins and stared at the girl's vacant eyes. The peculiar stare of those wonderful blue eyes intensified their superst.i.tious belief.
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