CHAPTER XIV
Ah, that return to the forest where Rima dwelt, after so anxious day,when the declining sun shone hotly still, and the green woodland shadowswere so grateful! The coolness, the sense of security, allayed the feverand excitement I had suffered on the open savannah; I walked leisurely,pausing often to listen to some bird voice or to admire some rareinsect or parasitic flower shining star-like in the shade. There was astrangely delightful sensation in me. I likened myself to a child that,startled at something it had seen while out playing in the sun, fliesto its mother to feel her caressing hand on its cheek and forget itstremors. And describing what I felt in that way, I was a little ashamedand laughed at myself; nevertheless the feeling was very sweet. At thatmoment Mother and Nature seemed one and the same thing. As I kept to themore open part of the wood, on its southernmost border, the red flameof the sinking sun was seen at intervals through the deep humid greenof the higher foliage. How every object it touched took from it a newwonderful glory! At one spot, high up where the foliage was scanty, andslender bush ropes and moss depended like broken cordage from a deadlimb--just there, bathing itself in that glory-giving light, I noticeda fluttering bird, and stood still to watch its antics. Now it wouldcling, head downwards, to the slender twigs, wings and tail open; then,righting itself, it would flit from waving line to line, dropping lowerand lower; and anon soar upwards a distance of twenty feet and alight torecommence the flitting and swaying and dropping towards the earth. Itwas one of those birds that have a polished plumage, and as it movedthis way and that, flirting its feathers, they caught the beams andshone at moments like glass or burnished metal. Suddenly another bird ofthe same kind dropped down to it as if from the sky, straight and swiftas a falling stone; and the first bird sprang up to meet the comer, andafter rapidly wheeling round each other for a moment, they fled away incompany, screaming shrilly through the wood, and were instantly lost tosight, while their jubilant cries came back fainter and fainter at eachrepetition.
I envied them not their wings: at that moment earth did not seem fixedand solid beneath me, nor I bound by gravity to it. The faint, floatingclouds, the blue infinite heaven itself, seemed not more ethereal andfree than I, or the ground I walked on. The low, stony hills on my righthand, of which I caught occasional glimpses through the trees, lookingnow blue and delicate in the level rays, were no more than the billowyprojections on the moving cloud of earth: the trees of unnumberedkinds--great more, cecropia, and greenheart, bush and fern and suspendedlianas, and tall palms balancing their feathery foliage on slenderstems--all was but a fantastic mist embroidery covering the surface ofthat floating cloud on which my feet were set, and which floated with menear the sun.
The red evening flame had vanished from the summits of the trees, thesun was setting, the woods in shadow, when I got to the end of my walk.I did not approach the house on the side of the door, yet by some meansthose within became aware of my presence, for out they came in a greathurry, Rima leading the way, Nuflo behind her, waving his arms andshouting. But as I drew near, the girl dropped behind and stoodmotionless regarding me, her face pallid and showing strong excitement.I could scarcely remove my eyes from her eloquent countenance: I seemedto read in it relief and gladness mingled with surprise and somethinglike vexation. She was piqued perhaps that I had taken her by surprise,that after much watching for me in the wood I had come through itundetected when she was indoors.
"Happy the eyes that see you!" shouted the old man, laughingboisterously.
"Happy are mine that look on Rima again," I answered. "I have been longabsent."
"Long--you may say so," returned Nuflo. "We had given you up. Wesaid that, alarmed at the thought of the journey to Riolama, you hadabandoned us."
"WE said!" exclaimed Rima, her pallid face suddenly flushing. "I spokedifferently."
"Yes, I know--I know!" he said airily, waving his hand. "You said thathe was in danger, that he was kept against his will from coming. He ispresent now--let him speak."
"She was right," I said. "Ah, Nuflo, old man, you have lived long, andgot much experience, but not insight--not that inner vision that seesfurther than the eyes."
"No, not that--I know what you mean," he answered. Then, tossing hishand towards the sky, he added: "The knowledge you speak of comes fromthere."
The girl had been listening with keen interest, glancing from one to theother. "What!" she spoke suddenly, as if unable to keep silence, "do youthink, grandfather, that SHE tells me--when there is danger--when therain will cease--when the wind will blow--everything? Do I not ask andlisten, lying awake at night? She is always silent, like the stars."
Then, pointing to me with her finger, she finished:
"HE knows so many things! Who tells them to HIM?"
"But distinguish, Rima. You do not distinguish the great from thelittle," he answered loftily. "WE know a thousand things, but they arethings that any man with a forehead can learn. The knowledge that comesfrom the blue is not like that--it is more important and miraculous. Isit not so, senor?" he ended, appealing to me.
"Is it, then, left for me to decide?" said I, addressing the girl.
But though her face was towards me, she refused to meet my look and wassilent. Silent, but not satisfied: she doubted still, and had perhapscaught something in my tone that strengthened her doubt.
Old Nuflo understood the expression. "Look at me, Rima," he said,drawing himself up. "I am old, and he is young--do I not know best? Ihave spoken and have decided it."
Still that unconvinced expression, and her face turned expectant to me.
"Am I to decide?" I repeated.
"Who, then?" she said at last, her voice scarcely more than a murmur;yet there was reproach in the tone, as if she had made a long speech andI had tyrannously driven her to it.
"Thus, then, I decide," said I. "To each of us, as to every kind ofanimal, even to small birds and insects, and to every kind of plant,there is given something peculiar--a fragrance, a melody, a specialinstinct, an art, a knowledge, which no other has. And to Rima has beengiven this quickness of mind and power to divine distant things; it ishers, just as swiftness and grace and changeful, brilliant colour arethe hummingbird's; therefore she need not that anyone dwelling in theblue should instruct her."
The old man frowned and shook his head; while she, after one swift, shyglance at my face, and with something like a smile flitting over herdelicate lips, turned and re-entered the house.
I felt convinced from that parting look that she had understood me, thatmy words had in some sort given her relief; for, strong as was her faithin the supernatural, she appeared as ready to escape from it, when a wayof escape offered, as from the limp cotton gown and constrained mannerworn in the house. The religion and cotton dress were evidently remainsof her early training at the settlement of Voa.
Old Nuflo, strange to say, had proved better than his word. Instead ofinventing new causes for delay, as I had imagined would be the case,he now informed me that his preparations for the journey were all butcomplete, that he had only waited for my return to set out.
Rima soon left us in her customary way, and then, talking by the fire,I gave an account of my detention by the Indians and of the loss of myrevolver, which I thought very serious.
"You seem to think little of it," I said, observing that he took it verycoolly. "Yet I know not how I shall defend myself in case of an attack."
"I have no fear of an attack," he answered. "It seems to me the samething whether you have a revolver or many revolvers and carbines andswords, or no revolver--no weapon at all. And for a very simple reason.While Rima is with us, so long as we are on her business, we areprotected from above. The angels, senor, will watch over us by day andnight. What need of weapons, then, except to procure food?"
"Why should not the angels provide us with food also?" said I.
"No, no, that is a different thing," he returned. "That is a small andlow thing, a necessity common to all creatures, which all know how tomeet. You would n
ot expect an angel to drive away a cloud of mosquitoes,or to remove a bush-tick from your person. No, sir, you may talk ofnatural gifts, and try to make Rima believe that she is what she is, andknows what she knows, because, like a humming-bird or some plants witha peculiar fragrance, she has been made so. It is wrong, senor, and,pardon me for saying it, it ill becomes you to put such fables into herhead."
I answered, with a smile: "She herself seems to doubt what you believe."
"But, senor, what can you expect from an ignorant girl like Rima? Sheknows nothing, or very little, and will not listen to reason. If shewould only remain quietly indoors, with her hair braided, and pray andread her Catechism, instead of running about after flowers and birds andbutterflies and such unsubstantial things, it would be better for bothof us."
"In what way, old man?"
"Why, it is plain that if she would cultivate the acquaintance of thepeople that surround her--I mean those that come to her from her saintedmother--and are ready to do her bidding in everything, she could makeit more safe for us in this place. For example, there is Runi and hispeople; why should they remain living so near us as to be a constantdanger when a pestilence of small-pox or some other fever might easilybe sent to kill them off?"
"And have you ever suggested such a thing to your grandchild?"
He looked surprised and grieved at the question. "Yes, many times,senor," he said. "I should have been a poor Christian had I notmentioned it. But when I speak of it she gives me a look and is gone,and I see no more of her all day, and when I see her she refuses even toanswer me--so perverse, so foolish is she in her ignorance; for, as youcan see for yourself, she has no more sense or concern about what ismost important than some little painted fly that flits about all daylong without any object."