Dara Decides
Armourer posted a man at either entrance to his house, and, by dint
of patient reasoning with the brown girl, eventually succeeded in
persuading her to accompany him to the verandah.
On the way from the professor’s shack he had discovered a great deal
concerning her character. She was suspicious, of course, obstinate as
only a native can be obstinate, perfectly capable, if bullied, of
maintaining a sullen silence and refusing to utter a syllable even on
pain of torture or death.
He imagined that she had been employed as some sort of priestess at a
shrine and had somehow got it into her head that she was a goddess and
therefore entitled to respect. She walked with her head high, with an
easy swing of the shoulders and a proud, half-ironic smile always
playing at the corners of her mouth.
She was lissom and good-looking, even when regarded from a purely
Western point of view; her hair was black and shining and drawn back
from her forehead to form a long, cylindrical knot behind a
particularly handsome head, and he had detected beneath this knot the
handle of a knife, the long thin blade of which was cunningly
concealed.
It occurred to him that an enormous amount of tact would be required
to induce her to reveal the secrets that lay behind those lustrous
brown eyes.
He tossed a cushion on to the floor and she squatted down on it, never
for a single moment withdrawing her gaze from his face. The
cigarette-tin caught his eye and he held it out to her.
She hesitated, then drew out three together. She was fumbling with two
of them, trying to push them back with the others, when Armourer
spoke:
“Keep them, Dara; you may have need of them. I have many things I want
to say to you to-night.”
“The _Tuan-Hakim_ is kind,” she murmured.
He lit his own and held the match until the end of her cigarette
glowed hopefully.
“How do you know that I am a magistrate?” he asked.
The girl smiled.
“Because of the soldiers, _Tuan_, and because once I lived in a house
not very distant from here.”
“Abu-Samar’s?”
She exhaled a wreath of blue smoke and nodded.
For some minutes the magistrate smoked in silence.
Dara was not quite such an enigma after all. She had lived with
Abu-Samar and it was probably in his bungalow that she had learned to
smoke cigarettes. Already he was beginning to see hopes of drawing her
out.
“And yet you are the goddess of the Crimson Butterfly?”
She started.
“_Yah, Tuan_, that is so.”
He looked at his hands.
“What was the goddess doing so far from her temple and her people?”
A startled look had crept into her eyes and she gazed round her
apprehensively.
“I am the _Tuan-Hakim’s_ prisoner?” she suggested.
Armourer shook his head slowly from side to side.
“The goddess of the Crimson Butterfly is no man’s prisoner. You are my
guest, little Dara. To-night we will find you a house and a bed and my
soldiers will be on watch outside in case Abu-Samar should come to
steal the Butterfly again.”
She leaned back on her hands.
“Abu-Samar is a strange man, _Tuan_, and very powerful. To him the
weapons of the little brown men are as nothing; walls cannot keep him
out. He comes and he talks and presently he goes again--and even the
dogs do not move in their sleep either at his coming or his going.”
Armourer laughed.
“You are afraid of Abu-Samar,” he told her, “and because you are
afraid you believe all these things. I, who understand, tell you that
these things are not possible. Samar has two arms and two legs and a
body.” He threw his automatic on to the table. “I need but speak
once--with this--and Abu-Samar will be no more.”
She blinked at him.
“Even you--who are wise--do not understand this man.”
“Tell me,” said the magistrate, “all you think I do not know.”
“About what, _Tuan_?”
“About Abu-Samar and the temple in the wilderness where there is
always a fire burning. Tell me how you came to leave that place and go
with Samar.”
She set her lips obstinately.
“I cannot.”
He played his trump-card.
“Listen, Dara: To-night there was a white woman in this house and
Abu-Samar called to her and she went to him. Possibly she will live in
his house, as you have lived; she will wear the ornaments that you
have worn. He will take her to the temple and say to the people who
worship there: ‘See, this woman is very beautiful, more beautiful even
than Dara. She is the real goddess of the Butterfly!’”
Her eyes opened wide--like saucers--and she sat staring into space as
if endeavouring to visualise the possible consequences of any
confession. A shudder passed through her frame.
“Great _Tuan_, I was goddess of the Crimson Butterfly. I wore the
ornament at my throat and the big red butterflies flew in the light of
the brazier, hovering there to protect me. There were no other
butterflies anywhere; only those. Then Abu came and saw me. He came
many times after that. He brought presents and presently he spoke to
me. He asked me to leave the temple--to go away with him, and I was
afraid because of his eyes. I told him that the kiss of the goddess
was death, because the butterflies watched over her, and he went away.
He was gone for many moons and suddenly the butterflies left the
temple and flew away. Then Abu returned and took me.”
Armourer crushed out his cigarette and felt for his pipe.
“How did he make the butterflies go?”
She shook her head.
“Who can tell, _Tuan_? Abu has a magic that is very powerful. One
morning when I woke I found that the ornament was gone from my neck. I
spoke to Abu and he said that he wanted it for his magic. When we were
in the house in the trees that was burnt, the white lady came.”
The magistrate crossed his legs.
“Oh, yes?--Many times?”
“Once only, _Tuan_. Abu made her come. He sent me away, but I watched
through a hole in the wall. He took the Crimson Butterfly from a box
and fastened it round her neck. She was very frightened and ran away
into the trees. But she kept the Butterfly.”
“Where is Abu-Samar now?”
She clasped her hands over her ears and rocked to and fro.
“Do not ask me, _Tuan_. If I were to tell you, Abu would most surely
kill me.”
Armourer leaned forward.
“Dara,” he said earnestly, “this man Samar frightens people with his
eyes; that is why you, too, are frightened. Samar has a magic. There
are two kinds of magic, Dara--black magic, which is Samar’s, and white
magic, which is mine. The white magic laughs at the other because it
understands it. In a little while you will find here an old white man
with a beard who has a magic more powerful than either. We shall go to
Abu together, the old man and I, and you shall take us to him. We
shall take with us many men and guns. We shall take this white lady
from Abu and send her across the black waters in an engine-_kapal_.
Abu we shall bring back in chains. The servants of the British _Raj_
will sit in judgment over him and hang him from a tall tree--and you
will be goddess of the Crimson Butterfly again.”
He watched her keenly, anxious to discover what impression he had
made.
She squatted there, still swaying a little, gazing thoughtfully at the
boards.
“Before _she_ came,” she said softly, “I was everything to Abu. He
made me many promises. He swore to me that with the magic he had
stolen from the butterflies he would drive the white people from my
country. When they were quite gone he would be king--and I his queen.
The chieftains would be grateful to him and give him gold and ivory
and precious stones--and I should have wonderful things to wear.”
“A king has many wives,” suggested the magistrate.
She looked up at him and her face brightened.
“That is true, _Tuan_; but I was to be his first wife--always. Now she
is there--and I am alone. Would that I had waited for her in the hut
in the trees--and killed her!”
She rose suddenly and came across to where he sat. Dropping to her
knees by his chair, she clutched at his sleeve.
“If I lead you to him, Great _Tuan_, will you swear to do all that you
have promised?”
He surveyed her steadily.
“By the word of an Englishman, I swear it.”
“You will send her away on a boat that moves without sails, so that
she may never come back to him?”
He nodded.
“And to my people in the wilderness you will say: ‘This is Dara--the
real goddess--that was taken from you by the Evil One against her
will. See, I have brought her back to you.’ Then one of them will say
to you: ‘This is not so, for it is written that the kiss of the
goddess is death--that he who takes her--dies.’ And you will show them
the body of Abu!”
Armourer suppressed a smile with difficulty. It amused him to hear
this child of the forest dictating to him the line of action he should
take.
“I shall take you back, Dara,” he agreed without committing himself
too far. “I shall take you to the temple and talk to the wise men.
After I have spoken, they will keep you there. There will be rejoicing
in the villages and they will light fires and beat their gongs because
you have returned. It will be _hari besar_--a great day, Dara.”
She stretched out an arm and gazed at the many bracelets that hung
from her wrist. A dreamy look came into her eyes and her expression
softened.
“Many men will desire me,” she murmured.
“And the red butterflies will come back to protect you,” he added,
calling upon his imagination.
She sighed.
“_Hari besar_! and Abu will be dead! It is a great pity, _Tuan_. I
loved that man more than all others.”
Armourer recognised that they were running into dangerous waters.
“The kiss of the goddess is death,” he reminded her quickly. “While he
lives the wise men will not believe that you went away unwillingly.
Abu has travelled far. Perhaps even he will seek out the white lady
again--and forget you.”
She trembled visibly.
“Abu must die!” she cried hoarsely. “I see that he must die.”
The magistrate tried not to appear too eager.
“I’m afraid so, Dara. In a day or two you will lead me to where he has
taken the white _mem_.”
“_Yah, Tuan-Hakim_,” she responded slowly, “I will lead you--and you
and the other white man will protect me against him!”
Armourer promised.
He reached over and rang the bell for Chong-Si.