As the writer of this story, I would like to explain what the remnants of the Zogo-le have assured me the great priest saw in these “mind” travels of his. Such, however, might only prove of interest to students of the occult. To other readers, such an attempted description might read as a fantasy. I. L. I.
CHAPTER IV
THE HEART OF THE PRETTY LAMAR
The sun smiled on Mer. Insects hummed while frail adventurers from overseas flitted in splashes of ethereal beauty among the crotons and hibiscus and flame-striped soos-soos grass. Birds trilled and squawked and squabbled. The wee sunbird with breast of purest gold built her swinging nest with labour and song and love. The waters sparkled. Flying-fish glistened over the waves; fish of wondrous colours played in coral gardens. The big, snake-like head of a turtle rose from the depths to glory in the sunlight. An ominous fin clove the surface. The air was sweet as the laughter that echoed among the groves of Mer and in her valleyed glades and along the sides of grass-grown hills. Old women chuckled under the village palms as they wove their mats and fibre petticoats. Men, practically naked, lazed on the beach making fishing-nets, or loafed under the palms with their zoobs (bamboo pipes); often the men did not wear the grass skirt unless on duty. Groups of them squatted among the houses, spinning the kolap (the stone top) and wagering keenly on the result. Some men could spin their kolap for thirty minutes, and were very jealous of their toys.
The shrill treble of children, the intriguing laughter of girls, and the boisterous greeting of the men carried something exciting in it, something more than the ordinary joy of life.
For Kebisu was coming, Kebisu of Tutu, Kebisu the Conqueror. C’Zarcke had foretold that he would arrive on the third day. And arrive he would, with a handful of his warriors and women, even Eyes of the Sea. Kebisu, invincible Mamoose of Warrior Island – Eyes of the Sea, Lamar of little drowned Sea Maid, prettiest and sauciest girl of all the Western Islands, the wonderful dancer with cornflower eyes.
So the Miriam-le made ready for the feast, and the gardens of Eroob sent tribute.
Down the village path strode Jakara, warmly excited. Eyes of the Sea! He would see her at last, this sea-waif of his own colour, the first he had seen since the ship went down! A countrywoman of his own, perhaps even an Australian! A white girl who would be proud of it and have all the ambitions of the whites, and white desires and hopes, and white love, and the white man’s God.
How much would she remember of her home and civilization?
Their mutual remembrances would bring a flood of happiness to both. He would console and sympathize with her, and protect – yes, why not? He was valuable to C’Zarcke. Could he prevail upon this chief demon to allow the girl to remain at Mer under his protection? Certainly he must think of a way, but curse C’Zarcke! Would she be good to look upon? Would she be as pretty as the natives said? Not the slightest difference whether or no; she was a white girl with a white girl’s heart and mind. Her companionship would be pure happiness to him.
Near a profusion of flowering creepers, where a track led in from a garden, a bevy of Mer girls passed him bearing baskets of yams and manioc and huge bunches of bananas. Shapely and attractive of face, they were all in merry mood. Geedee was there, and Miriam – the sauciest flirt in all Mer. She giggled among her comrades, then with the happiest smile, raced across Jakara’s path and challenged him to deny that she was in every way a more desirable sweetheart than his Lamar girl to come.
But their skin was dark, so he joked with them smilingly, and detested them, taking no thought at all that they had been born to one of God’s moulds. With smiling nods and jokes he greeted single warriors and parties of guards on their way to the gardens and the fish-traps. Fine men all, with big chests and fierce independent eyes, armed with shark-tooth sword and stone club, sling, or bow and arrow. The going of a man along those jungle paths made no slightest sound; his tread was noiseless as that of a wary panther; every pert bird twittering upon a creeper made far more noise than he, and often did not hear when man passed directly below. Neither did man cast any betraying shadow within the green gloom.
The track meandered down to a shingly beach, where upon a black rock sat crouched what seemed to be the carving of a witch, only blacker than the stone and as moveless, but alive, with bones like knobs stretching the skin, and breasts like skinny bags sagging to the rock! Scraggy arms clasped bony knees upon which the chin rested. Her hair drooped like the tail of an old grey horse, matted with the neglect of years. Jakara paused. A fellow-feeling made him sorry for old Sasowari, the mad one, lonely in her hopeless mourning. From this spot years ago, on another such sunlit morning, her daughter, Gareeb, fairest of all Las, had laughingly paddled away in a fishing canoe and never returned.
Jakara patted her shoulder. “I wish you comfort for your lonely heart, Sasowari,” he said kindly. “Why not go into the village and watch the preparations for the feasting? Forget, in the joy of others.”
The face, a maze of wrinkles, turned to him; bleared but shrewd old eyes peered towards his: “Does Jakara forget – in the joy of others?” she added quietly, then patted the man’s hand while her eyes smiled. “Jakara has always understood another’s troubles and is selfishly lonely in his own. Jakara the Lonely, but Jakara of the Understanding Heart! Friend Jakara, you are luckier than you know, in that you have youth as a comforter. Why not seize the happiness of youth and forget in the arms of joy?” And her trembling hand pointed to the track ahead disappearing among the palms.
Jakara smiled. “Those same arms that would caress my neck might well bring it to the bamboo knife,” he answered grimly; “the joys of forgetfulness often forget to awake.”
“You are a fool, Jakara the Wise,” replied the old woman, sharply. “Joys to the ready come often, death but once, and death can well be the greatest joy of all. Oh, Jakara, she is coming back!”
Expectancy quivered upon the shrunken face, so pitiful in its forlorn age. Her eyes grew bright as a snake’s. “You do not believe,” she hissed; “you think that her spirit has long since flown to Boigu, Isle of the Blest, but I speak truly. Gareeb, my Lily of Las, is coming; even now she flies to me before the wings of death.”
Jakara soothed the hot old brow. “I wish you peace, mother,” he comforted, “and hope with all my heart that your daughter brings you happiness untold.” He walked a little unhappily across the shingly beach; then, shaking off depression, strode more briskly up the path that wound among the shadowed trees. From them the Pretty Lamar stepped before him, and her face was radiant.
Jakara smiled, pleased despite himself. “Why, croton girl, you are as pretty as the sunbird: why such a gay face this morning?”
“And why, Jakara,” answered the soft voice, “are you striding with head and shoulders braced? And for whom is your smile this morning?”
Jakara’s smile broadened. “Whisper me your secret,” he parried, “and I will tell you mine.”
“Needless for either to tell,” flashed back the answer. “Jakara awaits Eyes of the Sea, and I await Jakara.” His smile disappeared. She returned him stare for stare, aggravatingly attractive in her defiant poise, her big dark eyes in startling contrast to the almost olive skin – Jakara could hardly resist touching it.
And she was so obviously his for the taking!
Such, outwardly, was the Pretty Lamar, fairest of the Las girls since the going of Gareeb. And now her movement seemed a caress, as she whispered pleadingly: “Why be angry, Jakara? Am I not fair to look upon? Am I not desirable?”
Jakara’s heart thumped. Imperceptibly, she leaned towards him, her lips sweet with invitation. He whispered urgently: “Pretty Lamar, you are lovely, a woman a man might die for; but I am a Lamar proper – we can never love. Stick to Beizam! If you persist in playing with me, we shall lose our heads – on the Sarokag pole!”
All Eve beckoned in the girl’s smile, as she twined an arm round his neck, caressing him with touch, and looks and words.