“No, I had no wish to try. Why should I seek to become young in body when
my heart is old within?”
“You were afraid,” he sneered, “afraid of the trailing tendrils of this
plant devil.”
“Have it that way if you wish,” I answered indifferently. “However, if
in spite of my warning, you still persist in wishing to see this strange
freak of nature, I will do my best to guide you to it; but, I repeat, the
way is long and difficult, and you had better leave this cursed thing
alone.”
“We will start in the morning,” he asserted decisively, as he arose to
leave.
I said nothing more, but, alone in my room, I laughed like a devil at the
success of my ruse.
* * * * *
Next morning the weather was squally and tempestuous, and I was afraid
that the fire of Silvela’s enthusiasm would be burning low. But I also
knew that opposition would be fuel to the flame.
“I fear we shall have to postpone our journey,” I remarked, when he
appeared.
If Silvela had any doubts as to the advisability of our starting out that
morning, they vanished at once.
“Nonsense!” he rasped. “It is fine weather for our purpose.”
“All right, my friend,” I replied. “Remember, though, that I advised
against going.”
“The consequences be upon my head,” he rejoined. “Come, let us be on our
way.”
Our path was strewn with difficulties, and we progressed but slowly. At
times the wind howled and whistled across the wild spaces with a sound
so mournful that it sent a shudder through me. The heavens were murky,
and low, dark clouds raced across the leaden sky as though fleeing from
some scene of horror. Great rocks impeded our progress at every step, and
their grotesque forms seemed to leer at us evilly as we passed. At length
Silvela paused and mopped his brow.
“Come,” I exclaimed, “you are tired and exhausted. The day is declining.
Let us go back.”
Silvela hesitated, and there was an instant in which I was afraid
he would take me at my word. Then he straightened, and his chin set
determinedly.
“No. We have come far; we will continue to the end. Lead the way.”
“So let it be,” I returned grimly. “We will continue to the end.”
I thought a tremor passed over Silvela’s sturdy form and that his face
paled slightly, but he turned resolutely and followed me as I pushed
forward once more.
It was late in the afternoon when we approached the end of our journey.
The clouds had become less dense, and the sun, hanging low upon the
horizon, gleamed through with a sullen glare. The whole western sky bore
the appearance of curdled blood.
At length I led the way around an immense rock, stopped, and pointed to
the north. There, but a short distance ahead, stood the ghastly plant.
* * * * *
It was, in appearance, like a huge pineapple about ten or twelve feet
in height. From the top sprang the broad, dark green leaves, trailing
downward to the ground and enclosing the plant in a kind of cage.
Inside these leaves, at the top of its bulky body, could be seen two
round, fleshy plates, one above the other. Dripping constantly from
these was a golden, intoxicating nectar, the fatal lure that tempts the
victim to his fate. Surrounding these plates were long green tendrils
or arms like those upon an octopus. A slight pressure upon one of these
disks would cause the serpent-like tendrils to enfold the victim in their
deadly embrace, while the sweet fluid rendered the poor wretch oblivious
to danger until it was too late.
Silvela stood for a moment silently looking at the strange plant at which
I pointed.
“It is an uncanny sight,” he muttered, and a shiver ran over his body.
“Uncanny it is, indeed,” I replied. “I, for one, have no desire to make a
closer acquaintance.”
“You were always ready to show the white feather,” he derided scornfully.
I did not openly resent this; I could bear insult for a little while
longer.
“Silvela,” I said, “Let us leave this dreadful plant alone. I implore you
to return with me now. You have seen this horrid thing, why should you
care to test the legendary power of the fluid which it distills?”
“Because I love,” he replied in a dreamy voice, “and I wish to be loved
beyond all men. If it be, indeed, the fountain of youth, what danger can
deter me from sipping its miraculous juice?”
“Then I will say no more. Drink, then, of the fabled wonders of this tree
of destiny, and may all the joy and all the happiness to which your life
entitles you, come to you as you drink the nectar that drips in golden
drops from its heart.”
Silvela darted a quick look at me from his dark eyes, as though half
suspecting a hidden meaning in my words. Then he stepped quickly toward
the ominous plant.
“Careful!” I cautioned, “Do not touch the long, green tendrils. There is
where the danger lies, for they might tear your flesh.”
Silvela stood for an instant close beside the trailing arms, his
eyes glowing with a half insane light. His face was flushed with the
passionate fire that surged through his veins. To his susceptible mind I
know that it was the crowning adventure of his life. I could tell that
his heart was pounding, from the throbbing arteries of his throat. His
lips were moving, and I strained my ears to catch the sound.
“For Mercedes!” he murmured, and stepped between the hanging tendrils.
Another moment’s pause, and he bent down to the fleshy plates in the
heart of the plant and drank long and deeply of the golden juice.
Dreamily he closed his eyes, and, leaning forward, I could faintly catch
some of the broken accents that came from his lips.
“Ah, love, my only love!” he murmured, “See, beloved, the angel
faces—celestial voices coming near—sweet, how sweet—the unearthly light
of elysian fields—ah, the heavenly perfume—the surging of the eternal
sea!”
With folded arms, I stood and waited. Lost to all else save the delights
of his entrancing vision, every faculty, every sense deluded into happy
quiescence by the chimerical phantasm, he did not note the tremulous
vibrations which ran through the whole mass of the horrible plant.
Slowly at first, and then more quickly, the long, sinewy palpi began to
rise and twist in what seemed a fearful dance of death. Higher and higher
rose the dreadful arms, until they hovered over the unconscious form of
their victim.
Once I pressed a little too closely, and one of the awful, twisting
tendrils came in contact with my hand. I sprang back and just in time for
so deadly was the grasp of the noxious arms, that the skin was stripped
from my flesh.
Slowly, but surely, the octopuslike arms settled about Silvela’s body.
One of them dropped across his cheek. As it touched the bare flesh a
tremor ran through his frame, and he suddenly opened his eyes.
It was only a moment until he was fully awake to the horror of his
position. While he was reveling in dreams of paradise, the grim arms of
the death plant had enclosed him in their vise-like clasp, and I knew
that no power upon earth could make them relax until they opened to throw
forth the dry husk—the dead skin and bones—of their prey. Already they
had so constricted his chest that he could breathe only in short, panting
gasps. His terror-stricken eyes sought my face.
“My God, Rodriguez!” he cried in a terrible voice.
The arms gripped him closer. He gasped out a word, “_Help!_”
“Silvela Castelar,” I said, with quiet bitterness, “You are beyond all
human aid. I could not help you if I would. Once within the grasp of
those awful arms, I would be as helpless as you. Remember at every step
of this fatal journey I warned you, but at each warning you grew more
determined. Three times you have brought ruin upon me; the third time
you left for me nothing in life, but I was resolved that you should not
enjoy what I had lost. Silvela, tonight the debits and credits of your
account with me stand balanced. Across the page of the book of life I
write the words, ‘_Paid in full!_’”
He heard me through. Then, as he realized that hope was gone, shriek
after terrible shriek burst from his frenzied lips. In his terror and
despair, he struggled in a madness of desperation; but every movement
caused the embrace of the ghastly arms to tighten upon his body.
With a sick heart, I turned from the awful scene and plunged forward on
my homeward path. As I passed around the great rock from where we had
first glimpsed the fatal tree, a last heartbreaking wail reached my ears.
“_Mercedes! Mercedes!_”
Like the last cry of a lost soul hovering over the abyss of gehenna,
it shrilled in vibrating terror through the air, echoing back from the
ghoulish rocks, and then died away into the silence of the approaching
night.
A faintness seized me, and I shivered at the touch of the chilling breeze
which sprang up as the sun sank, blood-red, below the horizon; and my
heart was as cold as my shrinking flesh.
Sunshine or shadow—it is the same to me now. But in recompense for my
shattered life, I shall carry with me always, the vision of Silvela’s
distorted form writhing in close embrace of the devil-tree’s snaky arms,
in my ears there will ever ring the echo of his last despairing cry of,
“_Mercedes!_”