CHAPTER XXI
McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide,with the shape of an oyster. The coconut plantation covered thewest side. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rowsquarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree,sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. The south-eastend of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. There wasplenty of sweet water.
The settlement was on the middle west coast. The stores, the dryingbins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around anexquisite landlocked lagoon. One could enter and leave by proa, butnothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. The island hadevidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from thevolcanic upheaval--an island of coral and lava.
There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, andpomegranate. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small butfilled with scarlet honey. This fruit was McClintock's particularpride. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangelyenough, they had prospered.
"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "youhave only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is."
The lemons had enormously thick skins and were only mildlyacidulous--sweet lemons, they were called; and one found themdelicious by dipping the slices in sugar.
But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. McClintock hadbrought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders ofwonders, they had thrived--as trees. But not once in these tenyears had they borne blossom or fruit. The soil was identical, theclimate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with itspurple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. One might have saidthat these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving,refused to bear.
Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig,the latter having been domesticated. Of course there were goats.There's an animal! He thrives in all zones, upon all manner offood. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. Theisland was snake-free.
There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes,from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beakedlove-birds. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming inthe fruit groves.
The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood;sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger inthese waters. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboodrops which were always down in the daytime, fending off thetreacherous sunshine. White men never went abroad without helmets.The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was aninvitation to sunstroke.
Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively.For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to thebackground. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he becamewhat he had once been normally, a lovable boy.
McClintock was amused. He began really to like Spurlock, despitethe shadow of the boy's past, despite his inexplicable attitudetoward this glorious girl. To be sure, he was attentive,respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless_camaraderie_ of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hangif all the world knew it. If the boy did not love the girl, why thedevil had he dragged her into this marriage?
Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioningclearly; and, it might be added, swiftly--as the brain always actswhen confronted by a perplexing riddle. No matter how swiftly hepursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. Why had Ruthmarried _him_? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he wasthat. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did notlove him, or he knew nothing of love signs. Had she too been flyingfrom something and had accepted this method of escape? But whatfrying-pan could be equal to this fire?
All this led him back to the original circle. He saw the colossalselfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea ofabnormality. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollectedevery thought that had led up to it and every act that hadconsummated the deed.
To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immenseecholess tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter whichtore at his vitals. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To washaway his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had setabout. And God had let him do it! He was--and now he perfectlyunderstood that he was--treading the queerest labyrinth a man hadever entered.
Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love norpassion--utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Hehad kissed his wife on the mouth ... and had been horrified! Therewas real madness somewhere along this road.
He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherentconscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, orthat there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. He saw whathe had done only as it related to Ruth. He would have to go on; hewould be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed uponhimself.
His salvation--if there was to be any--lay in her ignorance oflife. But she could not live in constant association with himwithout having these gaps filled. And when she learned that she hadbeen doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on herside of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as heanticipated hers. He was an imaginative young man.
Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when theyseparated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimeshe would hold her hand in his and pat it.
"I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where thistable is. You never can tell. I'm likely to get up any time in thenight to work."
Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which waswithin calling distance of McClintock's. They had scrubbed anddusted, torn down and hung up until noon.
"Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from herforehead. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put herin the wing across the middle hall, alone. "This will be verycomfortable."
"Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?"
"Not in the lagoon. Mr. McClintock says they can't get in there, orat least they never try it."
"Lord!--think of having sharks for neighbours? Every morning I'lltake a dip into the lagoon. That'll tune me up."
"But don't ever swim off the main beach without someone with you."
"I wonder where the deuce I'll be able to get some writing paper?I'm crazy to get to work again."
"Probably Mr. McClintock will have some."
"I sha'n't want these curtains. You take them. The veranda bamboowill be enough for me."
He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into hereyes. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned--the softnessof her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. He turnedirresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves ofhis old manuscripts.
"I believe I'll tear them up. So long as they're about, I'll alwaysbe rewriting them and wasting my time."
"Let me have them."
"What for? What do you want of them?"
"Why, they are ... yours. And I don't want anything of yoursdestroyed, Hoddy. Those were dreams."
"All right, then." He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrustthem under her arm. "But don't ever let me see them again. ByGeorge, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in theoffice and that I could have it. I'll dig it up. I'll be feelingfine in no time. The office is a sight--not one sheet of paper onanother; bills and receipts everywhere. I'll have to put some pepinto the game--American pep. It will take a month to clean up. I'vebeen hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!"
She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in herwisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end--inthe veranda chair. All this--the island and its affairs--was an oldstory; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a pointimperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband'seyes, as in the future she would see all things.
For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she didnot know
how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. Herheart ached; and that puzzled her. Love was joy, and joyous she waswhen alone. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidityencompassed her.
The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want ofsomething better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon thedesert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone." Manis a peculiar animal. No matter what the fire and force of hispassion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goesout. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a womanalways has the mother love. When the disillusion comes, when thefairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn'tmind. If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; buthe is no longer a man but a child.
A dog appeared unexpectedly upon the threshold. He was yellow andcoarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth andwagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one ofthese disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things.
"Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock.
He started toward the dog with the idea of ejecting him, but Ruthintervened.
"No, please! It is good luck for a dog to enter your house. Let mekeep him."
"What? Good Lord, he's alive with fleas! They'll be all over theplace."
"Please!"
She dropped the curtains and the manuscripts, knelt and held outher arms. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. Hesuspected a trap. The few whites he had ever known generallyoffered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. But whenRuth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one inthis house would ever offer him a kick. So he decided to stay.
"You want him?"
"Please!" said Ruth.
"All right. What'll we call him--Rollo?"--ironically.
"I never had a pet. I never had even a real doll," she added, asshe snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. "See how glad heis!"
His irony and displeasure subsided. She had never had a pet, neverhad a real doll. Here was a little corner of the past--a tragiccorner. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that itstruck the child and the grown-up impartially. He must never refuseher anything which was within his power to grant--anything (hemodified) which did not lead to his motives.
"You poor child!--you can have all the dogs on the island, if youwant them! Come along to the kitchen, and we'll give Rollo atubbing."
And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began--with the tubbingof a stray yellow dog. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo nowknew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying tokill him in a new way. Nobody will ever know what the fleasthought.
The two young fools laughed until they cried. They were drenchedwith water and suds. Their laughter, together with the agonizedyowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and atlength McClintock himself came over to see what the racket wasabout. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon.
"You two will have this island by the ears," he said, wiping hiseyes. "Those boys out there think this is some new religious riteand that you are skinning the dog alive to eat him!"
The shock of this information loosened Spurlock's grip on the dog,who bolted out of the kitchen and out of the house, maintaining hismile-a-minute gait until he reached the jungle muck, where heproceeded to neutralize the poison with which he had been latheredby rolling in the muck.
But they found him on the veranda when they returned fromMcClintock's that evening. He had forgiven everybody. From then onhe was Ruth's dog.
Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship asthe sharing of a laughable incident. Certain reserves went down onboth sides. Spurlock discussed the affairs of the island and Ruthgave him in exchange her adventures with the native girl who was tobe their servant.
This getting up at dawn--real dawn--and working until seven was adistinct novelty. From then until four in the afternoon there wasnothing to do--the whole island went to sleep. Even the chatteringmonkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for thesmelly dark of the jungle. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed,the boys made no effort to unload. They hunted up shady nooks andwent to sleep; but promptly at four they would be at the office,ready for barter.
Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and beganto practise on it in the night. He would never be able to composeupon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. Above thework-table was a drop-light--kerosene. The odour of kerosenepermeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to someextent by burning native punk in brass jars.
He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. Hestarted a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket.Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in thedoorway. She crooked her finger.
"What is it?"
"The night," she answered. "Come and see the lagoon in themoonlight."
He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into thenight, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. There wasonly one sound--the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and eventhat said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadowmoved. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of somefabulous Grecian temple.
"Let us sit here," she said, indicating the white sand borderingthe lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quitewonderful . . . . There!"
Out of the dark unruffled sapphire of the lagoon came verticalflashes of burning silver, singly and in groups.
"What in the world is it?" he asked.
"Flying fish. Something is feeding upon them. I thought you mightlike to see. You might be able to use the picture some day."
"I don't know." He bent his head to his knees. "Something's wrong.I can't invent; the thing won't come."
"Shall I tell you a real story?"
"Something you have seen?"
"Yes."
"Tell it. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in."
So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in thetyphoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificentcourage.
"That's tremendous!" he cried. "Lord, if I can only remember towrite it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. "I'lltackle it to-night!"
"But it's after ten!"
"What's that got to do with it? ... The roofs of the native hutsscattering in the wind! ... the absolute agony of the twistingpalms!.... and those two beggars laughing as they breasted death!Girl, you've gone and done it!"
He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with herto the bungalow.
Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at thethreshold of what they now called his study. There were no doors inthe bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead andbamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. His pipe hung dead in histeeth, but the smoke was dense about him. His hand flew across thepaper. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and begananother. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the windowwhich gave upon the sea. But she could tell by the dullness of hiseyes that he saw only some inner vision.
Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew whatkisses were now. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but heneither saw nor heard.