Chapter IX
During the weeks before the firelight celebration, I had gradually made friends with the various natives. This was not difficult, for the people were as curious regarding me as I would have been regarding a Martian. At the same time, they were kindly disposed, and would never hesitate to do me any little favor, such as to help me in laying up my winter's supplies, or to advise me how to make a coat of goat's hide, or to tell me where the rarest herbs and berries were to be found, or to bring me liberal portions of any choice viand they chanced to be preparing.
I was particularly interested in Yasma's brothers and sisters, all of whom I met in quick succession. They were all older than she, and all had something of her naïvety and vivaciousness without her own peculiar charm. Her three sisters had found husbands among the men of the tribe, and two were already the mothers of vigorous toddling little sons and daughters; while her brothers, Karem and Barkodu, were tall, proud, and dignified of demeanor like their father.
With Karem, the elder, I struck up a friendship that was to prove my closest masculine attachment in Sobul. I well remember our first meeting; it was just after my convalescence from my long illness. One morning, in defiance of Yasma's warning, I had slipped off by myself into the woods, intending to go but a few hundred yards. But the joyous green of the foliage, the chirruping birds and the warm crystalline air had misled me; and, happy merely to be alive and free, I wandered on and on, scarcely noticing how I was overtaxing my strength. Then suddenly I became aware of an overwhelming faintness; all things swam around me; and I sank down upon a boulder, near to losing consciousness.... After a moment, I attempted to rise; but the effort was too much; I have a recollection of staggering like a drunken man, or reeling, of pitching toward the rocks....
Happily, I did not complete my fall. Saving me from the shattering stones, two strong arms clutched me about the shoulders, and wrenched me back to a standing posture.
In a daze, I looked up ... aware of the red and blue costume of a tribesman of Sobul ... aware of the two large black eyes that peered down at me half in amusement, half in sympathy. Those eyes were but the most striking features of a striking countenance; I remembered having already seen that high, rounded forehead, that long, slender, swarthy face with the aquiline nose, that untrimmed luxuriant full black beard.
"Come, come, I do not like your way of walking," the man declared, with a smile. And seeing that I was still too weak to reply, he continued, cheerfully, with a gesture toward a thicket to our rear, "If I had not been there gathering berries, this day might have ended sadly for you. Shall I not take you home?"
Leaning heavily upon him while with the gentlest care he led me along the trail, I found my way slowly back to the village.
And thus I made the acquaintance of Karem, brother of Yasma. At the time I did not know of the relationship; but between Karem and myself a friendship quickly developed. Even as he wound with me along the woodland track to the village, I felt strangely drawn toward this genial, self-possessed man; and possibly he felt a reciprocal attraction, for he came often thereafter to inquire how I was doing; and occasionally we had long talks, as intimate as my foreign birth and my knowledge of Pushtu would permit. I found him not at all unintelligent, and the possessor of knowledge that his sophisticated brothers might have envied. He told me more than I had ever known before about the habits of wood creatures, of wolves and squirrels, jackals, snakes and bears; he could describe where each species of birds had their nests, and the size and color of the eggs; he instructed me in the lore of bees, ants and beetles, and in the ways of the fishes in the swift-flowing streams. Later, when I had recovered my strength, he would accompany me on day-long climbs among the mountains, showing me the best trails and the easiest ascents—and so supplying me with knowledge that was to prove most valuable in time to come.
It was to Karem that I turned for an answer to the riddles of Sobul after Yasma had failed me. But in this respect he was not very helpful. He would smile indulgently whenever I hinted that I suspected a mystery; and would make some jovial reply, as if seeking to brush the matter aside with a gesture. This was especially the case on the day after the firelight festivities, when we went on a fishing expedition to a little lake on the further side of the valley. Although in a rare good humor, he was cleverly evasive when I asked anything of importance. What had been the purpose of the celebration? It was simply an annual ceremony held by his people, the ceremony of the autumn season. Why had Hamul-Kammesh attached so much significance to the flight of the birds? That was mere poetic symbolism; the birds had been taken as typical of the time of year. Then what reason for the excitement of the people?—and what had Yulada to do with the affair? Of course, Yulada had nothing to do with it at all; but the people thought she had ordered the ceremonies, and they had been swayed by a religious mania, which Hamul-Kammesh, after the manner of soothsayers, had encouraged for the sake of his own influence.
Such were Karem's common-sense explanations. On the surface they were convincing; and yet, somehow, I was not convinced. For the moment I would be persuaded; but thinking over the facts at my leisure, I would feel sure that Karem had left much unstated.
My dissatisfaction with his replies was most acute when I touched upon the matter closest to my heart. I described Yasma's conduct during the celebration; confided how surprised I had been, and how pained; and confessed my fear that I had committed the unpardonable sin by intruding during an important rite.
To all that I said Karem listened with an attentive smile.
"Why, Prescott," he returned (I had taught him to call me by my last name), "you surprise me! Come, come, do not be so serious! Who can account for a woman's whims? Certainly, not I! When you are married like me, and have little tots running about your house ready to crawl up your knee whenever you come in, you'll know better than to try to explain what the gods never intended to be explained by any man!" And Karem burst into laughter, and slapped me on the back good-naturedly, as though thus to dispose of the matter.
However, I was not to be sidetracked so easily. I did not join in Karem's laughter; I even felt a little angry. "But this wasn't just an ordinary whim," I argued. "There was something deeper in it. There was some reason I don't understand, and can't get at no matter how I try."
"Then why not save trouble, and quit trying?" suggested Karem, still good-natured despite my sullenness. "Come, it's a splendid day; let's enjoy it while we can!"
And he pointed ahead to a thin patch of blue, vaguely visible through a break in the trees. "See, there's the lake already! I expect fishing will be good today!"
If I had required further proof that my wits had surrendered to Yasma's charms, I might have found evidence enough during the days that followed the tribal celebration. Though smarting from her avoidance of me, I desired nothing more fervently than to be with her again; and I passed half my waking hours in vainly searching for her. Day after day I would inquire for her at her father's cabin, would haunt the paths to the dwelling, would search the fields and vineyards in the hope of surprising her. Where had she gone, she who had always come running to greet me? Had she flown south like the wild birds? At this fancy I could only smile; yet always, with a lover's irrational broodings, I was obsessed by the fear that she was gone never to return. This dread might have risen to terror had the villagers not always been bringing me tidings of her: either they had just spoken with her, or had seen someone who had just spoken with her, or had observed her tripping by toward the meadows. Yet she was still elusive as though able to make herself invisible.
Nevertheless, after about a week my vigilance was rewarded. Stepping out into the chill gray of a mid-October dawn, I saw a slender little figure slipping along the edge of the village and across the fields toward the woods. My heart gave a great thump; without hesitation, I started in pursuit, not daring to call out lest I arouse the village, but determined not to lose sight of that slim flitting form. She did not glance behind, and could not have known that I was following, yet for some reason quickened her pace, so that I had to make an effort to match her speed.
Once out of earshot of the village, I paused to regain my breath, then at the top of my voice shouted, "Yasma! Yasma!"
Could it be that she had not heard me? On and on she continued, straight toward the dark fringe of the woods.
Dismayed and incredulous, I repeated my call, using my hands as a megaphone. This time it seemed to me that she halted momentarily; but she did not look back; and her pause could not have filled the space between two heart beats. In amazement, I observed her almost racing toward the woods!
But if she could run, so could I! With rising anger, yet scarcely crediting the report of my eyes, I started across the fields at a sprint. In a moment I should overtake Yasma—and then what excuse would she have to offer?
But ill fortune was still with me. In my heedless haste I stumbled over a large stone; and when, bruised and confused, I arose to my feet with an oath, it was to behold a slender form disappearing beyond the shadowy forest margin.
Although sure that I had again lost track of her, I continued the pursuit in a sort of dogged rage. There was but one narrow trail amid the densely matted undergrowth; and along this trail I dashed, encouraged by the sight of small fresh-made footprints amid the damp earth. But the maker of those footprints must have been in a great hurry, for although I pressed on until my breath came hard and my forehead was moist with perspiration, I could catch no glimpse of her, nor even hear any stirring or rustling ahead.
At length I had lost all trace of her. The minute footprints came to an end, as though their creator had vanished bird-like; and I stood in bewilderment in the mournful twilight of the forest, gazing up at the lugubrious green of pine and juniper and at the long twisted branches of oak and ash and wild peach, red-flecked and yellow and already half leafless.
How long I remained standing there I do not know. It was useless to go on, equally useless to retrace my footsteps. The minutes went by, and nothing happened. A bird chirped and twittered from some unseen twig above; a squirrel came rustling toward me, and with big frightened eyes hopped to the further side of a tree-trunk; now and then an insect buzzed past, with a dismal drone that seemed the epitome of all woe. But that was all—and of Yasma there was still no sign.
Then, when I thought of her and remembered her loveliness, and how she had been my playmate and comrade, I was overcome with the sorrow of losing her, and a teardrop dampened my cheek, and I heaved a long-drawn sigh.
And as if in response to that sigh, the bushes began to shake and quiver. And a sob broke the stillness of the forest, and I was as if transfixed by the sound of a familiar voice.
And out of the tangle of weeds and shrubs a slender figure arose, with shoulders heaving spasmodically; and with a cry I started forward and received into my arms the shuddering, speechless, clinging form of Yasma.
It was minutes before either of us could talk. Meanwhile I held the weeping girl closely to me, soothing her as I might have done a child. So natural did this seem that I quite forgot the strangeness of the situation. My mind was filled with sympathy, sympathy for her distress, and wonder at her odd ways; and I had no desire except to comfort her.
"Tell me just what has happened, Yasma," I said, when her sobbing had died down to a rhythmic murmuring. "What has happened—to make you so sad?"
To my surprise, she broke away, and stood staring at me at arm's length. Her eyes were moist with an inexpressible melancholy; there was something so pitiful about her that I could have taken her back into my arms forthwith.
"Oh, my friend," she cried, with a vehemence I could not understand, "why do you waste time over me? Have nothing to do with me! I am not worth it!" And she turned as if to flee again into the forest; but I seized her hand and drew her slowly back to me.
"Yasma! Yasma!" I remonstrated, peering down into those wistful brown eyes that burned with some dark-smoldering fire. "What has made you behave so queerly? Tell me, do you no longer care for me? Do you not—do you not love me?"
At these words, the graceful head sagged low upon the quivering shoulders. A crimson flush mounted the slender neck, and suffused the soft, well rounded cheeks; the averted eyes told the story they were meant to conceal.
Then, without further hesitation, my arms closed once more about her. And again she clung close, this time not with the unconscious eagerness of a child craving protection, but with all the fury and force of her impetuous nature.
A few minutes later, a surprising change had come over her. We had left the woods, and she was sitting at my side in a little glade by a brooklet. The tears had been dried from her eyes, which were still red and swollen; but in her face there was a happy glow, and I thought she had never looked quite so beautiful before.
For a while we sat gazing in silence at the tattered and yet majestic line of the forest, a phantom pageant whose draperies of russet and cinnamon and fiery crimson and dusty gold were lovely almost beyond belief. A strange enchantment had come over us; and we were reluctant to break the charm.
Yet there were questions that kept stirring in my mind; questions to which finally I was forced to give words.
"Tell me, Yasma," I asked, suddenly, "why have you been behaving so queerly? Why were you running away from me? Is there something about me that frightened you?"
It was as if my words had brought back the evil spell. Her features contracted into a frown; the darkness returned to her eyes, which again burned with some unspoken sorrow; a look of fear, almost like that of a haunted creature, flitted across her face.
"Oh, you must never ask that!" she protested, in such dismay that I pitied her even while I wondered. "You must never ask—never, never!"
"Why not?" I questioned. "What mystery can there be to hide?"
"There is no mystery," she declared. And then, with quick inconsistency, "But even if there were, you should not ask!"
"But why?" I demanded. "Now, Yasma, you mustn't treat me like a five-year-old. What have I done to offend you? Tell me, what have I done?"
"It is nothing that you have done," she mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
"Then is it something someone else has done? Come, let me know just what is wrong!"
"I cannot tell you! I cannot!" she cried, with passion. And, rising abruptly and turning to me with eyes aflame, "Oh, why must you insist on knowing? Haven't I done everything to protect you from knowing? Do you think it has been easy—easy for me to treat you like this? But it is wrong to love you! wrong even to encourage you! Only evil can come of it! Oh, why did you ever, ever have to come among our tribe?"
Having delivered herself of this outburst, Yasma paced back and forth, back and forth amid the dense grass, with fists clenched and head upraised to the heavens, like one in an extremity of distress.
But I quickly arose and went to her, and in a moment she was again in my arms.
Truly, as Karem had declared, the ways of women are not to be explained! But I felt that there was more meaning than I had discovered in her behavior; I was sure that she had not acted altogether without reason, and, remembering all that had puzzled me, I was determined to probe if possible to the roots of her seeming caprice.
"You have never been the same to me since the firelight celebration," I said, when her emotion had spent itself and we once more sat quietly side by side in the grass. "Maybe something happened then to make you despise me."
"No, not to make me despise you!" she denied, emphatically. "It was not your fault at all!"
"Then what was it?" I urged.
"Nothing. Only that Hamul—Hamul—"
In manifest confusion, she checked herself.
"Hamul-Kammesh?" I finished for her, convinced that here was a clue.
But she refused to answer me or to mention the soothsayer again; and, lest the too-ready tears flow once more, I had to abandon the topic. None the less, I had not forgotten her references to Hamul-Kammesh and his prophecies.
But I still attached no importance to the predictions—was I to be dismayed by mere superstition? I was conscious only that I felt an overwhelming tenderness toward Yasma, and that she was supremely adorable; and it seemed to me that her love was the sole thing that mattered. At her first kiss, my reason had abdicated; I was agitated no longer by scruples, doubts or hesitancies; my former objects in life appeared pallid and dull by contrast with this warm, breathing, emotional girl. For her sake I would have forsworn my chosen work, forsworn the friends I had known, forsworn name and country—yes, even doomed myself to lasting exile in this green, world-excluding valley!
In as few words as possible I explained the nature of my feelings. I was able to give but pale expression to the radiance of my emotions; but I am sure that she understood. "I do not know what it is that holds you from me, Yasma," I finished. "Surely, you realize that you are dearer to me than my own breath. You made me very happy a little while ago when you came into my arms—why not make me happy for life? You could live with me here in a cabin in Sobul, or maybe I could take you with me to see the world I come from, and you would then know where the clouds go, and see strange cities with houses as tall as precipices and people many as the leaves of a tree. What do you say, Yasma? Don't you want to make us both happy?"
Yasma stared at me with wide-lidded eyes in which I seemed to read infinite longing.
"You know I would!" she cried. "You know I would—if I could! But ours is a strange people, and our ways are not your ways. There is so much you do not understand, so much which even I do not understand! It all makes me afraid, oh, terribly afraid!"
"Do not be afraid, Yasma dear," I murmured, slipping my arm about her shoulders. "I will protect you."
"You cannot protect me!" she lamented, withdrawing. "You cannot even protect yourself! There is so much, so much from which none can protect themselves!"
Not realizing what she meant, I let this warning slip past.
"All that I know," I swore, passionately, "is that I want you with me—want you with me always! Let happen what may, I want you—and have never wanted anything so much before!"
"Oh, do not speak of that now!" she burst forth, in a tone almost of command. "Do not speak of that now! First there are things you must know—things I cannot explain!" And she sat with eyes averted, gazing toward the scarlet and vermilion dishevelled trees, whose branches waved like ghostly danger signals in the rising wind.
"What things must I know?"
"You will have to wait and find out. Maybe, like us, you will feel them without being told; but maybe time alone will be your teacher. The traditions of my tribe would stop me from telling you even if I knew how. But do not be surprised if you learn some very, very strange things."
"Strange or not strange," I vowed, "all I know is that I love you. All I care to learn is when—when, Yasma, you will say to me—"
"Not until the spring," she murmured, with such finality that I felt intuitively the uselessness of argument. "Not until the flowers come out from their winter hiding, and the birds fly north. Then you will know more about our tribe."
Without further explanation, she sprang impulsively from her seat of grass. "Come," she warned me, pointing to a gray mass that was obscuring the northern peaks. "Come, a storm is on the way! If we don't hurry, we'll be wet through and through!"
And she flitted before me toward the village with such speed that I could scarcely get another word with her.