CHAPTER XV
A STRANGE HOSTESS
I travelled on attended by the moon. As usual she was full--I had
never seen her other--and to-night as she sank I thought I perceived
something like a smile on her countenance.
When her under edge was a little below the horizon, there appeared
in the middle of her disc, as if it had been painted upon it, a
cottage, through the open door and window of which she shone; and
with the sight came the conviction that I was expected there. Almost
immediately the moon was gone, and the cottage had vanished; the
night was rapidly growing dark, and my way being across a close
succession of small ravines, I resolved to remain where I was and
expect the morning. I stretched myself, therefore, in a sandy
hollow, made my supper off the fruits the children had given me at
parting, and was soon asleep.
I woke suddenly, saw above me constellations unknown to my former
world, and had lain for a while gazing at them, when I became aware
of a figure seated on the ground a little way from and above me. I
was startled, as one is on discovering all at once that he is not
alone. The figure was between me and the sky, so that I saw its
outline well. From where I lay low in the hollow, it seemed larger
than human.
It moved its head, and then first I saw that its back was toward me.
"Will you not come with me?" said a sweet, mellow voice, unmistakably
a woman's.
Wishing to learn more of my hostess,
"I thank you," I replied, "but I am not uncomfortable here. Where
would you have me go? I like sleeping in the open air."
"There is no hurt in the air," she returned; "but the creatures
that roam the night in these parts are not such as a man would
willingly have about him while he sleeps."
"I have not been disturbed," I said.
"No; I have been sitting by you ever since you lay down."
"That is very kind of you! How came you to know I was here? Why
do you show me such favour?"
"I saw you," she answered, still with her back to me, "in the light
of the moon, just as she went down. I see badly in the day, but
at night perfectly. The shadow of my house would have hidden you,
but both its doors were open. I was out on the waste, and saw you
go into this hollow. You were asleep, however, before I could reach
you, and I was not willing to disturb you. People are frightened
if I come on them suddenly. They call me the Cat-woman. It is not
my name."
I remembered what the children had told me--that she was very ugly,
and scratched. But her voice was gentle, and its tone a little
apologetic: she could not be a bad giantess!
"You shall not hear it from me," I answered, "Please tell me what
I MAY call you!"
"When you know me, call me by the name that seems to you to fit me,"
she replied: "that will tell me what sort you are. People do not
often give me the right one. It is well when they do."
"I suppose, madam, you live in the cottage I saw in the heart of
the moon?"
"I do. I live there alone, except when I have visitors. It is a
poor place, but I do what I can for my guests, and sometimes their
sleep is sweet to them."
Her voice entered into me, and made me feel strangely still.
"I will go with you, madam," I said, rising.
She rose at once, and without a glance behind her led the way. I
could see her just well enough to follow. She was taller than
myself, but not so tall as I had thought her. That she never turned
her face to me made me curious--nowise apprehensive, her voice rang
so true. But how was I to fit her with a name who could not see her?
I strove to get alongside of her, but failed: when I quickened my
pace she quickened hers, and kept easily ahead of me. At length I
did begin to grow a little afraid. Why was she so careful not to be
seen? Extraordinary ugliness would account for it: she might fear
terrifying me! Horror of an inconceivable monstrosity began to
assail me: was I following through the dark an unheard of hideousness?
Almost I repented of having accepted her hospitality.
Neither spoke, and the silence grew unbearable. I MUST break it!
"I want to find my way," I said, "to a place I have heard of, but
whose name I have not yet learned. Perhaps you can tell it me!"
"Describe it, then, and I will direct you. The stupid Bags know
nothing, and the careless little Lovers forget almost everything."
"Where do those live?"
"You are just come from them!"
"I never heard those names before!"
"You would not hear them. Neither people knows its own name!"
"Strange!"
"Perhaps so! but hardly any one anywhere knows his own name! It
would make many a fine gentleman stare to hear himself addressed by
what is really his name!"
I held my peace, beginning to wonder what my name might be.
"What now do you fancy yours?" she went on, as if aware of my thought.
"But, pardon me, it is a matter of no consequence."
I had actually opened my mouth to answer her, when I discovered that
my name was gone from me. I could not even recall the first letter
of it! This was the second time I had been asked my name and could
not tell it!
"Never mind," she said; "it is not wanted. Your real name, indeed,
is written on your forehead, but at present it whirls about so
irregularly that nobody can read it. I will do my part to steady
it. Soon it will go slower, and, I hope, settle at last."
This startled me, and I was silent.
We had left the channels and walked a long time, but no sign of the
cottage yet appeared.
"The Little Ones told me," I said at length, "of a smooth green
country, pleasant to the feet!"
"Yes?" she returned.
"They told me too of a girl giantess that was queen somewhere: is
that her country?"
"There is a city in that grassy land," she replied, "where a woman
is princess. The city is called Bulika. But certainly the princess
is not a girl! She is older than this world, and came to it from
yours--with a terrible history, which is not over yet. She is an
evil person, and prevails much with the Prince of the Power of the
Air. The people of Bulika were formerly simple folk, tilling the
ground and pasturing sheep. She came among them, and they received
her hospitably. She taught them to dig for diamonds and opals and
sell them to strangers, and made them give up tillage and pasturage
and build a city. One day they found a huge snake and killed it;
which so enraged her that she declared herself their princess, and
became terrible to them. The name of the country at that time was
THE LAND OF WATERS; for the dry channels, of which you have crossed
so many, were then overflowing with live torrents; and the valley,
where now the Bags and the Lovers have their fruit-trees, was a lake
that received a great part of them. But the wicked princess gathered
up in her lap what she could of the water over the whole country,
closed it in an egg, and carried it away. Her lap, however, would
not hold more than half of it; and the instant she was gone, what
she had not yet taken fled away underground, leaving the country
as dry and dusty as her own heart. Were it not for the waters under
it, every living thing would long ago have perished from it. For
where no water is, no rain falls; and where no rain falls, no springs
rise. Ever since then, the princess has lived in Bulika, holding
the inhabitants in constant terror, and doing what she can to keep
them from multiplying. Yet they boast and believe themselves a
prosperous, and certainly are a self-satisfied people--good at
bargaining and buying, good at selling and cheating; holding well
together for a common interest, and utterly treacherous where
interests clash; proud of their princess and her power, and despising
every one they get the better of; never doubting themselves the most
honourable of all the nations, and each man counting himself better
than any other. The depth of their worthlessness and height of their
vainglory no one can understand who has not been there to see, who
has not learned to know the miserable misgoverned and self-deceived
creatures."
"I thank you, madam. And now, if you please, will you tell me
something about the Little Ones--the Lovers? I long heartily to
serve them. Who and what are they? and how do they come to be there?
Those children are the greatest wonder I have found in this world
of wonders."
"In Bulika you may, perhaps, get some light on those matters. There
is an ancient poem in the library of the palace, I am told, which
of course no one there can read, but in which it is plainly written
that after the Lovers have gone through great troubles and learned
their own name, they will fill the land, and make the giants their
slaves."
"By that time they will have grown a little, will they not?" I said.
"Yes, they will have grown; yet I think too they will not have grown.
It is possible to grow and not to grow, to grow less and to grow
bigger, both at once--yes, even to grow by means of not growing!"
"Your words are strange, madam!" I rejoined. "But I have heard it
said that some words, because they mean more, appear to mean less!"
"That is true, and such words HAVE to be understood. It were well
for the princess of Bulika if she heard what the very silence of
the land is shouting in her ears all day long! But she is far too
clever to understand anything."
"Then I suppose, when the little Lovers are grown, their land will
have water again?"
"Not exactly so: when they are thirsty enough, they will have water,
and when they have water, they will grow. To grow, they must have
water. And, beneath, it is flowing still."
"I have heard that water twice," I said; "--once when I lay down
to wait for the moon--and when I woke the sun was shining! and once
when I fell, all but killed by the bad giant. Both times came the
voices of the water, and healed me."
The woman never turned her head, and kept always a little before me,
but I could hear every word that left her lips, and her voice much
reminded me of the woman's in the house of death. Much of what she
said, I did not understand, and therefore cannot remember. But I
forgot that I had ever been afraid of her.
We went on and on, and crossed yet a wide tract of sand before
reaching the cottage. Its foundation stood in deep sand, but I
could see that it was a rock. In character the cottage resembled
the sexton's, but had thicker walls. The door, which was heavy and
strong, opened immediately into a large bare room, which had two
little windows opposite each other, without glass. My hostess walked
in at the open door out of which the moon had looked, and going
straight to the farthest corner, took a long white cloth from the
floor, and wound it about her head and face. Then she closed the
other door, in at which the moon had looked, trimmed a small horn
lantern that stood on the hearth, and turned to receive me.
"You are very welcome, Mr. Vane!" she said, calling me by the name
I had forgotten. "Your entertainment will be scanty, but, as the
night is not far spent, and the day not at hand, it is better you
should be indoors. Here you will be safe, and a little lack is not
a great misery."
"I thank you heartily, madam," I replied. "But, seeing you know the
name I could not tell you, may I not now know yours?"
"My name is Mara," she answered.
Then I remembered the sexton and the little black cat.
"Some people," she went on, "take me for Lot's wife, lamenting over
Sodom; and some think I am Rachel, weeping for her children; but I
am neither of those."
"I thank you again, Mara," I said. "--May I lie here on your floor
till the morning?"
"At the top of that stair," she answered, "you will find a bed--on
which some have slept better than they expected, and some have waked
all the night and slept all the next day. It is not a very soft
one, but it is better than the sand--and there are no hyenas sniffing
about it!"
The stair, narrow and steep, led straight up from the room to an
unceiled and unpartitioned garret, with one wide, low dormer window.
Close under the sloping roof stood a narrow bed, the sight of which
with its white coverlet made me shiver, so vividly it recalled the
couches in the chamber of death. On the table was a dry loaf, and
beside it a cup of cold water. To me, who had tasted nothing but
fruit for months, they were a feast.
"I must leave you in the dark," my hostess called from the bottom
of the stair. "This lantern is all the light I have, and there are
things to do to-night."
"It is of no consequence, thank you, madam," I returned. "To eat
and drink, to lie down and sleep, are things that can be done in
the dark."
"Rest in peace," she said.
I ate up the loaf, drank the water every drop, and laid myself down.
The bed was hard, the covering thin and scanty, and the night cold:
I dreamed that I lay in the chamber of death, between the warrior
and the lady with the healing wound.
I woke in the middle of the night, thinking I heard low noises of
wild animals.
"Creatures of the desert scenting after me, I suppose!" I said to
myself, and, knowing I was safe, would have gone to sleep again. But
that instant a rough purring rose to a howl under my window, and I
sprang from my bed to see what sort of beast uttered it.
Before the door of the cottage, in the full radiance of the moon, a
tall woman stood, clothed in white, with her back toward me. She
was stooping over a large white animal like a panther, patting and
stroking it with one hand, while with the other she pointed to the
moon half-way up the heaven, then drew a perpendicular line to the
horizon. Instantly the creature darted off with amazing swiftness
in the direction indicated. For a moment my eyes followed it, then
sought the woman; but she was gone, and not yet had I seen her face!
Again I looked after the animal, but whether I saw or only fancied
a white speck in the distance, I could not tell.--What did it mean?
What was the monster-cat sent off to do? I shuddered, and went back
to my bed. Then I remembered that, when I lay down in the sandy
hollow outside, the moon was setting; yet here she was, a few hours
after, shining in all her glory! "Everything is uncertain here,"
I said to myself, "--even the motions of the heavenly bodies!"
I learned afterward that there were several moons in the service of
this world, but the laws that ruled their times and different orbits
I failed to discover.
Again I fell asleep, and slept undisturbed.
When I went down in the morning, I found bread and water waiting me,
the loaf so large that I ate only half of it. My hostess sat muffled
beside me while I broke my fast, and except to greet me when I
entered, never opened her mouth until I asked her to instruct me
how to arrive at Bulika. She then told me to go up the bank of the
river-bed until it disappeared; then verge to the right until I came
to a forest--in which I might spend a night, but which I must leave
with my face to the rising moon. Keeping in the same direction, she
said, until I reached a running stream, I must cross that at right
angles, and go straight on until I saw the city on the horizon.
I thanked her, and ventured the remark that, looking out of the
window in the night, I was astonished to see her messenger understand
her so well, and go so straight and so fast in the direction she
had indicated.
"If I had but that animal of yours to guide me--" I went on, hoping
to learn something of its mission, but she interrupted me, saying,
"It was to Bulika she went--the shortest way."
"How wonderfully intelligent she looked!"
"Astarte knows her work well enough to be sent to do it," she
answered.
"Have you many messengers like her?"
"As many as I require."
"Are they hard to teach?"
"They need no teaching. They are all of a certain breed, but not
one of the breed is like another. Their origin is so natural it
would seem to you incredible."
"May I not know it?"
"A new one came to me last night--from your head while you slept."
I laughed.
"All in this world seem to love mystery!" I said to myself. "Some
chance word of mine suggested an idea--and in this form she embodies
the small fact!"
"Then the creature is mine!" I cried.
"Not at all!" she answered. "That only can be ours in whose existence
our will is a factor."
"Ha! a metaphysician too!" I remarked inside, and was silent.
"May I take what is left of the loaf?" I asked presently.
"You will want no more to-day," she replied.
"To-morrow I may!" I rejoined.
She rose and went to the door, saying as she went,
"It has nothing to do with to-morrow--but you may take it if you
will."
She opened the door, and stood holding it. I rose, taking up the
bread--but lingered, much desiring to see her face.
"Must I go, then?" I asked.
"No one sleeps in my house two nights together!" she answered.
"I thank you, then, for your hospitality, and bid you farewell!"
I said, and turned to go.
"The time will come when you must house with me many days and many
nights," she murmured sadly through her muffling.
"Willingly," I replied.
"Nay, NOT willingly!" she answered.
I said to myself that she was right--I would not willingly be her
guest a second time! but immediately my heart rebuked me, and I had
scarce crossed the threshold when I turned again.
She stood in the middle of the room; her white garments lay like
foamy waves at her feet, and among them the swathings of her face:
it was lovely as a night of stars. Her great gray eyes looked up
to heaven; tears were flowing down her pale cheeks. She reminded
me not a little of the sexton's wife, although the one looked as if
she had not wept for thousands of years, and the other as if she
wept constantly behind the wrappings of her beautiful head. Yet
something in the very eyes that wept seemed to say, "Weeping may
endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
I had bowed my head for a moment, about to kneel and beg her
forgiveness, when, looking up in the act, I found myself outside
a doorless house. I went round and round it, but could find no
entrance.
I had stopped under one of the windows, on the point of calling
aloud my repentant confession, when a sudden wailing, howling scream
invaded my ears, and my heart stood still. Something sprang from
the window above my head, and lighted beyond me. I turned, and saw
a large gray cat, its hair on end, shooting toward the river-bed.
I fell with my face in the sand, and seemed to hear within the house
the gentle sobbing of one who suffered but did not repent.
