_IN THE REDDENING WOODS_
During the weeks before the firelight celebration, I had gradually
made friends with the various natives. This was not difficult, for the
people were as curious regarding me as I would have been regarding a
Martian. At the same time, they were kindly disposed, and would never
hesitate to do me any little favor, such as to help me in laying up my
winter's supplies, or to advise me how to make a coat of goat's hide,
or to tell me where the rarest herbs and berries were to be found, or
to bring me liberal portions of any choice viand they chanced to be
preparing.
I was particularly interested in Yasma's brothers and sisters, all of
whom I met in quick succession. They were all older than she, and all
had something of her naïvety and vivaciousness without her own peculiar
charm. Her three sisters had found husbands among the men of the tribe,
and two were already the mothers of vigorous toddling little sons and
daughters; while her brothers, Karem and Barkodu, were tall, proud, and
dignified of demeanor like their father.
With Karem, the elder, I struck up a friendship that was to prove
my closest masculine attachment in Sobul. I well remember our first
meeting; it was just after my convalescence from my long illness. One
morning, in defiance of Yasma's warning, I had slipped off by myself
into the woods, intending to go but a few hundred yards. But the joyous
green of the foliage, the chirruping birds and the warm crystalline
air had misled me; and, happy merely to be alive and free, I wandered
on and on, scarcely noticing how I was overtaxing my strength. Then
suddenly I became aware of an overwhelming faintness; all things
swam around me; and I sank down upon a boulder, near to losing
consciousness.... After a moment, I attempted to rise; but the effort
was too much; I have a recollection of staggering like a drunken man,
or reeling, of pitching toward the rocks....
Happily, I did not complete my fall. Saving me from the shattering
stones, two strong arms clutched me about the shoulders, and wrenched
me back to a standing posture.
In a daze, I looked up ... aware of the red and blue costume of a
tribesman of Sobul ... aware of the two large black eyes that peered
down at me half in amusement, half in sympathy. Those eyes were but the
most striking features of a striking countenance; I remembered having
already seen that high, rounded forehead, that long, slender, swarthy
face with the aquiline nose, that untrimmed luxuriant full black beard.
"Come, come, I do not like your way of walking," the man declared, with
a smile. And seeing that I was still too weak to reply, he continued,
cheerfully, with a gesture toward a thicket to our rear, "If I had not
been there gathering berries, this day might have ended sadly for you.
Shall I not take you home?"
Leaning heavily upon him while with the gentlest care he led me along
the trail, I found my way slowly back to the village.
And thus I made the acquaintance of Karem, brother of Yasma. At
the time I did not know of the relationship; but between Karem and
myself a friendship quickly developed. Even as he wound with me along
the woodland track to the village, I felt strangely drawn toward
this genial, self-possessed man; and possibly he felt a reciprocal
attraction, for he came often thereafter to inquire how I was doing;
and occasionally we had long talks, as intimate as my foreign birth
and my knowledge of Pushtu would permit. I found him not at all
unintelligent, and the possessor of knowledge that his sophisticated
brothers might have envied. He told me more than I had ever known
before about the habits of wood creatures, of wolves and squirrels,
jackals, snakes and bears; he could describe where each species
of birds had their nests, and the size and color of the eggs; he
instructed me in the lore of bees, ants and beetles, and in the ways of
the fishes in the swift-flowing streams. Later, when I had recovered my
strength, he would accompany me on day-long climbs among the mountains,
showing me the best trails and the easiest ascents--and so supplying me
with knowledge that was to prove most valuable in time to come.
It was to Karem that I turned for an answer to the riddles of Sobul
after Yasma had failed me. But in this respect he was not very helpful.
He would smile indulgently whenever I hinted that I suspected a
mystery; and would make some jovial reply, as if seeking to brush the
matter aside with a gesture. This was especially the case on the day
after the firelight festivities, when we went on a fishing expedition
to a little lake on the further side of the valley. Although in a
rare good humor, he was cleverly evasive when I asked anything of
importance. What had been the purpose of the celebration? It was simply
an annual ceremony held by his people, the ceremony of the autumn
season. Why had Hamul-Kammesh attached so much significance to the
flight of the birds? That was mere poetic symbolism; the birds had
been taken as typical of the time of year. Then what reason for the
excitement of the people?--and what had Yulada to do with the affair?
Of course, Yulada had nothing to do with it at all; but the people
thought she had ordered the ceremonies, and they had been swayed by a
religious mania, which Hamul-Kammesh, after the manner of soothsayers,
had encouraged for the sake of his own influence.
Such were Karem's common-sense explanations. On the surface they were
convincing; and yet, somehow, I was not convinced. For the moment I
would be persuaded; but thinking over the facts at my leisure, I would
feel sure that Karem had left much unstated.
My dissatisfaction with his replies was most acute when I touched upon
the matter closest to my heart. I described Yasma's conduct during
the celebration; confided how surprised I had been, and how pained;
and confessed my fear that I had committed the unpardonable sin by
intruding during an important rite.
To all that I said Karem listened with an attentive smile.
"Why, Prescott," he returned (I had taught him to call me by my last
name), "you surprise me! Come, come, do not be so serious! Who can
account for a woman's whims? Certainly, not I! When you are married
like me, and have little tots running about your house ready to crawl
up your knee whenever you come in, you'll know better than to try to
explain what the gods never intended to be explained by any man!" And
Karem burst into laughter, and slapped me on the back good-naturedly,
as though thus to dispose of the matter.
However, I was not to be sidetracked so easily. I did not join in
Karem's laughter; I even felt a little angry. "But this wasn't just an
ordinary whim," I argued. "There was something deeper in it. There was
some reason I don't understand, and can't get at no matter how I try."
"Then why not save trouble, and quit trying?" suggested Karem, still
good-natured despite my sullenness. "Come, it's a splendid day; let's
enjoy it while we can!"
And he pointed ahead to a thin patch of blue, vaguely visible through
a break in the trees. "See, there's the lake already! I expect fishing
will be good today!"
* * * * *
If I had required further proof that my wits had surrendered to Yasma's
charms, I might have found evidence enough during the days that
followed the tribal celebration. Though smarting from her avoidance of
me, I desired nothing more fervently than to be with her again; and I
passed half my waking hours in vainly searching for her. Day after day
I would inquire for her at her father's cabin, would haunt the paths
to the dwelling, would search the fields and vineyards in the hope of
surprising her. Where had she gone, she who had always come running
to greet me? Had she flown south like the wild birds? At this fancy I
could only smile; yet always, with a lover's irrational broodings, I
was obsessed by the fear that she was gone never to return. This dread
might have risen to terror had the villagers not always been bringing
me tidings of her: either they had just spoken with her, or had seen
someone who had just spoken with her, or had observed her tripping by
toward the meadows. Yet she was still elusive as though able to make
herself invisible.
Nevertheless, after about a week my vigilance was rewarded. Stepping
out into the chill gray of a mid-October dawn, I saw a slender little
figure slipping along the edge of the village and across the fields
toward the woods. My heart gave a great thump; without hesitation, I
started in pursuit, not daring to call out lest I arouse the village,
but determined not to lose sight of that slim flitting form. She did
not glance behind, and could not have known that I was following, yet
for some reason quickened her pace, so that I had to make an effort to
match her speed.
Once out of earshot of the village, I paused to regain my breath, then
at the top of my voice shouted, "Yasma! Yasma!"
Could it be that she had not heard me? On and on she continued,
straight toward the dark fringe of the woods.
Dismayed and incredulous, I repeated my call, using my hands as a
megaphone. This time it seemed to me that she halted momentarily; but
she did not look back; and her pause could not have filled the space
between two heart beats. In amazement, I observed her almost racing
toward the woods!
But if she could run, so could I! With rising anger, yet scarcely
crediting the report of my eyes, I started across the fields at a
sprint. In a moment I should overtake Yasma--and then what excuse would
she have to offer?
But ill fortune was still with me. In my heedless haste I stumbled
over a large stone; and when, bruised and confused, I arose to my feet
with an oath, it was to behold a slender form disappearing beyond the
shadowy forest margin.
Although sure that I had again lost track of her, I continued the
pursuit in a sort of dogged rage. There was but one narrow trail
amid the densely matted undergrowth; and along this trail I dashed,
encouraged by the sight of small fresh-made footprints amid the damp
earth. But the maker of those footprints must have been in a great
hurry, for although I pressed on until my breath came hard and my
forehead was moist with perspiration, I could catch no glimpse of her,
nor even hear any stirring or rustling ahead.
At length I had lost all trace of her. The minute footprints came to
an end, as though their creator had vanished bird-like; and I stood in
bewilderment in the mournful twilight of the forest, gazing up at the
lugubrious green of pine and juniper and at the long twisted branches
of oak and ash and wild peach, red-flecked and yellow and already half
leafless.
How long I remained standing there I do not know. It was useless to go
on, equally useless to retrace my footsteps. The minutes went by, and
nothing happened. A bird chirped and twittered from some unseen twig
above; a squirrel came rustling toward me, and with big frightened eyes
hopped to the further side of a tree-trunk; now and then an insect
buzzed past, with a dismal drone that seemed the epitome of all woe.
But that was all--and of Yasma there was still no sign.
Then, when I thought of her and remembered her loveliness, and how she
had been my playmate and comrade, I was overcome with the sorrow of
losing her, and a teardrop dampened my cheek, and I heaved a long-drawn
sigh.
And as if in response to that sigh, the bushes began to shake and
quiver. And a sob broke the stillness of the forest, and I was as if
transfixed by the sound of a familiar voice.
And out of the tangle of weeds and shrubs a slender figure arose, with
shoulders heaving spasmodically; and with a cry I started forward and
received into my arms the shuddering, speechless, clinging form of
Yasma.
It was minutes before either of us could talk. Meanwhile I held the
weeping girl closely to me, soothing her as I might have done a child.
So natural did this seem that I quite forgot the strangeness of the
situation. My mind was filled with sympathy, sympathy for her distress,
and wonder at her odd ways; and I had no desire except to comfort her.
"Tell me just what has happened, Yasma," I said, when her sobbing had
died down to a rhythmic murmuring. "What has happened--to make you so
sad?"
To my surprise, she broke away, and stood staring at me at arm's
length. Her eyes were moist with an inexpressible melancholy; there was
something so pitiful about her that I could have taken her back into my
arms forthwith.
"Oh, my friend," she cried, with a vehemence I could not understand,
"why do you waste time over me? Have nothing to do with me! I am not
worth it!" And she turned as if to flee again into the forest; but I
seized her hand and drew her slowly back to me.
"Yasma! Yasma!" I remonstrated, peering down into those wistful brown
eyes that burned with some dark-smoldering fire. "What has made you
behave so queerly? Tell me, do you no longer care for me? Do you
not--do you not love me?"
At these words, the graceful head sagged low upon the quivering
shoulders. A crimson flush mounted the slender neck, and suffused the
soft, well rounded cheeks; the averted eyes told the story they were
meant to conceal.
Then, without further hesitation, my arms closed once more about her.
And again she clung close, this time not with the unconscious eagerness
of a child craving protection, but with all the fury and force of her
impetuous nature.
A few minutes later, a surprising change had come over her. We had
left the woods, and she was sitting at my side in a little glade by a
brooklet. The tears had been dried from her eyes, which were still red
and swollen; but in her face there was a happy glow, and I thought she
had never looked quite so beautiful before.
For a while we sat gazing in silence at the tattered and yet majestic
line of the forest, a phantom pageant whose draperies of russet and
cinnamon and fiery crimson and dusty gold were lovely almost beyond
belief. A strange enchantment had come over us; and we were reluctant
to break the charm.
Yet there were questions that kept stirring in my mind; questions to
which finally I was forced to give words.
"Tell me, Yasma," I asked, suddenly, "why have you been behaving so
queerly? Why were you running away from me? Is there something about me
that frightened you?"
It was as if my words had brought back the evil spell. Her features
contracted into a frown; the darkness returned to her eyes, which again
burned with some unspoken sorrow; a look of fear, almost like that of a
haunted creature, flitted across her face.
"Oh, you must never ask that!" she protested, in such dismay that I
pitied her even while I wondered. "You must never ask--never, never!"
"Why not?" I questioned. "What mystery can there be to hide?"
"There is no mystery," she declared. And then, with quick
inconsistency, "But even if there were, you should not ask!"
"But why?" I demanded. "Now, Yasma, you mustn't treat me like a
five-year-old. What have I done to offend you? Tell me, what have I
done?"
"It is nothing that you have done," she mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
"Then is it something someone else has done? Come, let me know just
what is wrong!"
"I cannot tell you! I cannot!" she cried, with passion. And, rising
abruptly and turning to me with eyes aflame, "Oh, why must you insist
on knowing? Haven't I done everything to protect you from knowing? Do
you think it has been easy--easy for me to treat you like this? But it
is wrong to love you! wrong even to encourage you! Only evil can come
of it! Oh, why did you ever, ever have to come among our tribe?"
Having delivered herself of this outburst, Yasma paced back and forth,
back and forth amid the dense grass, with fists clenched and head
upraised to the heavens, like one in an extremity of distress.
But I quickly arose and went to her, and in a moment she was again in
my arms.
Truly, as Karem had declared, the ways of women are not to be
explained! But I felt that there was more meaning than I had discovered
in her behavior; I was sure that she had not acted altogether without
reason, and, remembering all that had puzzled me, I was determined to
probe if possible to the roots of her seeming caprice.
"You have never been the same to me since the firelight celebration,"
I said, when her emotion had spent itself and we once more sat quietly
side by side in the grass. "Maybe something happened then to make you
despise me."
"No, not to make me despise you!" she denied, emphatically. "It was not
your fault at all!"
"Then what was it?" I urged.
"Nothing. Only that Hamul--Hamul--"
In manifest confusion, she checked herself.
"Hamul-Kammesh?" I finished for her, convinced that here was a clue.
But she refused to answer me or to mention the soothsayer again; and,
lest the too-ready tears flow once more, I had to abandon the topic.
None the less, I had not forgotten her references to Hamul-Kammesh and
his prophecies.
But I still attached no importance to the predictions--was I to be
dismayed by mere superstition? I was conscious only that I felt an
overwhelming tenderness toward Yasma, and that she was supremely
adorable; and it seemed to me that her love was the sole thing that
mattered. At her first kiss, my reason had abdicated; I was agitated
no longer by scruples, doubts or hesitancies; my former objects in
life appeared pallid and dull by contrast with this warm, breathing,
emotional girl. For her sake I would have forsworn my chosen work,
forsworn the friends I had known, forsworn name and country--yes, even
doomed myself to lasting exile in this green, world-excluding valley!
In as few words as possible I explained the nature of my feelings. I
was able to give but pale expression to the radiance of my emotions;
but I am sure that she understood. "I do not know what it is that holds
you from me, Yasma," I finished. "Surely, you realize that you are
dearer to me than my own breath. You made me very happy a little while
ago when you came into my arms--why not make me happy for life? You
could live with me here in a cabin in Sobul, or maybe I could take you
with me to see the world I come from, and you would then know where the
clouds go, and see strange cities with houses as tall as precipices and
people many as the leaves of a tree. What do you say, Yasma? Don't you
want to make us both happy?"
Yasma stared at me with wide-lidded eyes in which I seemed to read
infinite longing.
"You know I would!" she cried. "You know I would--if I could! But ours
is a strange people, and our ways are not your ways. There is so much
you do not understand, so much which even I do not understand! It all
makes me afraid, oh, terribly afraid!"
"Do not be afraid, Yasma dear," I murmured, slipping my arm about her
shoulders. "I will protect you."
"You cannot protect me!" she lamented, withdrawing. "You cannot even
protect yourself! There is so much, so much from which none can protect
themselves!"
Not realizing what she meant, I let this warning slip past.
"All that I know," I swore, passionately, "is that I want you with
me--want you with me always! Let happen what may, I want you--and have
never wanted anything so much before!"
"Oh, do not speak of that now!" she burst forth, in a tone almost of
command. "Do not speak of that now! First there are things you must
know--things I cannot explain!" And she sat with eyes averted, gazing
toward the scarlet and vermilion dishevelled trees, whose branches
waved like ghostly danger signals in the rising wind.
"What things must I know?"
"You will have to wait and find out. Maybe, like us, you will feel
them without being told; but maybe time alone will be your teacher.
The traditions of my tribe would stop me from telling you even if I
knew how. But do not be surprised if you learn some very, very strange
things."
"Strange or not strange," I vowed, "all I know is that I love you. All
I care to learn is when--when, Yasma, you will say to me--"
"Not until the spring," she murmured, with such finality that I felt
intuitively the uselessness of argument. "Not until the flowers come
out from their winter hiding, and the birds fly north. Then you will
know more about our tribe."
Without further explanation, she sprang impulsively from her seat
of grass. "Come," she warned me, pointing to a gray mass that was
obscuring the northern peaks. "Come, a storm is on the way! If we
don't hurry, we'll be wet through and through!"
And she flitted before me toward the village with such speed that I
could scarcely get another word with her.