The Black Fox A Novel Of The Seventies (25 page)

'Who are you?" she asked directly; surely he would tell her a little more than had Dr. McPhail He replied,

"A Sufi."

Whether he would have told her more or not, at that moment the easily moving group of guests which had been circling the lawns, deserted the tea-tables as their pivot and began to approach that farther end of the garden in which he and she were sitting. She saw her brother talking almost vivaciously with Dr. McPhail.

"You are relieved." The voice beside her followed the change of her thought, and added, "Yes, we have a reprieve, a reprieve so that we may restate our case, offer, maybe, fresh surety and approach the Supreme Court with our appeal, and," he continued slowly, "our promise to make a further. . . ." He paused, then went on,

"Let me tell you what I now see straight before me on this quiet lawn in this place where ancient piety and learning have been refined until like a rich heavy wine too long kept it has become little more than a clear, thin, faintly flavoured, faintly coloured water. I see a fine and honoured presence, learning, yes, and learning made polished, finished, closed, as the pores of wood are closed when the cabinet worker has lacquered them. And so there is pride. And with pride always the danger of scorn, and with scorn hatred and with hatred hell."

His voice had deepened until it was so low that she thought she had never heard a human tone so profound. But quiet, so that, even as close as they were, she could hardly catch the words. As she strained to catch what he was saying a sudden irritation swept into her mind. Surely all of this was unhelpfully odd, in spite of all Dr. McPhail's efforts—themselves rather ab-

surd—to prepare her and to ally himself with her fears. How could it help her brother's mental difficulties for her to sit here and be lectured about his character by a complete stranger, an African too, however learned he might be, and surely his learning could hardly be helpful in a case of brain-tension? She had heard that the medical and hygienic state of Egypt was so low that those who travelled there in spite of every modern precaution often suffered severe upsets of the digestion and severe fevers. Her mind felt a colour-bar rising between her and this stranger who disconcertingly combined aloofness with personality.

The voice beside her spoke again. But it was light now.

*Tou are right to resent a liberty if taken by one who is impertinent, though even then it would be more right to endure even that, I have no right certainly to lecture you, giving you a cheap form of character analysis of your closest relation, as a charlatan might do at a fair. So I will add, I see one of the finest works of God, a learned man who has industriously used his talent. And I see"—his voice hardly modified at all its same clear unstressed tone—"I see, at this moment, following him, hardly a cubit behind his heels. . . "

She had grasped the arm of her chair, and he interrupted himself to say kindly,

"No, don't feel panic. Practically everyone here is followed by a form or trail that would profoundly startle them and theirs, if these wraiths could be seen. And yet I do not see any but one who is in immediate danger of being overtaken. Indeed some are actually—how shall I put it?—increasing the distance between themselves and that which Follows, dogs them, don't you say. Of course that is not an accurate way of describing what is going on, but it will serve,"

"But that one, my brother?" Her voice was now tautly urgent, l." he spoke gravely but with no trace of alarm in his

tone, "that is why we are here. There is hope, I mean in this world. It will depend, must depend on him. But if you are to understand, and we are to do whatever may be permitted of us, you must grasp clearly what it is I am now seeing. I see that he is closely followed by a form that, because of its particular character, I know"—again he paused and concluded—"I know what he has done."

"Are you sure?"

It was all she could think to say. He closed the issue by saying quietly,"A murderer alone is followed by that species and that particular variety follows those who have done murder through magic—or as you would put it, not by deed but by intention. I need hardly, however, point out to you that your Prophet, Jeshua ben Miriam, may his name be blessed, has specifically told us that it is intention rather than act that establishes blood-guiltiness before the Throne of the Most High. Your brother is followed by what my predecessors in my land called the black form of Anubis, the dark and dreadful aspect of him who summons the dead before the Judge in the underworld. I see further that the creature is not only black with the shadow of the darkness caused by murderous death, it is also leprous. He placed evil on another and then lied to himself when he had done it and while he did it. Therefore, not only has it returned on him, as it must: He is unable, because of his lie, to rid himself of it by expiation, by making the offering that, though it might not save his forfeited life of the body, would at least save his soul out of the hand of vengeance."

They sat silent for some time. Time seemed to have stopped for her as she looked across from the pass to which he had brought her, the pass between two worlds, the unseen and the seen, and saw, as though she were already a stranger, a disembodied revenant, the bright innocent scene, where, as ignorant as children playing over a covered mine-shaft, the conference members—her brother treated as one of them—chatted of their studies. She felt herself at last sighing, as one coming to from fainting, and then heard her voice saying,

"Can't anything be done? Can't I do anything?"

"That offer is never useless."

He spoke as might a fine judge of engravings who, turning over a large portfolio, will select one and hold it up to the light. "Next to its own act of trust in the Most High, the devotion of another can be the soul's greatest defence."

"I would do anything for him."

"I had judged that possible or it would have been litde use our meeting."

'Then can't I take this thing from him, for him—he is so helpless, so young, if the word does not sound absurd to you."

"No"—and almost a smile could be suspected in the tone— "No: years are made by the soul and its desire for growth. I am in my ninth decade, as it has been my duty to wait, and, if it might be, to grow inwardly. And others can refuse to grow, as he has. The folly of youth is the vice of old age, you know the phrase. So"—and his voice again let go its lightness—"had he been really young, and not merely arrested, then you might have taken this for him. Parents, devoted and wise parents, can for their children. But very seldom a sister for her brother. For he acted with an adult intention and he can pay the price, the heavy price, if he will ... if he will confess to his evil and throw himself on the mercy of the All Merciful. Therefore no one can do it for him. 'No man may make agreement for his brother nor take his guiltiness upon him. For it cost more to redeem their souls, so he must leave that alone for ever.' " "

The Psalter quotation she had heard mumbled over so often, and sometimes wondered about as the choir chanted all question out of it, now used by an Arab seemed to give a certain security

to their conversation, a conversation that seemed to waver between incredible fantasy and hopeless despair. She felt a sudden strength of confidence come to her. This man knew. He knew with a precision about the things of the heart and soul that we had yet to achieve in things of the body and its hygiene. And with that, because her engrossed absorption with the present had been for the moment a little relieved, her memory began again to work.

She recalled Dr. Wilkes, feeling his way, voicing his need for a true psychotherapy. That led to seeing again the young Chaplain under the limes. Could it be that her almost incredulous request for his prayers and the thing he had asked for—? Could he have actually, specifically prayed that the spiritual assistance he felt sure alone could help, should be sent? She realized with a sense of surprise that had, even in this atmosphere, a touch of the uncanny, how little she really believed that any Understanding really listened to all sincere appeal. Like most good people when prayer seemed too specifically to be answered she was as much startled as reassured.

'Well." The voice was as undramaric as a surgeon's when he comes to the conclusion of an operation's first phase. "I am glad that we have met and that I have been able to confirm what in your heart you already knew,"

He had risen from his chair. She looked up, with all her alarm returned.

"But, but what is to happen? You know. Please believe me I am absolutely sure now. You can help him. You will!"

"No, no. I have said that he must help himself if he is to be saved."

"But surely you did suggest that I could help him, that I could be of use? And you must tell me what that is. I really am at my wit's end"—she suddenly recoiled into her lifelong poise—"or

I assure you I could never have spoken to a stranger as I have. What can I do—except make the offer which I have!"

He did not sit down again but bent slightly as he said,

"I wished you to say that again. You recall, in your tradition, that those who said they would drink the cup, were asked not once but three times if they could really know what they were declaring they would do."

He bent a little lower. He was now standing almost behind her, so that no one could have seen him touch her arm. Nor did she feel it. And, had she felt the touch, she would not have been able to turn round or attend. At that moment her brother was approaching. She heard him say,

"Well, Laetitia, we should be going. I am glad you have been able to meet our most distinguished guest. The Sheik is. . . ."

She heard his voice, thin and meaningless, as we hear the voices round us as an anaesthetic takes the brain. For her eyes saw her brother not three yards from her. And, not a foot behind him, she saw with equal clearness—there was nothing shadowy or wavering about it—padding over the lawn, following his every step, seeming to scent the imprint just left on the grass, a black, leprous fox. She felt she must have screamed—some inarticulate, animal effort to warn him—had she not heard Sheik ibn-Khal-dun's voice above her saying, "Ah, Mr. Dean, we can have one more turn together." and as she spoke he stepped between her and her brother*

As they moved off together no shadow followed either of the tall figures.

She was too exhausted to move: more, she was too exhausted to be roused even to dismay, when, after a couple of turns, she saw the two figures making for where she sat. The garden now was nearly empty. She could have heard their every word in the stillness. They were not speaking. The Sheik's face was calm with the silence that is waiting. Her brother's was tense with

words he obviously still feared to release. Her presence was keen enough provocation to rupture his caution.

"You, certainly, are not slow to share your fancies with a complete stranger!"

His voice was, if not under perfect control, still able to be repressed into a sneer. His lips, though, were trembling and white with frightened rage. Indeed he whirled half round with something like a snarl when the Sheik put a hand on his shoulder. The hand, however, instead of letting go, completed for him the movement he had begun. He was turned in his tracks, and clearly saw there something that expunged from his mind any emotion as reassuring as a sense of insult.

When he turned again, so that she could see his face, it was still whiter; but all the defiance had vanished. He spoke in so low and unaccented voice that had not the spot become as silent as a deserted church, she could not have heard.

"It is no use telling me to act. I am doomed. My one hope was that the whole thing must be subjective. I was building it up. If I could get away it must fade. .. ." The voice died down.

"He is the All Compassionate."

"No. This is the Law. How can I believe in mercy when it would suit me. I believed in, I believe in Law. And now the Law has me in its grip."

'Why dispute about terms. An algebraist uses X. He does not strive to define his efficacious symbol. You need mercy. It alone can save you. Why not then take it? Why choose death?"

The Dean stood beside the Sheik for some five minutes, then he began to sway. The Egyptian put his hand on the sick man's shoulder, again swung him round gently, but this time so that they were face to face.

"For the fourteen days' grace I have power to loan, Forget, Forget!"

Miss Throcton saw her brother's face lose, first, its awful ten-

sion, then its fear, caution, circumspection. Layer by layer, the coats of defence that had been laid like a lacquer-varnish over it and hardened into a mask of pride, smoothed away, as over-painting disappears under the cleaner's solvents leaving the first fresh design and colour. She saw something of the boy she had known. True, the physiological age remained, but the psychological experience, thfe chosen and studied reaction to life, that was gone.

'Well," he remarked in the vague friendly voice of someone who has forgotten the point of what he has been saying and gropes for the lost thread, "Well, I must just go over and catch McPhail before he leaves. I want a last word with him. I'll be back in a moment for you. I am sure you'll enjoy every minute with the Sheik; a rare privilege, indeed; though perhaps only to be appreciated at its full worth by one who has borne the brunt of being called with ignorant patronage, a mere Arabian."

He nodded and smiled at them. Then turned toward the farther end of the lawn where Dr. McPhail was taking last counsel with the tea-staff who with their paraphernalia assembled were about to vacate the green.

"I cannot deliver him." The Arab's voice went on in the same clear tone as it had spoken the word "Forget," clear and carrying, as though the Dean were not still, on his way across the lawn, within earshot. "You have seen—his pride is still too passionately resistant. Pride can believe in Law: only humility can have trust in Mercy. But your affection—it permitted you to see, did it not!"

She bowed. Then asked,

"But, till this afternoon, till just now, I have never been able to see, unless he touched me, and then I was still mercifully uncertain, never quite despairingly sure. And to-day he was some distance from me, when, when I saw?"