message by Shiraz."
The dinner passed off without incident, and not once did Coryndon open
the secret door of his mind, to add to the strange store of facts he had
gathered there. He wanted nothing from Atkins, who knew less of the Rev.
Francis Heath than he did himself, and he had to sustain his rôle of
ignorance of the country. The two men stayed late, and it seemed to
Coryndon that when men talk they do more than talk, they tell many
things unconsciously.
Perhaps, if people realized, as Coryndon realized, the value of
restrained speech, we should know less of our neighbours' follies and
weaknesses than we do. There was a noticeable absence of interest in
what anyone else had to say. Atkins had his own foible, Fitzgibbon his,
and Hartley, who knew more of the ways of men, a more interesting, but
not less egoistic platform from which he desired to speak. They seemed
to stalk naked and unashamed before the eyes of the one man who never
gave a definite opinion, and who never asserted his own theories or
urged his own philosophy of life.
Coryndon listened because it amused him faintly, but he was glad when
the party broke up and they left. What a planet of words it was, he
thought, as he sat in his room and reflected over the day. Words that
ought to carry value and weight, but were treated like so many loose
pebbles cast into void space; and he wondered as he thought of it; and
from wondering at the wordy, noisy world in which he found himself, he
went on to wonder at the greater silence that was so much more powerful
than words. "The value of mystery," was the phrase that presented itself
to his mind.
During the evening, three men had enjoyed all the pleasure of
self-betrayal, and, from the place where he stood, unable ever to
express anything of his own nature in easy speech, he wondered at them,
with almost childlike astonishment. Fitzgibbon, garrulous and loose of
tongue, Atkins, precise and easily heated to wrath, conscious of some
hidden fear that his dignity was not sufficiently respected, and
Hartley, who had something to say, but who oversaid it, losing grip
because of his very insistence. Not one of them understood the value of
reserve, and all alike strove to proclaim themselves in speech, not
knowing that speech is an unsound vehicle for the unwary, and that
personality disowns it as a medium.
Out of the mouth of a man comes his own condemnation: let him prosper
who remembers this truth. The value of mystery, the value of silence,
and above all things, the supreme value of a tongue that is a servant
and not a master; Coryndon considered these values and wondered again at
the garrulity of men. Talk, the fluid, ineffectual force that fills the
world with noise, that kills illusions and betrays every latent
weakness; surely the high gods laughed when they put a tongue in the
mouth of man. He pinched his lips together and his eyes lighted with a
passing smile of mirth.
"In Burma, there are no clappers to the bells," he said to himself.
"Each man must strike hard before sound answers to his hand, and truly
it is well to think of this at times." And, still amused by the fleeting
memory of the evening, he went to bed and slept.
XV
IN WHICH THE FURTHERING OF A STRANGE COMRADESHIP IS CONTINUED, AND A
BEGGAR FROM AMRITZAR CRIES IN THE STREETS OF MANGADONE
Trade was slack in the shop of Leh Shin, the Chinaman. He had sat in the
odorous gloom and done little else than feel his arms and rub his legs,
for the greater part of the day. His new acquaintance, Shiraz, had taken
over possession of his goods, scrutinizing them with care before he did
so, in case the brass pots had been exchanged in the night for inferior
pots of smaller circumference, and in the end he had departed into his
own rat-burrow, two doors up the street, where his friend the Burman was
already established in a gloomy corner. Leh Shin heard of this through
his assistant, who had followed the coolie into the house, and
investigated the premises as he stood about, with offers of assistance
for his excuse.
"They have naught with them, save only a box that has no lock upon it,
and also the boxes bought from thy shop, Leh Shin, but these are empty,
for I looked closely, when they talked in the hither room, where they
are minded to live. Jewels, didst thou say? Then that fox with the red
beard has sold them and the money is stored in some place of security."
"Ah, ah," said the Chinaman, his eyes dull and fixed.
"And 'ah, ah' to thee," retorted the assistant, who found the response
lacking in interest. "I would I knew where it was hidden."
With a sudden change of manner he squatted near the ear of Leh Shin and
talked in a soft whisper.
"Is not the time ripe, O wise old man, is not the hour come when thou
mayst go to the house of the white Sahib and demand a piece for closed
lips?"
He pursed up his small mouth and pointed at it.
Leh Shin shook his head.
"I am already paid, and I will not demand further, lest he, whom we know
of, come no more. Drive not the spent of strength; since the price is
sufficient, I may not demand more, lest I sin in so doing."
The assistant glared at him with angry eyes.
"Fool, and thrice fool," he muttered under his breath, but Leh Shin did
not heed him, and did not even appear to hear what he said. For a long
time the old Chinaman seemed wrapped in his thought, and at last he got
up, and leaving the shop, went towards the principal Joss House that
faced the river.
Coryndon had chosen the empty shop in the Colonnade for two reasons. It
was near Leh Shin, and near the strange assistant, who interested him
nearly as much as Leh Shin himself, and also it had the additional
advantage of being the last house in the block. A narrow alley full of
refuse of every description lay between it and the next block, and the
rickety house had doors that opened to the front, and to the side, and
by way of a dark lane directly from the back, making ingress or egress a
matter of wide choice.
The shop front was shuttered, and left to the rats and cockroaches, and
up a flight of decrepit and shaky stairs, Shiraz had made what shift he
could to provide comfort for his master in the least dilapidated room in
the house. The walls were thin, and the plaster of the low ceiling was
smoke-grimed and dirty. The "bed of lesser value" was stored away in the
garret that lay beyond, and the prayer-mat was placed alongside the
toil-worn wooden _charpoy_, that was at least fairly clean and had all
four legs intact; and under this bed, the box that held a strange
assortment of clothing was put safely away. At the bottom of another
box, one of those bought by Coryndon himself from Leh Sin's assistant,
Shiraz had laid a suit of tussore silk, a few shirts and collars, and
anything that his master might require if he wished to revisit those
"glimpses of the moon" in the Cantonments; for Shiraz neglected nothing,
and had a genius for detail.
A hurricane lamp, that threw impartial light upon all sides, stood on a
round table, and lighted the small room, and at one corner Coryndon sat,
clad in his Burmese _loongyi_ and white coat, thinking, his chin on his
folded hands. He had taught himself to think without paper or pens, and
to record his impressions with the same diligent care as though he wrote
them upon paper. He could command his thoughts, and direct them towards
one end and one issue, and he believed that notes were an abomination,
and that, in his Service, memory was the only safe recorder of progress.
He was fully aware that he was hunting what might well be a cold line,
and he thought persistently of Leh Shin, putting the other possible
issues upon one side. Hartley had allowed himself to be dominated by a
predisposition to account for everything through Heath, and Coryndon
warned himself against falling into the same snare with Leh Shin. He
thought of the Chinaman's shop, and he knew that it was built on the
same plan as his own dwelling. There was no basement, and hardly any
room beyond the open ground-floor apartment and the two upper rooms.
Nowhere, in fact, to conceal anything; and its thin walls could not
contain a single cry for help or prayer for mercy. It was possible to
have drugged the boy and smothered him as he lay unconscious, but unless
the murderers had chosen this method, Absalom could not have met his end
in the Chinaman's shop. There remained the house by the river to
investigate, and there remained hours and days, and possibly weeks, of
close watching, that might reveal some tiny clue, and for that Coryndon
was determined to wait and watch until it lay in the hollow of his palm.
Acting the part of a man more or less astray in his wits, he wandered
out either late or early, with the vague, aimless step of a dreamer, and
stood about, staring vacantly. Leh Shin's shop attracted him, and he
would squat on the ground either just outside the narrow entrance, or
just within, and, with flaccid, dropping mouth, stare at the hanging
array of secondhand clothes, making himself a source of endless
entertainment for the boy, who found him easy to annoy and distress, and
consequently practised upon him with unwearying pleasure.
"Wise one, where are the jewels stolen by thy Master?" he asked,
throwing the dregs of his drink over the Burman's bare feet.
"Jewels, jewels? Nay, friend, jewels are for the rich; for the Raj and
the Prince; I have never seen one to hold in my hand and to consider
closely. As for the Punjabi, he is no master of mine. I did him a
service--nay, I have forgotten what the service was, as I forget all
things, save only the guilt of the evil man, once my friend."
"Tell me once more thy story."
The Burman cowered down and whimpered.
"Since I put it into speech for thy ears, my trouble of mind has grown,
like moonlight in the mist. I may not speak it again. They, yonder,
would hear," he pointed at the clothes, that napped a little in the hot,
heavy wind that came in strong with the scents and smells of the Bazaar.
"Oh, oh," said the boy, with a crackling laugh. "I will tell them not to
speak or stir. I have power over them, and they shall repeat nothing.
Tell me the story, fool, or I will drive thee from thy corner, and the
children shall throw mud upon thee in the streets."
Again and again the drama was repeated, and as Coryndon became part of
the day's amusement to Leh Shin's assistant, he grew to know exactly
what both the boy and his master did during the hours of the day.
Unknown and unsuspected, the Burman went in and out as they went in and
out. He appeared at the house by the river, he sat with his legs
dangling over the drop from the Colonnade into the streets, and he wore
out the hours in idleness, the dust of the Bazaar powdering his hair and
griming his face, but behind his vacant eyes, his quick brain was alive
and burning, and he felt after Leh Shin with invisible hands.
Coryndon was never at the mercy of one idea only, and he began to see,
very soon after he had investigated the two houses--the ramshackle shop
and the riverside den--that if he intended to progress he could not
afford to sit in the street and drink in the café opposite Leh Shin's
dwelling for an interminable space of weeks. He had limitless patience,
but he was quick of action, and saw any flaw in his own system as soon
as a flaw appeared. Leh Shin was suspicious, and took precautions when
he went out at night, and this in itself made it dangerous to be
continually upon his heels in a character he knew and could recognize.
So long as there was anything to gain by remaining in his Burmese
clothing, Coryndon used it, avoiding the Chinaman and cultivating the
society of his assistant, but he soon began to realize that if he were
to follow as closely as he desired, he could not do so in his present
disguise.
All day he sat watching the crowded street, shivering, though the sun
was warm, and breaking his silence with complaints that the fever was
upon him, and that he was sick, and that he could not eat. He whimpered
and whined so persistently that the assistant drove him off, for he
feared infection, and fancied he might be sickening for the plague.
"Neither come thou hither, until thou art fully recovered," he added,
"lest I use my force upon thee."
If a certain beggar who had sat for a whole month outside the Golden
Temple at Amritzar was to become reincarnated in the person of the idiot
Burman, the Burman must have a reason to offer to the inquisitive for
his temporary absence. Sickness is sudden and active in the streets of
any Bazaar, and when Shiraz learnt that he was to keep within the house
and report the various stages of the fever of his friend, he salaamed
and drew out the battered box from under the bed, and folded away the
_loongyi_ and coat with care.
Coryndon explained his plan of coming and going when the streets were
silent, and when he could do so without being noticed. If he came in the
daytime and asked for alms, Shiraz was to open and call him in to
receive food, but he would only do this in great emergency, as the
beggar did not wish to establish any connection with the Punjabi. If, on
the other hand, it was a matter of necessity for the Burman to reappear,
Shiraz was to walk along the street and bestow alms in the beggar's
bowl; and on the first opportunity Coryndon would return and make the
necessary change. The first difficulty was to get out of the house, and
to be in the street by twilight, when the close operation of watching
would have to begin.
"The doors of the merciful are ever open to the poor; yet there is great
danger in going out by the way of the Bazaar."
"There is a closed door at the back that I have well prepared," said
Coryndon, pulling a bit of sacking over his bent shoulders. "Remember
that an oiled hinge opens like the mouth of a wise man."
The addition of one to the brotherhood of vagrancy that is part of every
Eastern Bazaar calls the attention of no one, and being a newcomer,
Coryndon contented himself with accepting a pitch in a district where
alms were difficult to obtain and small in value, but his humility did
not keep him there long, and he made a place for himself at the top of
Paradise Street, in the shadow of an arched doorway, where a house with
carved shutters and horseshoe windows was slowly mouldering through the
first stages of decay. From here he could see down the Colonnade, and
also watch the shop of Mhtoon Pah, as he alternately cursed or blessed
the passers, according to their gifts or their apathy.
The heavy, slouching figure of the assistant went by to take up his
master's place in the waterside house, and the beggar wasted no time in
glancing after him. He knew his destination, and had no need to trouble
about the ungainly, walloping creature, who kicked him as he passed. It
was fresh, out in the street, and pleasant, and in spite of his musty
rags and his hidden face, Coryndon enjoyed the change of occupation.
He saw the place much as it had been on the evening of July the 29th.
Mhtoon Pah came out and sat on his chair, smoking a cheroot, and
observing the street. In a good humour it would appear, for when the
beggar cringed past and sent up his plea for assistance, the curio
dealer felt in his pouched waist-sash and threw him a coin.
"Be it requited to thee in thy next life, O Shrine-builder," murmured
the beggar, and he squatted down on the ground a little further on.
He saw Shiraz come out and stand at the door, preparatory to setting
forth to the Mosque. Saw him lock it carefully and proceed slowly and
with great dignity through the crowd. He passed close to the beggar, but
took no notice of him, lifting his garments lest they should touch him,
and for this the beggar cursed him, to the entertainment of those who
listened.
Blue shadows like wraiths of smoke enfolded the street at the far end,
and the clatter and noise grew stronger as the houses filled after the
day of toil. In one of the prosperous dwellings a gramophone was set
near the window, and the song floated out over the street, the
music-hall chorus from the merchant's house mingled in with the cry of
vendors hawking late wares at cheap prices.
A hundred years ago, except for the gramophone and an occasional
_gharry_, the street might have been the same. The same amber light that
held only a short while after sunset, the same blue misty shadows, the
same concourse of colour and caste, the same talk of food, and the same
idle, loitering and inquisitive crowd.
Coryndon watched it with eyes of love. Half of his nature belonged to
this place and was part of it. He understood their idleness, their small
pleasures, their kindness and their cruelty; and though the dominance of
the white race was strongest in him, he loved these half-brothers of his
because he understood them.
Two young _Hypongyi_ came past where he sat, and as they had nothing
else to give, gave him their blessing and a look of pity.
"He did ill in his former life," said the elder of the two. "The balance
is adjusted thus, and only thus."
"Great is the justice of the Law," replied the other, rubbing his shaven
crown reflectively, and then some noise of music or laughter attracted
them and they ran up the street to see what it might be, for they were
young, and there was no reason why they should not enjoy simple
pleasures.
Coryndon knew that Leh Shin would certainly go to the Joss House that
night, and he knew that upon these occasions the Chinaman prayed long,
and that it would be dark before he entered the place of worship. For
another hour his time was free to watch the street, and without
attaching any particular consequence to the fact, he saw Mhtoon Pah get
up, rub his hands on his knees and lift his chair inside the door, which
he closed with a noise of dragging chains and creaking bolts.
Slowly the last gleam withdrew, and the dust lost its effect of amber,
and the trees grew dark, and little whispering winds clapped the palm
leaves one on another with a dry, barking sound. Children still screamed
and played, and dogs yelped and offered to show fight, and still people
on foot came and went, and the dusk drew down a veil and the greater
noise subsided into a lower key.
The beggar was no longer there, his place was empty and he had gone.
XVI
IN WHICH LEH SHIN IS BREATHED UPON BY A JOSS, AND EXPERIENCES THE TERROR
OF A MAN WHO TOUCHES THE VEIL BEHIND WHICH THE IMMORTALS DWELL.
Of all the savage desires that riot in the hearts of men, the lust of
revenge is probably the strongest. Civilization has done its best to
control and curb wild impulse; but as long as a cruel wrong rankles, or
a fierce longing to square an old account remains, there will be hands
thrust out to take the naked sword of the Lord into their own finite
grasp, and there will be men who will be content to pay the price so
that they may see the desire of their eyes.
The Oriental has above the white races an illimitable patience in
awaiting his hour for retribution, for the heart of the East does not
forget and can hold a purpose silently through the dust-blown, sunlit
years, waiting for the dawn of the appointed day.
When Leh Shin set out towards the Joss House, he was repeating a
procedure that had become constant with him of late. He knew that a Joss
was revengeful and terrible in matters of hate, therefore his prayer
would be understood in the strange region of power where the Great Ones
dwelt. His religion was a mixture of the teachings of Buddha, Confucius,
and Shinto, for long absence from his own country and constant
association with the Burmese and Japanese had blended and confused the
original belief that he had learnt in far-away Canton. To this basis was
added the grossest form of superstition, and the wildest fancies of a
brain muddled with the fumes of opium, but the one thing clear to him
was, that a Joss, though an immortal being, was able to comprehend
hatred.
The gods punished terribly, slaying with plague and pestilence,
destroying life by flood and years of famine, and so Leh Shin knew that
they were very like men, taking full advantage of their fearful power
and punishing the smallest neglect with the utmost rigour. He could
appeal to a great invisible cruel brain and demand assistance for his
own limited desire for revenge, knowing that it was an attribute of
those whose help he sought, but he went in fear, with pricking nerves,
because his belief was strong in the power of the monsters he
worshipped.
The Joss House stood in a wide street near the river; a stone courtyard
separated it from the thoroughfare, and the building itself was raised
on a terrace, led up to by two shallow flights of steps. The roof was a
marvel of sea-green mosaic, coiled over by dragons with flaming red
tongues and staring glass eyes, each dragon a wonder of fretted fins and
ivory teeth and claws. Upon each of the three roofs was set relief
mosaic, of beautiful workmanship, representing houses and ships and
bridges, with tiny men and women, and little trees, all as small as a
child's plaything, but complete, proportioned and entire. Huge stone
pillars covered with devils and crawling lizards supported the long
portico that ran the full length of the building, and between each
pillar an immense paper lantern gleamed like a dim moon.
Leh Shin stood outside for a few moments and then plunged in, like a man
who is not sure of his nerve and cannot afford to wait too long lest his
determination to face what lay inside should fail him. On feast days the
Joss House was a gay place, full of lights and people crowding in and
out, and there was no room for fear, for even a Joss is not alarming in
company with many men, but when Leh Shin went in, the place was
deserted, and it seemed to him that the unseen power was terribly near
in the darkness.
It was a vast, lofty building inside, supported by gold pillars and
black pillars, and in the centre near the door was a tank-shaped well
where pots of flowering plants and palms were set with no particular eye
to regularity or effect. As they shivered and rustled in the dark, they
were full of a suggestion of the fear that made Leh Shin's heart as cold
as a stone in a deep pool. Raised on a jade plinth, a low round pillar
stood directly in front of the rose-red curtains that were drawn across
the sanctuary space, and on the top of the pillar a bronze jar held one
scented stick, that burned slowly, like a winking, drowsy eye, its slow
spiral of incense creeping up into the air and losing itself in the high
arches of the pointed roof. Between the pillar and the sanctuary
itself, was a small table covered with an embroidered shawl, worked in
spangles that glittered and shone, and beneath the table were a number
of smooth stones.
Leh Shin locked his hands together and passed up the aisle, close to
where the palm trees rustled and stirred, and fear was upon him like
that of a hungry dog. He crossed a line of light cast by some candles,
and it seemed to him that the curtains moved as he approached. The Joss
House was apparently empty, and yet it did not seem empty. Invisible
eyes watched behind the carved screens that shut out the priests' houses
on either side, invisible ears might easily catch the lowest whisper of
his prayer. Soundless impressions of moving things that had no shape
haunted his consciousness, and he started in panic as his own shadow
fell before him when he stepped across the burning candles and slid into
the close alley between the table and the shrine.
He bent down suddenly and, feeling on the cold marble of the floor, took
up two of the stones and beat them together with the loud clapping noise
which proclaimed a suppliant. Bowed in the close space, he repeated his
prayer the requisite number of times, and it seemed to Leh Shin that the
Joss heard and accepted: the Joss who took visible shape in his mind,
with a face half-human and half-bestial, and who capered with a drawn
sword in his hand.