PART THIRDXXIXILLNESS AND HALLUCINATION
AT last they had reached the Far East—a new world densely populated with darker races, dark forms clothed in white or multi-colored garments; many with little clothing at all. The faces intelligent, the profiles often more clear-cut and refined than their own. People who told them frankly that their physiognomy showed “pink faces with green eyes”—quite a revelation, since they had never before seen themselves as others see them, from that point of view.
It was at Bombay Mrs. Cultus first encountered the prolific assortment of “boys,” Khidmatgars and Jadoo Wallahs, punka boys, and boys from Goa. It did not take her long to grasp the situation, simply because she purposely kept her own personal assortment constantly on “the grand jump.” “I must find out what each fellow can do, but won’t; and what he can’t do, but will. As Paul would say, ‘This caste-business and somebody else’s business is most distracting.’”
As to the Jadoo Wallahs and their famous tricks, Mrs. Cultus had set her heart upon detecting the manner of growth of that celebrated mango-tree, and in consequence had an experience.
The magician went through his whole performance as it is usually given, and was about to take up his bush and walk, when Mrs. Cultus at once exclaimed: “Not so quick, please! You say it grew in ten minutes; that mango bush?”
“You saw it, Mem Sahib,” said the magician respectfully.
“Then there’s a humbug in that tree,” remarked Mrs. Cultus blandly.
The Wallah seemed a little thrown off his guard.
“Show us the roots! the roots!” demanded Mrs. Cultus, as if giving orders.
“Pardon, pardon, Mem Sahib! I thought you said a bug was in the tree;” and instantly the magician’s acting became superb; his whole attitude changed. One might have supposed he considered it most unreasonable to ask to see the roots of a tree. Possibly, this one had roots, but then they might be so small you could not see them. Who knows what really was there under ground? He didn’t; but he could take the risk of digging to discover.
Considering the little pile of earth was only six inches high and stood upon a cemented pavement, Mrs. Cultus told him to “go to work and dig them up.” And then came the surprise for her; a surprise which caused her never to forget that she had been in India.
The Jadoo Wallah, taking the bush by the stem near the ground with one hand, loosened it carefully from the earth. In lifting it into the air, a half-opened seed, still attached below ground, and the tendrils of new roots appeared. As the small clods of earth fell away from these roots, the whole bush from topmost leaf to lowest root-tendril, was exposed to view at full length. Tremendous applause followed. Mrs. Cultus was thoroughly nonplussed, mystified; but not too much to find her purse and pay the Wallah well for his skill and preparation.
“Those roots,” whispered Adele, “made me feel uncanny when the little clods of earth fell from them.”
“Bits of string, soiled with moist earth, make very good roots when seen from a distance,” remarked the Doctor, laughing. “Even better imitations than the tendrils and flowers in your hat, my dear.”
Thus, during their very first glimpses of India, they realized they were encountering an intelligent people, a branch of their own Aryan race, but of dark complexion, and given over to skilful mystification.
Before reaching Calcutta, the physical exertions of the tourists had been considerable. Mrs. Cultus in particular, owing to her natural antipathy to a warm climate, seemed to suffer more than any, and in consequence became seriously ill. One cannot say suddenly ill, as often the case, although her perambulations at Benares, and in the vicinity of Patna to visit the Buddha’s bo-tree, had been quite enough to produce serious results. Her strong nerves and her persistent determination not to be a burden to others unless physically incapacitated, carried her through until Calcutta was reached. Upon their arrival she would have broken down at once if Western “grit” and feminine curiosity had not again asserted themselves. She would not give up; not at least until she had obtained her own impression of the Bengalese capital and Government House, to be able to talk about them afterwards at home. Then she did succumb, half-purposely as it were, really when she had left it until too late.
“If I must take my turn at collapsing, this is a much better place than some of the bungalows where we were forced to bunk. I might as well give in and have done with it. Adele, my dear, I really do feel wretched.” This, when she was already so feeble as to be unable to stand.
The daughter of Anthony “Grab” Gains, of Colorado, had both grit and worldly wisdom by inheritance, but she had little suspicion then that these characteristics could be so forcibly demonstrated, even while the spiritual element was in the ascendant. This spiritual element had not before been especially evident—in fact, it had lain dormant, making her appear one-sided, and often unappreciative of much that interested her daughter as well as her husband and Doctor Wise. The Calcutta physician soon pronounced her case importantif not serious, due to over-exposure in regions where malaria of various kinds should have been guarded against. Evidently few precautions had been taken; malarial germs of some sort had entered her system; what particular fever would result could only be determined after further observation and certain tests. This much the physician told the Professor.
Mrs. Cultus, who could interpret every change of expression in her husband’s countenance, and could read his thoughts in such matters much more quickly than he suspected, took in the exact situation a few minutes after the physician left her, when her husband entered and began to potter around her room, anxious, but striving to appear just the opposite. She noticed him, a little later, take up a bottle of medicine, tasting it as if he wished to make sure as to its contents. After he had gone out, she said to Adele:
“My daughter, your father is such a dear man. Do you know what he did?—tasted that medicine himself first, just to satisfy himself it was all right for me. Now just suppose it had been poison?”
Adele looked tenderly at her mother, fearing lest the fever had already begun to affect her brain, and was causing absurd notions. This proved to be the case. Mrs. Cultus became more and more flighty, complaining: “My head feels so light; it seems to be sailing off like a balloon.” Then, again, speaking in disconnected phrases, her ideas all mixed and inconsequent. Adele concluded she did not always say what she meant to say, and therefore did not give the impression she intended to convey.
All of which, being quite natural, was not surprising; only when at intervals among her absurd vagaries the patient startled them all by some exceptionally sane remark, indicating a very level head, indeed. It was then that Adele felt confused, and hardly knew what to do; she did not understand the case.
Drawing affection led her to put her arm around her mother’s neck, to place her cheek next hers, and to cherish her. The invalid did not even whisper in reply, but her tacit acceptance seemed to indicate that she knew it was her daughter near, very near, and felt her touch—that was enough. Fevered imagination was thus often soothed by the reality of love.
“Nothing does mother so much good as to love her; it’s better than medicine,” said Adele. “It’s very curious how quickly her mind becomes quiet when I don’t say a word, only let her know with caresseshow we all love her.”
When Adele made this remark to the Doctor, he could only reiterate what Adele and her mother had already told each other by sympathetic touch. “Yes, the greatest thing on earth is love, the beginning and ending of the greatest good; and it is indeed a notable fact in sacred history that Christ made more cures by the instrumentality of touch, bloodless operations so to speak, than in any other way; in fact, Christ conquered Science and soared away beyond.”
This assertion seemed to impress Adele most seriously; then her mind turned towards some particular incident in her own experience.
“I made several cures myself when I was nursing in the hospital. I cured one of the physicians, a young man, a mere boy.”
“How, may I ask?” The Doctor was very inquisitive.
“Put my first finger on his lips—he knew instantly what I said—‘You had better not talk so much.’”
“Was he indeed cured?”
“Yes, instantly. He had been rather verdant before, but after his cure he turned a lovely pea-green. Doctor, physicians ought to look into this touchy-method; there’s more psychology than medicine in it—that’s why it cures.”
“What a queer girl you are,” thought the Doctor, serious himself; and then recalled what she had just said about hermother, “we all love her,” not “how I love her,” but “how we all love her”; assuming that her own affection for her mother must be common to all the party.
The Doctor cogitated over this: “I can understand mother’s love, and its response in all human kind; filial love, brother’s love, sisterly affection, and much that is implied thereby, they are innate in all races; but when it comes to thinking and speaking and acting as if all others are sharing our affection for the one we love in particular, as Adele assumed, then I think a still nobler spirit exists, something borne in from without must have been granted her. She seems even unnaturally good. Here am I looking for this something-worth-knowing as manifested by races at large to-day, and I hear much in India about the brotherhood-of-man; yet, right here under my eyes appears a girl manifesting it in her experience, as if she knew more about it and its differentiations, truly, than any of us. Now one might say that each individual loves his own parents, or ought to; and certainly here in Asia what they call ancestral veneration does obtain without necessarily much ardent love; but all that is a very different thing from seeing the very best of one’s self in others, and acknowledging it—feeling that one is but an exponent of the good in all, yet without conceit. That appeals to me as the work of the Holy Spirit in man; one may say unnatural, because more than natural; and that is to be born again—spiritual rebirth.”
The illness of Mrs. Cultus soon manifested another phase. No matter how incongruous her delusions or hallucinations might be, her own character, the principle of her own individuality, always dominated; the energy which lies deeper than even the manifestation of life, on which the identity of man and his existence and the continuance of his existence depend, was never inactive; the principle of individuality which determines both the form of character and the physical frame, as well as the connection between them, was neverviolated. It was Carlotta Gains Cultusherself; from her came the thoughts. They were not words put into her mind by suggestions from others.
One of her delusions was that she had lost all her money, her fortune, and was now in a foreign land among many strangers to whom she might be obliged to appeal, in case family necessities forced them to work for their living. From her point of view this was the direst calamity conceivable. She expressed herself, however, with that peculiar tact which showed how all the characteristics she had inherited from her father were rooted and grounded in her very being. She was talking to Miss Winchester:
“Frank, do you think the people over here would like it if the Professor should lecture before them? Would he draw good houses?”
Miss Winchester smiled, but knowing full well that Mrs. Cultus could not be easily deceived, and would not be satisfied by anything indefinite, answered as if serious:
“Of course, he’d draw, once or twice, on account of his reputation; but I doubt about keeping it up.”
“Why not, Frank?”
“India’s a complicated place, you know; only Jadoo Wallahs and balloon ascensions draw intelligent people—h’m!—native crowds don’t count any more than middle-of-the-road people do at home; now and again a polo or cricket match, even the theatres are at a discount.”
“Couldn’t we try the Bishop and his set?”
“Certainly; if for charitable purposes.”
“Oh, dear! dear!” said the patient dolefully, “not yet charity, not yet.” Then in a low, troubled voice: “I suppose Adele and I must do something, ourselves. What can we do? I feel so helpless, so weak!” Another expedient soon suggested itself. It was sad to see her thus frantically trying to think to some purpose; finally the effort was successful.
“Frank, do they play whist over here?” and then realizingthat the object must be clearly understood: “I could give lessons myself, but dear Adele, my precious darling! it would be too much for her, she never took to whist.” The poor woman seemed so serious, the situation was really pathetic.