the garden of allah-第53章

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She　bent　down。

〃I'll　tell　you；〃　she　said。　〃I'll　tell　you　what　it　is。　It's　a　dead
woman。〃

It　seemed　to　her　as　if　the　dark　thing　lying　by　the　fire　was　herself。

〃Yes；〃　he　said。　〃It's　a　woman　who　has　been　strangled。〃

〃Poor　woman！〃　she　said。　〃Poorpoor　woman！〃

And　it　seemed　to　her　as　if　she　said　it　of　herself。



CHAPTER　XV

Lying　in　bed　in　the　dark　that　night　Domini　heard　the　church　clock
chime　the　hours。　She　was　not　restless；　though　she　was　wakeful。　Indeed；
she　felt　like　a　woman　to　whom　an　injection　of　morphia　had　been
administered；　as　if　she　never　wished　to　move　again。　She　lay　there
counting　the　minutes　that　made　the　passing　hours；　counting　them
calmly；　with　an　inexorable　and　almost　cold　self…possession。　The
process　presently　became　mechanical；　and　she　was　able；　at　the　same
time；　to　dwell　upon　the　events　that　had　followed　upon　the　discovery　of
the　murdered　woman　by　the　tent：　Androvsky's　pulling　aside　of　the　door
of　the　tent　to　find　it　empty；　their　short　ride　to　the　encampment　close
by；　their　rousing　up　of　the　sleeping　Arabs　within；　filthy　nomads
clothed　in　patched　garments；　unveiled　women　with　wrinkled；　staring
faces　and　huge　plaits　of　false　hair　and　amulets。　From　the　tents　the
strange　figures　had　streamed　forth　into　the　light　of　the　moon　and　the
fading　fires；　gesticulating；　talking　loudly；　furiously；　in　an　uncouth
language　that　was　unintelligible　to　her。　Led　by　Androvsky　they　had
come　to　the　corpse；　while　the　air　was　rent　by　the　frantic　barking　of
all　the　guard　dogs　and　the　howling　of　the　dog　that　had　been　a　witness
of　the　murder。　Then　in　the　night　had　risen　the　shrill　wailing　of　the
women；　a　wailing　that　seemed　to　pierce　the　stars　and　shudder　out　to
the　remotest　confines　of　the　desert；　and　in　the　cold　white　radiance　of
the　moon　a　savage　vision　of　grief　had　been　presented　to　her　eyes：
naked　arms　gesticulating　as　if　they　strove　to　summon　vengeance　from
heaven；　claw…like　hands　casting　earth　upon　the　heads　from　which
dangled　Fatma　hands；　chains　of　tarnished　silver　and　lumps　of　coral
that　reminded　her　of　congealed　blood；　bodies　that　swayed　and　writhed
as　if　stricken　with　convulsions　or　rent　by　seven　devils。　She
remembered　how　strange　had　seemed　to　her　the　vast　calm；　the　vast
silence；　that　encompassed　this　noisy　outburst　of　humanity；　how
inflexible　had　looked　the　enormous　moon；　how　unsympathetic　the
brightly　shining　stars；　how　feverish　and　irritable　the　flickering
illumination　of　the　flames　that　spurted　up　and　fainted　away　like
things　still　living　but　in　the　agonies　of　death。

Then　had　followed　her　silent　ride　back　to　Beni…Mora　with　Androvsky
along　the　straight　road　which　had　always　fascinated　her　spirit　of
adventure。　They　had　ridden　slowly；　without　looking　at　each　other；
without　exchanging　a　word。　She　had　felt　dry　and　weary；　like　an　old
woman　who　had　passed　through　a　long　life　of　suffering　and　emerged　into
a　region　where　any　acute　feeling　is　unable　to　exist；　as　at　a　certain
altitude　from　the　earth　human　life　can　no　longer　exist。　The　beat　of
the　horses'　hoofs　upon　the　road　had　sounded　hard；　as　her　heart　felt；
cold　as　the　temperature　of　her　mind。　Her　body；　which　usually　swayed　to
her　horse's　slightest　movement；　was　rigid　in　the　saddle。　She
recollected　that　once；　when　her　horse　stumbled；　she　had　thrilled　with
an　abrupt　anger　that　was　almost　ferocious；　and　had　lifted　her　whip　to
lash　it。　But　the　hand　had　slipped　down　nervelessly；　and　she　had　fallen
again　into　her　frigid　reverie。

When　they　reached　the　hotel　she　had　dropped　to　the　ground；　heavily；
and　heavily　had　ascended　the　steps　of　the　verandah；　followed　by
Androvsky。　Without　turning　to　him　or　bidding　him　good…night　she　had
gone　to　her　room。　She　had　not　acted　with　intentional　rudeness　or
indifferenceindeed；　she　had　felt　incapable　of　an　intention。　Simply；
she　had　forgotten；　for　the　first　time　perhaps　in　her　life；　an　ordinary
act　of　courtesy；　as　an　old　person　sometimes　forgets　you　are　there　and
withdraws　into　himself。　Androvsky　had　said　nothing；　had　not　tried　to
attract　her　attention　to　himself。　She　had　heard　his　steps　die　away　on
the　verandah。　Then；　mechanically；　she　had　undressed　and　got　into　bed；
where　she　was　now　mechanically　counting　the　passing　moments。

Presently　she　became　aware　of　her　own　stillness　and　connected　it　with
the　stillness　of　the　dead　woman；　by　the　tent。　She　lay；　as　it　were；
watching　her　own　corpse　as　a　Catholic　keeps　vigil　beside　a　body　that
has　not　yet　been　put　into　the　grave。　But　in　this　chamber　of　death
there　were　no　flowers；　no　lighted　candles；　no　lips　that　moved　in
prayer。　She　had　gone　to　bed　without　praying。　She　remembered　that　now；
but　with　indifference。　Dead　people　do　not　pray。　The　living　pray　for
them。　But　even　the　watcher　could　not　pray。　Another　hour　struck　in　the
belfry　of　the　church。　She　listened　to　the　chime　and　left　off　counting
the　moments；　and　this　act　of　cessation　made　more　perfect　the　peace　of
the　dead　woman。

When　the　sun　rose　her　sensation　of　death　passed　away；　leaving　behind
it；　however；　a　lethargy　of　mind　and　body　such　as　she　had　never　known
before　the　previous　night。　Suzanne；　coming　in　to　call　her；　exclaimed：

〃Mam'selle　is　ill？〃

〃No。　Why　should　I　be　ill？〃

〃Mam'selle　looks　so　strange；〃　the　maid　said；　regarding　her　with　round
and　curious　eyes。　〃As　if〃

She　hesitated。

〃Give　me　my　tea；〃　Domini　said。

When　she　was　drinking　it　she　asked：

〃Do　you　know　at　what　time　the　train　leaves　Beni…Morathe　passenger
train？〃

〃Yes；　Mam'selle。　There　is　only　one　in　the　day。　It　goes　soon　after
twelve。　Monsieur　Helmuth　told　me。〃

〃Oh！〃

〃What　gown　will？〃

〃Any　gownthe　white　linen　one　I　had　on　yesterday。〃

〃Yes；　Mam'selle。〃

〃No；　not　that。　Any　other　gown。　Is　it　to　be　hot？〃

〃Very　hot；　Mam'selle。　There　is　not　a　cloud　in　the　sky。〃

〃How　strange！〃　Domini　said；　in　a　low　voice　that　Suzanne　did　not　hear。
When　she　was　up　and　dressed　she　said：

〃I　am　going　out　to　Count　Anteoni's　garden。　I　think　I'llyes；　I'll
take　a　book　with　me。〃

She　went　into　her　little　salon　and　looked　at　the　volumes　scattered
about　there；　some　books　of　devotion；　travel；　books　on　sport；
Rossetti's　and　Newman's　poems；　some　French　novels；　and　the　novels　of
Jane　Austen；　of　which；　oddly；　considering　her　nature；　she　was　very
fond。　For　the　first　time　in　her　life　they　struck　her　as　shrivelled；
petty　chronicles　of　shrivelled；　bloodless；　artificial　lives。　She
turned　back　into　her　bedroom；　took　up　the　little　white　volume　of　the
/Imitation/；　which　lay　always　near　her　bed；　and　went　out　into　the
verandah。　She　looked　neither　to　right　nor　left；　but　at　once　descended
the　staircase　and　took　her　way　along　the　arcade。

When　she　reached　the　gate　of　the　garden　she　hesitated　before　knocking
upon　it。　The　sight　of　the　villa；　the　arches；　the　white　walls　and
clustering　trees　she　knew　so　well　hurt　her　so　frightfully；　so
unexpectedly；　that　she　felt　frightened　and　sick；　and　as　if　she　must　go
away　quickly　to　some　place　which　she　had　never　seen；　and　which　could
call　up　no　reminiscences　in　her　mind。

Perhaps　she　would　have　gone　into　the　oasis；　or　along　the　path　that
skirted　the　river　bed；　had　not　Smain　softly　opened　the　gate　and　come
out　to　meet　her；　holding　a　great　velvety　rose　in　his　slim　hand。

He　gave　it　to　her　without　a　word；　smiling　languidly　with　eyes　in　which
the　sun　seemed　caught　and　turned　to　glittering　darkness；　and　as　she
took　it　and　moved　it　in　her　fingers；　looking　at　the　wine…coloured
petals　on　which　lay　tiny　drops　of　water　gleaming　with　thin　and　silvery
lights；　she　remembered　her　first　visit　to　the　garden；　and　the
mysterious　enchantment　that　had　floated　out　to　her　through　the　gate
from　the　golden　vistas　and　the　dusky　shadows　of　the　trees；　the　feeling
of　romantic　expectation　that　had　stirred　within　her　as　she　stepped　on
to　the　sand　and　saw　before　her　the　winding　ways　disappearing　into
dimness　between　the　rills　edged　by　the　pink　geraniums。

How　long　ago　that　seemed；　like　a　remembrance　of　early　childhood　in　the
heart　of　one　who　is　old。

Now　that　the　gate　was　open　she　resolved　to　go　into　the　garden。　She
might　as　well　be　there　as　elsewhere。　She　stepped　in；　holding　the　rose
in　her　hand。　One　of　the　drops　of　water　slipped　from　an　outer　petal　and
fell　upon　the　sand。　She　thought　of　it　as　a　tear。　The　rose　was　weeping；
but　her　eyes　were　dry。　She　touched　the　rose　with　her　lips。

To…day　the　garden　was　like　a　stranger　to　her；　but　a　stranger　with　whom
she　had　oncelong；　long　agobeen　intimate；　whom　she　had　trusted；　and
by　whom　she　had　been　betrayed。　She　looked　at　it　and　knew　that　she　had
thought　it　beautiful　and　loved　it。　From　its　recesses　had　come　to　her
troops　of　dreams。　The　leaves　of　its　trees　had　touched　her　as　with
tender　hands。　The　waters　of　its　rills　had　whispered　to　her　of　the
hidden　things　that　lie　in　the　breast　of　joy。　The　golden　rays　that
played　through　its　scented　alleys　had　played；　too；　through　the　shadows
of　her　heart；　making　a　warmth　and　light　there　that　seemed　to　come　from
heaven。　She　knew　this　as　one　knows　of　the　apparent　humanity　that
greeted　one's　own　humanity　in　the　friend　who　is　a　friend　no　longer；
and　she　sickened　at　it　as　at　the　thought　of　remembered　intimacy　with
one　proved　treacherous。　There　seemed　to　her　nothing　ridiculous　in　this
personification　of　the　garden；　as　there　had　formerly　seemed　to　her
nothing　ridiculous　in　her　thought　of　the　desert　as　a　being；　but　the
fact　that　she　did　thus　instinctively　personify　the　nature　that
surrounded　her　gave　to　the　garden　in　her　eyes　an　aspect　that　was
hostile　and　even　threatening；　as　if　she　faced　a　love　now　changed　to
hate；　a　cold　and　inimical　watchfulness　that　knew　too　much　about　her；
to　which　she　had　once　told　all　her　happy　secrets　and　murmured　all　her
hopes。　She　did　not　hate　the　garden；　but　she　felt　as　if　she　feared　it。
The　movements　of　its　leaves　conveyed　to　her　uneasiness。　The　hidden
places；　which　once　had　been　to　her　retreats　peopled　with　tranquil
blessings；　were　now　become　ambushes　in　which　lay　lurking　enemies。

Yet　she　did　not　leave　it；　for　to…day　something　seemed　to　tell　her　that
it　was　meant　that　she　should　suffer；　and　she　bowed　in　spirit　to　the
decree。

She　went　on　slowly　till　she　reached　the　/fumoir/。　She　entered　it　and
sat　down。

She　had　not　seen　any　of　the　gardeners　or　heard　the　note　of　a　flute。
The　day　was　very　still。　She　looked　at　the　narrow　doorway　and
remembered　exactly　the　attitude　in　which　Count　Anteoni　had　stood
during　their　first　interview；　holding　a　trailing　branch　of　the
bougainvillea　in　his　hand。　She　saw　him　as　a　shadow　that　the　desert　had
taken。　Glancing　down　at　the　carpet　sand　she　imagined　the　figure　of　the
sand…diviner　crouching　there　and　recalled　his　prophecy；　and　directly
she　did　this　she　knew　that　she　had　believed　in　it。　She　had　believed
that　one　day　she　would　ride；　out　into　the　desert　in　a　storm；　and　that
with　her；　enclosed　in　the　curtains　of　a　palanquin；　there　would　be　a
companion。　The　Diviner　had　not　told　her　who　would　be　this　companion。
Darkness　was　about　him　rendering　him　invisible　to　the　eyes　of　the
seer。　But　her　heart　had　told　her。　She　had　seen　the　other　figure　in　the
palanquin。　It　was　a　man。　It　was　Androvsky。

She　had　believed　that　she　would　go　out　into　the　desert　with　Androvsky；
with　this　traveller　of　whose　history；　of　whose　soul；　s