_THE CYCLE IS COMPLETED_
With what sadness I watched the autumn gradually return to Sobul! The
crimson and tan and russet woods, glowing with a forlorn and dying
inner radiance, were tragic as with the sorrow of a crumbling universe;
each frightened leaf that scurried earthward with a sharp blast, seemed
laden with some hope that had withered; the legions of wild ducks and
geese that went speeding ever, ever beyond the southern peaks, were to
me awe-inspiring and solemn portents. And the clouds that came whirling
and clustering by in troops and squadrons at the goad of the high wind,
were grim with evil reminders; and their glee in overrunning the sky's
blue and blurring the fringes of the peaks, was as the glee of those
dark forces that invisibly blotted out my happiness.
Partly in order to drive tormenting premonitions from my mind, I tried
to keep well occupied during those harrowing days. I had not forgotten
the preparations I had made for the previous winter, nor the need of
fortifying myself for the winter to come. Once again I gathered large
supplies of food and firewood; once again I sealed all cracks and
crannies in my cabin walls, procured heavy garments, and made ready
for a hermit's life. And in these preparations Yasma helped me as
energetically and skillfully as last year. But she worked sadly, and
in silence; and often the tears were in her eyes as she stored the
firewood in orderly heaps or arranged the dried fruits, nuts and grains
in neat and convenient piles.
I alone, just as last autumn, was preparing for the winter; as time
went by, the other inhabitants of Sobul were going their mute and
mysterious way. Gradually the village was being deserted; face after
familiar face was disappearing: first Abthar, then Barkodu, then Karem,
then Hamul-Kammesh; while by degrees the town assumed a desolate
appearance. The end of October saw its population reduced by more than
half; early November found a mere handful remaining; and I knew that
the time was not far-off when even this handful would have vanished.
But where the people went was as much an enigma as ever.
As during the previous year, I made several attempts to trace the
fugitives. More than once, slipping out of the cabin at night when
Yasma was asleep, I lay in wait for hours in a thicket at the village
edge; but my only reward was fresh torment and bewilderment. I never
caught any glimpse of the departing natives, though always in the
morning I would note that there were more absentees; on my most
successful attempt, I found a number of fresh-made tracks, which I
hopefully traced southward into the woods, until they came to an end as
inexplicably as though their makers had evaporated.
I well remember my last effort. I must have been a little incautious
in leaving the cabin; or perhaps Yasma was not quite asleep, as I had
thought; for no sooner had I taken my usual station in the thicket than
I became aware of a shadowy approaching form. Thinking that this was
one of the fleeing Ibandru, I crouched down so as not to be seen; but a
peal of laughter brought me to my senses; in an instant, I found myself
face to face with--my wife!
"Oh, you silly creature, how do you expect to find out anything that
way?" she chided me, having apparently divined my purpose. "You may lie
there watching till the end of time, and you'll never discover a thing.
It is not by examining the earth that you may learn of the eagle's
flight."
With these words Yasma took my arm; and docilely I accompanied her back
to our cabin.
Only by a great effort of will had I dared to leave her side that
night, for I lived in terror that when I next turned to look for her
she would be gone. Indeed, if she had been a bubble that might burst
at a touch, or a rainbow that a shadow would shatter, I could scarcely
have been more worried; for it would hardly have surprised me to see
her transform herself into a sun-mote, and go dancing into the air and
out of view.
November was not yet very old when some persistent voice within me
proclaimed that the crisis was at hand. There arrived a day when not
a score of the Ibandru paced about among the empty cabins; there
arrived a later day when not half a score were to be seen, and then the
climactic day--not very much later--when only one member of the tribe
still walked in the village.
Even at this distant hour I can relive the sorrow and passion of that
day. I remember how the solemn gray clouds went scudding beneath the
gray solemn sky; how the wild geese, the last of the winged migrants,
called and called plaintively on their way southward; how the wind,
like a harried soul that answered the driven birds, shrieked and wailed
when its impetuous gusts chased down the last of the red leaves and
scattered the swirling eddies of dust. A wild, mad day! a day when the
whole earth seemed risen in fury and revolt! a day when the elements,
alive with the vehemence and vain frenzy of all created things, were
voicing the sadness and despair of the universe in a dirge for the
dying year!
And on that tumultuous day, in that world of raging wind and cloud,
Yasma came to me with such a light in her eyes as the dying may show
when they bid farewell to love. One glance at her shuddering form
confirmed my fears; I knew her message, and felt intuitively the
hopelessness of protest or reproach.
Without a word she flung her arms about me, stormily sobbing; and I
held her in an embrace so long and fierce that I might have been a foe
striving to crush her frail body.
But at length she struggled free, and stood before me, moist-eyed and
pathetically smiling. "Good-bye, my beloved, good-bye," she murmured,
and edged toward the door.
"Do not go, do not go!" I cried, and I stretched out my arms
imploringly. But some numbing force had paralyzed my limbs--I was
unable to move a step.
"Good-bye, my beloved," she repeated, with a look like a tormented
angel's. "Good-bye--until the spring!"
And her slender form slipped past the door, and its wooden bulk closed
behind her. And as she escaped, sudden action came to my frozen limbs,
and I rushed out of the cabin, calling and calling, "Yasma! Yasma!" And
then, frantically, "Yasma! Yasma!" But only the wind replied. A whirl
of dust struck me in the face, and for a moment I was half blinded.
Then, when I turned to look for Yasma, no Yasma was to be seen. And in
bewilderment and balked anger and despair, I realized that I should see
her no more until the birds were flying north.
III
_The Will of Yulada_