Hills of Han 36

Hills of Han 36

She saw him talking with the indomitably courteous Mr. Po. He came

back then to the building they were to share that night. She heard him

working at his door across the narrow corridor, trying to close it.

He succeeded; then stirred about his room for a long time; a very long

time, she thought.

 

Then John came across the court from the innkeeper’s kitchen with

covered dishes, steaming hot. She let him in; then, while he was setting

out the meal, turned away and once more fought back the tears. Brachey

must not see them. She was helped in this by a sudden mentally blinding

excitement that came, an inexplicable nervous tension. He was coming;

and alone, for she had seen Mr. Po shake his head and settle back

contentedly with his pipe against the pack-saddle.... That was the

strange fact about love; it kept rushing unexpectedly back whenever her

unstable reason had for a little while disposed of it; an unexpected

glimpse of him, a bit of his handwriting, a mere thought was often

enough. Sorrow could not check it; at this moment her heart seemed

broken by the weight of the tragic world, yet it thrilled at the

sound of his step. And it couldn’t be wholly selfish, for the quite

overwhelming uprush of emotion brought with it a deeper tenderness

toward her brave father, toward that pretty, happy mother of the long

ago; she thought even of her school friends. She was suddenly stirred

with the desire to face this strange struggle called living and

conquer it. Her heart leaped. He was coming!

 

His door opened. He stepped across the corridor and tapped at hers. She

hurried to open it. All impulse, she reached out a hand; then, chilled,

caught again in the dishearteringly formal mood of the day, drew it

back.

 

For he stood stiffly there, clad in black with smooth white shirt-front

and collar and little black tie. He had dressed for dinner.

 

She turned quickly toward the table.

 

“John has everything ready,” she said, now quite as formal as he. “We

may as well sit right down.”

 

4

 

For a time they barely spoke. John had lighted the native lamp, and it

flickered gloomily in the swiftly gathering darkness, throwing a huge

shadow of him on the walls, and even on the ceiling, as he moved softly

in his padded shoes about the table and in and out at the door.

 

Betty’s mood had sunk, now at last, into the unreal. She seemed to be

living through a dream of nightmare quality--something she had--it

was elusive, haunting--lived through before. She saw Jonathan Brachey

distantly, as she had seen him at first, so bewilderingly long ago on

a ship in the Inland Sea of Japan. She saw again his long bony nose,

coldly reflective eyes, firmly modeled head.... And he was talking,

when he spoke at all, as he had talked on the occasion of their first

meeting, slowly, in somewhat stilted language, pausing interminably

while he hunted about in his amazing mind for the word or phrase that

would precisely express his meaning.

 

“There is a village a short distance this side of Ping Yang, Mr. Po

tells me”... here a pause... “not an important place. Ordinarily we

should pass through it about noon of the day after to-morrow. But he

has picked up word that a Looker band has been organized there, and

he thinks it may be best for us to...” and here a pause so long as to

become nearly unbearable to Betty. For a time she moved her fork idly

about her plate, waiting for that next word. At length she gave up,

folded her hands in her lap, tried to compose her nerves. After that she

glanced timidly at him, then looked up at the waveing shadows on the

dim veils. It was almost as if he had forgotten she was there. He was

interested, apparently, in nothing in life except those words he sought:

“... to make a detour to the south.”

 

Betty drew in a deep breath. She felt her color coming slowly back. The

‘best thing to do, she decided, was to go on trying to eat. He had been

right enough about that. She must try. It was, in a way, her part of it;

to keep strong. Or she would be more hopelessly than ever fastened on

him.... It seemed to her as never before a dreadful thing to be a woman.

Tears came again, and she fought them back, even managed actually to

eat a little. “It will mean still another....”

 

“Another what?” She waited and waited.

 

“Another night on the road, after tomorrow. I am sorry.”

 

[Illustration: 0273]

 

She had lately forgotten the slightly rasping quality in his voice,

though it had been what she had first heard there. Now it seemed to her

that she could hear nothing else.... What blind force was it that had

thrust them so wide apart; after those ardent, tender, heart-breaking

hours together at T’ainan; wonderful stolen hours, stirring her to a

happiness so wildly beautiful that it touched creative springs in her

sensitive young soul and released the strong eager woman there. This,

the present situation, carried her so far beyond her experience, beyond

her mental grasp, that, she could only sit very quiet and try to weather

it. She could do that, of course, somehow. One did. It came down simply

to the gift of character. And that, however undeveloped, she had.

 

Now and then, of course, clear thoughts flashed out for a moment; but

only for a moment at a time. She sensed clearly enough that his whole

being was centered on the need of protecting her. It was the fineness in

him that made him hold himself so rigidly to the task. But it was a task

to him; that was the thing. And his reticence! It was his attitude--or

was it hers?--that had made frank talk impossible all day, ever since

their moment of perfect silent understanding facing Mrs. Boatwright. He

had felt then, with her, that she had to come, that it was their only

way out; but now he, and therefore she, was clouded with afterthoughts.

They had come to be frank enough about their dilemma, back there at

T’ainan. But from the moment of leaving the city gate and striking tiff

into the hills, they had lost something vital. And with every hour of

this reticence, this talking about nothing, the situation was going to

grow worse. She felt that, even now; struggled against it; but tound

herself moving deeper, minute by minute, into the gloom that had settled

on them.... And back of her groping thoughts, giving them a puzzling

sort of life, was excitement, energy, the sense of being borne swiftly

along on a mighty wave of feeling--swiftly, swiftly, to a tragic, dim

place where the withered shadows of youth and joy and careless laughter

caught at one in hopeless weakness and slipped off unheeded into the

unknown.

 

They came down at last to politeness. They even spoke of the food;

and he reproved John for not keeping the curried mutton hot. And then,

without one personal word, he rose to go. She rose, too, and stood

beside her chair; she couldn’t raise her eyes. She heard his voice

saying, coldly she thought:

 

“I shall leave you now. You must...”

 

She waited, holding her breath.

 

“... you must get what sleep you can. I think we shall have no trouble

here.”

 

After this he stood for a long moment. She couldn’t think why. Then he

went out, softly closing the door after him. Then his door opened, and,

with some creaking of rusty hinges and scraping on the tiles, closed.

And then Betty dropped down by the table and let the tears come.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI--DESTINY

 

 

1

 

SHE heard little more for several hours; merely a muffled stirring

about, at long intervals, as if he were walking the floor or trying to

move a chair very quietly. The cot on which she now so restlessly lay

was his. She couldn’t sleep; he might as well have it, but would, of

course, refuse.... She listened for a long time to the movements of the

animals in the stable. Much later--the gong-clanging watchman had passed

on his rounds twice at fewest; it must have been midnight--she heard

him working very softly at his door. He was occupied some little time at

this. She lay breathless. At length he got it open, and seemed to

stand quietly in the corridor. Then, after a long silence, he opened

as carefully the outer door, that had on it, she knew, a spring of bent

steel, like a bow. After this he was still; standing outside, perhaps,

or sitting on the top step.

 

For a moment she indulged herself in the wish that she might ha\e

courage to call to him; to call him by name; to call him by the name,

“John,” she had no more than begun, that last day in the tennis court,

timidly to utter. Her whole being yearned toward him She asked herself,

lying there, why honesty should be impossible to a girl. Why shouldn’t

she call to him? She needed him so; not the strange stilted man of the

day and evening, but the other, deeply tender lover that breathed still,

she was almost sure, somewhere within the crust that encased him.

And they had been honest, he and she; that had turned out to be the

wonderful fact in their swift courtship.

 

But this was only a vivid moment. She made no sound. The warm tears lay

on her cheeks.

 

After a little--it rose out of a jumble of wild thoughts, and then

slowly came clear; she must have been dozing lightly--she heard his

voice, very low; then another voice, a man’s, that ran easily on in a

soft nervelessness, doubtless the voice of Mr. Po. She thought of making

a sound, even of lighting the little iron lamp; they must not be left

thinking her safely asleep; but she did nothing; and the voices faded

into dreams as a fitful sleep came to her. Nature is merciful to the

young.

 

2

 

During those evening hours, Brachey sat for the most part staring

at his wall. Finally, at the very edge of despair--for life, all that

night, and the next day and the next night, offered Brachey nothing

but a blank, black precipice over which he and Betty were apparently

plunging--he gave up hope of falling asleep in his chair (important

though he knew sleep to he, in the grisly light of what might yet have

to be faced) and went out and sat on the steps; still in the grotesquely

inappropriate dinner costume.

 

A shape detached itself from the shadows of the stable door and moved

silently toward him.