Book: The Works of Rudyard Kipling One Volume Edition

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'I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.' He lay
still,
staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his
veins, his
brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be
considered,
and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that he was
painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed
with
millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood
embodied
hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting together
in his
honour, when something cracked inside his temples like an
overstrained
bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was alone in
the
thick night.

'I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see
how the
Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.'

It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that
he did
not know,--in the rattling accents of deadly fear.

'He's looked at the picture,' was his first thought, as he hurried into
the
bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his
hands.

'Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!'

'What's the matter?'

Dick clutched at his shoulder. 'Matter! I've been lying here for
hours in
the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away.
I'm all
in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!'

Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there
was no
light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch.
The
grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow
wince.

'Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I
can't
see. D'you understand? It's black,--quite black,--and I feel as if I
was
falling through it all.'

'Steady does it.' Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to
rock
him gently to and fro.

'That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this
darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!'
Dick knit
his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was
chilling Torpenhow's toes.

'Can you stay like that a minute?' he said. 'I'll get my
dressing-gown and
some slippers.'

Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the
darkness
to clear away. 'What a time you've been!' he cried, when
Torpenhow
returned. 'It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the
door-way?'

'Long chair,--horse-blanket,--pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie
down
now; you'll be better in the morning.'

'I shan't!' The voice rose to a wail. 'My God! I'm blind! I'm blind,
and
the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the
bed, but
Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on
his
shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only
gasp,
'Blind!' and wriggle feebly.

'Steady, Dickie, steady!' said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip
tightened. 'Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think
you're
afraid,' The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing
heavily.

Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned.

'Let me go,' he panted. 'You're cracking my ribs. We-we mustn't let
them think we're afraid, must we,--all the powers of darkness and
that
lot?'

'Lie down. It's all over now.'

'Yes,' said Dick, obediently. 'But would you mind letting me hold
your
hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops
through
the dark so.'

Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair.
Dick
clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep.
Torpenhow
withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on
the
forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the
hour of
death, to ease his departure.

In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He
was
adrift on the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly--
'It's a pity,--a great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten,
Master
George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and,
further,
putting aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious
notoriety--such as mine was--that the queen can do no wrong. Torp
doesn't know that. I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the
desert.

What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes!
They'll
have that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you
so--there she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer
slewing
round. How good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted
with
ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it
extends up
the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. Laugh,
you
graven image, and stand clear of the hawser. . . . It'll knock you
into the
water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.'

'Oh!' said Torpenhow. 'This happened before. That night on the
river.'

'She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite
near
enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd
miss.

Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry,
darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more
than
obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.'

'Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of
misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I
fancy,' said
Torpenhow.

The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick
lectured
at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being
enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss--only one kiss--before
she went
away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she
would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth
witness that
the queen could do no wrong.

Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's
life
that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through
the
past, and then a natural sleep. 'What a strain he has been running
under,
poor chap!' said Torpenhow. 'Dick, of all men, handing himself
over like
a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have
known that
it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that girl
must
be! Dick's given her his life,--confound him!--and she's given him
one kiss
apparently.'

'Torp,' said Dick, from the bed, 'go out for a walk. You've been
here too
long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, it's
too
absurd!'

Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big
chair in the
studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the
darkness to
lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick adventured on a
voyage
round the walls. He hit his shins against the stove, and this
suggested to
him that it would be better to crawl on all fours, one hand in front
of
him. Torpenhow found him on the floor.

'I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,' said he.
'D'you
remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't
keep the
odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me
all the
ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside.
They're of
no importance.'

Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap.
Dick
put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow
might not
have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would
never
belong to him.

'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I
couldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter
suggested
that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him
revolted. 'I
have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity.
Besides, it
would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts;
but
the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of
his
strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead
darkness,
Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another,
came
from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by the window,
the
pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another
man,
stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark
background it worked against, spared him no single detail that
might
send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove
that
seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would
not taste
in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in
its
place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion
that
Dick confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between the
paroxysms
were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable
darkness.

'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out
since
the beginning of things.'

'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and,
besides,'--he
paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run
over
me.'

'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.'

The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung
to
Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!'
he
said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and
die.'

'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove,
there
are the Guards!'

Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look.
Let's
get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.'

'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft
of
grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick sniffed
luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as
near
to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being
unfixed
made Dick's nostrils quiver.

'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as
though he
could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?'

'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.'

'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer,
Torp!--nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a
minute!--one half-minute!'

He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could
hear the
slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big
drum
from the ground.

'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow.

'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!'

The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to
the
crash of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in
his face,
heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches
on the
belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall
refrain
that made a perfect quickstep--

He must be a man of decent height,
He must be a man of weight,
He must come home on a Saturday night
In a thoroughly sober state;
He must know how to love me,
And he must know how to kiss;
And if he's enough to keep us both
I can't refuse him bliss.

'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall
when
the last of the regiment had departed.

'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take
me
back. Why did you bring me out?'

CHAPTER XII

There were three friends that buried the fourth,
The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes
And they went south and east, and north,--
The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.

There were three friends that spoke of the dead,--
The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.--
'And would he were with us now,' they said,
'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.'
-- Ballad.

THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to
bed,--blind men are ever under the orders of those who can
see,--and
since he had returned from the Park had fluently sworn at
Torpenhow
because he was alive, and all the world because it was alive and
could
see, while he, Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the
best,
are only burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said
something
about a Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to
handle
and re-handle three unopened letters from Maisie.

The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms.

Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them
lay a
large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins.

'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not
wrong
about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan
must
be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the
government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly.
You
know that as well as I do.'

'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew
from
Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,'
said
Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night.
'Can
you blame me?'

The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat--
'Don't blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all
the
rest of it, but every man--even you, Torp--must consider his work.
I know
it sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,--down,--gastados
expended,
finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't
starve, and
you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own
reputation.'

'Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.'

'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all
ended
now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can
command
your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.'

'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick
for a
while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he
likes to
have me near him.'

The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed
fools
who throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed
angrily. The constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his
nerves
thin.

'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider
this,
and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is--or rather was--an
able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of
audacity.'

'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin
to
see,--Torp, I'm sorry.'

Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut
you
out, though.--Go on, Keneu.'

'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if
the
news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport
were
quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's
bedside.'

'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful
things are as they are,' said the Nilghai.

'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered
ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.--What do you
think
yourself, Torp?'

'I know they aren't. But what can I do?'

'Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here.
You've
been most in his life.'

'But I picked it up when he was off his head.'

'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive.
Who is
she?'

Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special
correspondent
who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men
listened
without interruption.

'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his
calf-love?'

said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?'

'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling
three
letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?'

'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai.

'Oh yes! Write to her,--I don't know her full name, remember,--and
ask
her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you
were sorry
for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the
bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie
girl,
whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the
blindness
has made him rather muscular.'

'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go
to
Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,--single
track
from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was
a
poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church
spire
There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,--or ought to be.
Where
this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's
business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately
explain the
situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,--the more
especially
because, to use Dick's words, "there is nothing but her damned
obstinacy
to keep them apart."'

'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between
'em.

Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You
haven't the
shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai.

Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and
impossible. I
can't drag her back by the hair.'

'Our business--the business for which we draw our money--is to do
absurd and impossible things,--generally with no reason whatever
except
to amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't
matter. I
shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns.
There
will be a batch of unbridled "specials" coming to town in a little
while,
and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for
sending
Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others,
and'--here the Keneu dropped his measured speech--'we can't have
you
tied by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only
chance of
getting away; and Dick will be grateful.'

'He will,--worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a
woman in
her senses refusing Dick.'

'Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry
Mahdieh
woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult.
You had
better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I
will be
in possession. It is an order. Obey.'

'Dick,' said Torpenhow, next morning, 'can I do anything for you?'

'No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?'

'Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?'

'No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.'

'Poor chap!' said Torpenhow to himself. 'I must have been sitting
on his
nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.' Then, aloud, 'Very well.
Since
you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say
good-bye
at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my
rooms.'

Dick's face fell. 'You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I
know
I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.'

'Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll
be
glad I'm gone.'

Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these
things
might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and
yet
Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly
know
what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's
unopened
letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read
them
for himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him
some
fresh ones to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,--a piece of
red
modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using
his
hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, 'Is it
like
anything in the world?' he said drearily. 'Take it away. I may get
the
touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow
has
gone?'

The Nilghai knew nothing. 'We're staying in his rooms till he
comes
back. Can we do anything for you?'

'I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm
best
alone.'

The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and
sullen
rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the
work
he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had
departed
from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the
completeness of
his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for
Maisie--Maisie who would understand. His mind pointed out that
Maisie,
having her own work to do, would not care. His experience had
taught
him that when money was exhausted women went away, and that
when a
man was knocked out of the race the others trampled on him.
'Then at
the least,' said Dick, in reply, 'she could use me as I used
Binat,--for some
sort of a study. I wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even
though I knew that another man was making love to her. Ugh!
what a
dog I am!'

A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully--

'When we go--go--go away from here,
Our creditors will weep and they will wail,
Our absence much regretting when they find that they've been
getting
Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.'

Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door,
and the
sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, 'And see,
you
good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class
patent--eh, how
you say? Open himself inside out.'

Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. 'That's Cassavetti,
come
back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away.
There's a
row somewhere, and--I'm out of it!'

The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake,' Dick
said
bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't tell
me. I
can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War
Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it.'

He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's
room. He
could feel that it was full of men. 'Where's the trouble?' said he. 'In
the
Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?'

'We thought you wouldn't be interested,' said the Nilghai,
shamefacedly.

'It's in the Soudan, as usual.'

'You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a
skeleton at
the feast.--Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as
ever.'

Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the
talk
swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once,
discussing
press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the
capacities
of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a trusting
public,--rangint, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of
their
voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at
any
moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in readiness.
The
Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen a
perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered forward,
and
was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the Keneu
introduced
to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war artist
by the
Central Southern Syndicate. 'It's his first outing,' said the Keneu.
'Give
him some tips--about riding camels.'

'Oh, those camels!' groaned Cassavetti. 'I shall learn to ride him
again,
and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know
your
military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire
Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.'

A roar of laughter interrupted him.

'Sit down,' said the Nilghai. 'The lists aren't even made out in the
War
Office.'

'Will there be any force at Suakin?' aid a voice.

Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: 'How many
Egyptian troops will they use?--God help the Fellaheen!--There's a
railway in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.--We
shall
have the Suakin-Berber line built at last.--Canadian voyageurs are
too
careful. Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.--Who
commands the Desert column?--No, they never blew up the big
rock in
the Ghineh bend. We shall have to be hauled up, as
usual.--Somebody tell
me if there's an Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's
head.--Don't
tear the map in two.--It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to connect
with
the African companies in the South.--There's Guinea-worm in most
of
the wells on that route.' Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace,
bellowed
like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands.

'But what becomes of Torpenhow?' said Dick, in the silence that
followed.

'Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I
suppose,' said the Nilghai.

'He said he was going to stay at home,' said the Keneu.

'Is he?' said Dick, with an oath. 'He won't. I'm not much good now,
but if
you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him
till he
sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all.
There'll be
some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, this
time.

But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.'

'So do we all, Dickie,' said the Keneu.

'And I most of all,' said the new artist of the Central Southern
Syndicate.

'Could you tell me----'

'I'll give you one piece of advice,' Dick answered, moving towards
the
door. 'If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't
guard.

Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the end.
Thanks
for letting me look in.'

'There's grit in Dick,' said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the
room was
emptied of all save the Keneu.

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