Читать книгу A Wind from the Wilderness - Mary Gaunt - Страница 6

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ENTER CHUNG.

"Who hath known the pain, the old pain of earth,

Or all the travail of the sea,

The many ways and waves, the birth

Fruitless, the labour nothing worth?

Who hath known, who knoweth, O gods? not we."

STELLA CHAPMAN dropped her head on to my shoulder, and, though I do detest public embraces, I couldn't repulse her. She had just come off a long journey in a litter, but she was so soft and warm and she smelt of violets, and she came to me so confidingly, as if she knew I would help her, that I wondered still more what made her husband so harsh with her. I suppose Aunt Matty was right, though she recanted quite angrily after she had married the professor; men do get tired of the most adorable woman. Well, it will be no hardship to stand alone.

"I want Chung," said Mrs. Chapman in a whisper, still with her head on my shoulder. Phyllis always asked for candy that way.

"Have you any objection?" said Mr. Chapman looking round. "Chung can always find all the things my wife has lost."

She lifted up her head then. Her hair on my shoulder was like spun silk.

"I haven't anything to lose," she protested with a pout.

He said nothing, only looked at her scornfully.

"But where is Chung?" I asked. He was much more civil to me. I couldn't help liking him when he turned to me, and yet on principle I hate a man who can't be civil to his wife.

"Sent him into the city," he said, and then, as if reluctant as he was to open his mouth, he felt that some explanation was due, he added, "He might find out how the land lies."

"If Chung's even an ordinary sort of a cuss," said the minister, "he could run round a little one-horse place like this in two shakes of a donkey's tail, an' if he ain't likin' what he's piped off I guess he's now makin' preparations——"

As he spoke, the door that led into the kitchen opened and Chung himself stepped into the room. He had divested himself of his outdoor wraps—in fact, he was very much indoor, for his head was freshly shaven, his pigtail was newly oiled, a neat little fringe stood up on end like a minute halo just where the hair and the newly shaved part met, and in front of his long, clean blue gown—a tribute to the warm house—was stuck a little fan of yellow paper. He took it out as he entered, and with his head on one side delicately fluttered it. The mission servants are dull, stolid peasants. This man looked as if he had stepped out of comic opera.

"Chung," said his mistress, raising her head, "wanchee shoe."

"By em by," said Chung serenely, "in bottom side litter," and by way of showing how truly amiably inclined he was, he stooped and picked one of MacTavish's white hairs from the front of my dress.

I couldn't help smiling.

"Never mind the dog's hairs," I said.

"Fezzers," he said emphatically and picked off another.

"I think not," I said. He was so extremely solemn about it. "My little dog's hairs."

"Fezzers," he said again, with a little flicker of his fan. "Missee have hairs, dogs and cats has fezzers."

"Oh, never mind whether they have hairs or feathers," said his mistress impatiently, "wanchee shoe, wanchee brush, wanchee clean dress."

"Bottom side mule litter," murmured Chung indifferently. "What the hell you stop here for? Pai Lang loot eastern suburb."

"No," said the minister, and "No," said Mr. Chapman, while the rest of us looked at one another.

"Mr. Maitland friend of yours?" asked Chung casually.

"Sure," said the minister, "but how does Henry Maitland butt in?"

"Oh, he no butt in," said Chung, throwing back his head and swinging his long pigtail from one shoulder to the other while he fanned himself delicately. "He dead." Clearly a foreigner more or less was nothing to him.

Awful things come to one, I find, so quietly, so unexpectedly. This man spoke exactly, and with quite as little emotion as if he had announced that he had broken a plate, and for the moment I hardly realised what had happened. Something inside me kept repeating "Henry Maitland is dead. Henry Maitland is dead, and you always thought him unctuous and horrid."

"He can't know anything about it," said Mr. Conant, and you can't think what a relief it was to hear him. "He's only just come."

Mr. Chapman lifted his hand quietly and I felt as if my heart had stopped beating. He thought Chung was right then.

"You bet," said that gentleman answering for himself, and he fluttered his fan at the company. "He dead. Got no head."

And we said nothing. Involuntarily we drew closer together, and then Stella Chapman who had stood forward for a moment turned round and clutched me again. A man had died. I could not have shown any emotion to save my life, but I think it was a relief that she did. I wonder if my medical training has made me a little callous. Under no circumstances can I fancy myself making a fuss, and yet I was glad she was paying this tribute to a man she had never seen. There was danger, too.

Her husband turned on her almost savagely.

"You keep that low bred yellow-livered cur streak in check," he said.

She shrank against me and I could only hold her closer and look at him. Would he be angry with her if danger threatened? I hated him for being angry, and yet it gave me confidence. Poor little MacTavish was jealous because someone had taken his place, and he began scraping my dress with his little white paw in order to draw my attention to the fact that I was forgetting him. It was foolish for two strong young women to stand clinging together, so I put Stella Chapman gently down into the easy chair and picked him up.

"There, there, dear," I was saying, exactly as if she had been little Phyllis. "We'll take care of you, I must take up my poor little MacTavish. I shouldn't like him to think his mistress neglected him now."

It was the simple truth.

"How can you? A dog!" and she spoke quite reproachfully.

Well, I suppose she did not understand. There was a time when I would have laughed at the idea of anyone finding comfort in a little dog or considering the dog had any feelings at all. But were we really facing death? I had never thought it would be like this.

"I've heard bluffs like that before," said the minister, putting his hand on Chung's shoulder, "Are you sure Henry's got the call?"

"He dead—bet your life—dead as skinned cat—got no head—shaved off one clean cut," and he returned the minister's familiarity by making a ghastly motion with his hands under his chin. It was graphic, horrible.

Something cold seemed applied to my back; my hands were like ice, and I was glad to hold my little dog close. The minister was holding his wife's hand. Sister Ednah was clasping her child in her arms, but Mr. Chapman made no motion to come near his wife, and she, evidently desperately in need of some strong arm to lean upon, clutched piteously at my skirts. I managed to free one arm and put it round her shoulders. I'd rather have kept it round MacTavish, but I was sorry for her.

"Don't be frightened," I said. But it seemed there was a good deal of which to be frightened.

"Oh, buck up, Stella," said her husband, and there was a contemptuous ring in his voice. "If this young lady can be so plucky——"

Me! Plucky! Well, I was glad it struck him that way.

"If poor Henry Maitland is gone," began Miss Lodham, and I remembered she was the one amongst us who had refused to believe in danger.

"Damn sure thing," asserted Chung with conviction.

"The fifty school girls are——"

"Damn good invite," again remarked the same gentleman, not with meaning, but just as if he were stating a fact that must be plain to all of us.

Poor Miss Lodham! She had done so much for that school! All her waking hours were filled with thoughts of it. Now she just stared at him and then dropped to a seat with her arms straight down beside her and her hands hanging palms upwards. It was a simple confession of failure. Mr. Conant stepped across and laid a hand on her shoulder. He looked as if he were about to speak, but he did not. They were all taking it so quietly. And we were over a thousand miles from Peking, and there was no help nearer.

"What can we do?" asked Sister Luella. "Lord! what can we do?"

Tragedy was walking in our midst, and yet I kept saying to myself, "So far have I come, and what next? What next?"

Mrs. Wright answered me.

"We can pray to the good God," she said simply.

I managed to shake off the curious numbness that had settled upon me and said, "I think we'd better pray while we work then. If Pai Lang is in the eastern suburb there isn't much time. We'd better make for the hills. In a farm-house or a cave——"

"I lift up mine eyes to the hills," said the minister, "whence cometh my help." I think the quotation comforted him.

"In December," said Mr. Chapman, and the two words meant a great deal. Perhaps he felt it himself, for he added hastily, "I haven't got a better offer. Pai Lang holds a full house as far as I'm concerned."

"What about ponies?" asked Martin Conant, with his hand still on Miss Lodham's shoulder, and he shot an encouraging look at me.

"Nary a one between here and Mongolia," said the minister. "It's shanks' mare for us, you bet."

"But," protested Mrs. Chapman, and there was shrinking in her tones, "I simply can't walk."

He flicked his fingers just as if it were all one to him, and Miss Lodham sat up, her hands on the table, and spoke deliberately.

"There are twenty girls at least here I can't send to their people even if I can arrange for the safety of the others. We can't take twenty girls into the hills."

If you only knew Chinese schoolgirls! A more irresponsible crowd it would be impossible to imagine. The maddest, naughtiest schoolgirl in America is staid and solemn and reliable beside the best of them. Even under the circumstances I couldn't help smiling. There is no sense in a Chinese schoolgirl, at least, not in far west Kansu. Nobody else said anything, so I did.

"We certainly can't," I said.

"Then, of course," said the schoolmistress, "I shall stay. I can't very well leave these girls."

"But how on earth can your staying help them?" asked Mr Conant.

Our only salvation seemed to lie in getting away.

"I undertook their care," said Miss Lodham, and she spoke quite simply, and something of peace came into her troubled face. "No, I can't go. I guess I've gotten my place."

Martin Conant looked round as if questioning each person in turn.

"Sally," said the minister, "I take it we ain't doin' a get away leavin' Chrissie Lodham to hustle for herself."

His wife smiled and clasped his arm. "God is good," she said, and it seemed to be answer enough for him and Miss Lodham; though making every allowance I don't see how it applied.

"Oh, you go," she urged, "you go. But you see I must stay."

"No. I guess we'll stop. We can't have the congregation chantin' 'O ye of little faith'!"

"Out of the depths! Oh Lord! Out of the depths!" cried Luella Lawson. "Shall we put from our lips the cup He has set us to drink?"

Sister Ednah paused a moment. I remembered, as we do remember things, as if two things were going on at once in my mind, that once she had said to me, that whenever she looked at little Sadie she said to herself, "How could the martyrs rejoice!" I suppose she was saying it now and thinking how wicked she was.

"My little girl! My Sadie!" she cried pitifully, and her poor plain face was all white and strained. And then she made up her mind, "Amen! Amen!" she said soberly. "And Lang Hsu needs me," she added practically.

That was the worst of it. Lang Hsu needed me a great deal more. Sister Ednah was thinking about her soul. I don't know if she had a soul; it really, when you knew Lang Hsu, seemed improbable, but her poor broken body certainly needed the attention I could give it. She would suffer agony if she were not attended to every few hours, but it made me shiver all over to think of staying. Martin Conant looked at me and then his eyes wandered to Stella Chapman, who was leaning forward moaning a little.

Of my own free will I had come to look after the women in the hospital. I had promised Lang Hsu and another woman if they would let me operate, I would look after them and care for them, and if I deserted them when they needed me most—— Those two would certainly die if I left them now. I hadn't ever promised to risk my life—but if those two women died in agony because I—and then I heard my own voice just pitched a little high saying:

"Since you're all so faithful, I'll stay, too. I haven't your religion, but Lang Hsu and that other woman must be attended to or they'll die, and I shouldn't like to have their deaths on my conscience. It might be worse than dying myself."

They all looked at me so gravely that I went on perhaps a little flippantly, "Without troubling at all about the Lord, we'll stick to our job, won't we, MacTavish," and MacTavish turned his pretty little head and looked round the company and then back at his missis as if saying that whatever she chose to do had his heartiest approval.

Suddenly Mrs. Wright left her husband and crossing to me kissed me. It took me by surprise, for Mrs. Wright is undemonstrative.

"A wind from the wilderness," she said. "My dear, you are only blind. The Lord is walking close beside you. If you only lean you will feel His sheltering arm."

Goodness knows never did I need sheltering more.

"It's a simple matter of decency," I said, a little uncomfortably. "If you can look after your jobs I can surely look after mine."

"By gum!" said Chung, with a flourish of his fan.

"Get your guns," said Mr. Chapman tersely.

"There isn't even a popgun," said Martin Conant.

"If Pai Lang blows in here," said the minister, "I guess we'll be directed how to deal with him"—I rather thought it was he who would deal with us—"but ours is a peace stunt, an' it's just as well. If we had guns I'd be some worried keepin' my claws off 'em."

"Then," said Mr. Chapman thoughtfully, "it's scoot. And no litter."

"Crikey, Jim!" said Chung, with feeling. "Missie go for die for sure. He mighty beastly cold in hills."

I heard a sob and saw Stella Chapman looking up at me with pitiful eyes.

"Why can't we keep the litter?" she asked as a child might have done.

The litter was there in the snow, its tilt a little rakishly on one side.

"Because," said her husband quite coolly, "those muleteers only undertook to bring us to Ba Chuang, and it was only at the point of the pistol I made them come on here. Now they're being absorbed inconspicuously into the population. I don't know that I blame them."

"Oh, but you'll come with us," she said, and I don't know whether she was appealing to Mr. Conant or me. She was certainly not thinking of Silas Chapman.

"Dear," I said, "I can't possibly come with you. You must see I can't leave these women."

"I don't see why not," she said with wide open innocent eyes. "They're only Chinese and they're among their own people. Oh, you must come. And you'll come," and she turned beseechingly to Mr. Conant, "then we'll be all right."

He looked at her and then at me and then round at the others as if he were debating where his duty lay. Only a quarter of an hour ago—it seemed years and years, ages—he had been keen to set out for England.

"If the others are staying my place is here; but I can help you a little on your way."

"By gum!" said Chung, again fluttering his fan, and it was as if he were weighing us up, and was a little surprised. I wonder what he had thought we would do.

I looked at the woman sitting all crouched up in the chair in which I had put her. So did her husband.

"Scoot, Stella," said he. "Scoot's the word. You'll have to do it on your own little flat feet."

She looked forlorn enough, but she rose obediently. She made me feel capable. A little of the benumbing fear slipped from me. You haven't time to be afraid when you're busy.

"Come along," I said as cheerfully as I could, "and I'll help you. MacTavish and I'll go across to the dispensary and put up a few trifles that may be useful," and I helped her to her feet.

She came reluctantly. Evidently she didn't like trusting herself to a woman.

"I can't walk," she complained. "I feel as if weights were hanging on my feet. Chung! Chung!"

Chung pranced forward, head on one side, fluttering his fan.

"No good, Missie, no good for my! My makee die in hills," and having expressed his opinion thus tersely on the hopelessness of the situation, like a true Chinaman, he went backwards, only he danced where an ordinary servant would have walked till he reached the door. It was opened from behind by unseen hands, and with his head still on one side insinuatingly and his little yellow fan still fluttering, he was swallowed up, and the door softly closed behind him.

Mrs. Chapman looked on in dismay.

"And I've always heard Chinese servants are so faithful," she said, and there was real surprise in her tones.

"My girl," said her husband, "Chung's had experience of you with a litter, and he funks it without. I can hardly blame him. Now, young lady," he turned to me, "if you can help us——" and his voice was pleasant and kindly.

Why on earth couldn't he speak to his wife as he spoke to me?