The Darrow Enigma - Melvin L. Severy (books for 7th graders .txt) 📗
- Author: Melvin L. Severy
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if the pulse of an overwhelming pain, perpetually recurring like the
beat of a loaded wheel, can be called thought. Although there is
no insanity in our family nearer than a great-uncle, I marvel that
I retained my wits under this terrible blow. I seriously
contemplated suicide, and probably should have taken my life had not
my mental condition gradually undergone a change. I was no longer
conscious of suffering, nor of a desire to end my life. I was
simply indifferent. It was all one to me whether I lived or died.
The power of loving or caring for anything or anybody had entirely
left me, and when I would reflect how utterly indifferent I was even
to my own father and mother, I would regard myself as an unnatural
monster. I tried to conceal my lack of affection by a greater
attention to their wishes, and it was in this way that I yielded,
without remonstrance, to those same views regarding my marriage,
to which, but a little while before, I had made such strenuous
objections as to quite enrage my father. I was an only child, and
(as often happens in such cases) my father never could be brought
to realise that I had many years since attained my majority. It
had been his wish, ever since my boyhood, that I should marry your
mother, and he made use, when I was nearly forty, of the selfsame
insistent and coercive methods with which he had sought to subdue my
will when I was but twenty, and at last he attained his end. I had
learned from friends in Bombay that not only had Rama Ragobah
recovered from the blows I had given him, but that, shortly after my
encounter with him, he had married Lona, she whom I had loved, God
only knows how madly! It was all one to me now whether I was
married or single, living or dead. So it was all arranged. I
myself told the lady that, so far as I then understood my feelings,
I had no affection for any person on earth; but it seemed only to
pique her, and I think she determined then and there to make herself
an exception to this universal rule. This is how I came to marry
your mother. There was not the slightest community of thought,
sentiment, or interest between us. The things I liked did not
interest her; what she liked bored me; yet she was pre-eminently a
sensible woman, and when she learned the real state of affairs was
the first to suggest a separation, which was effected. We parted
with the kindliest feelings, and, as you know, remained fast friends
up to her
death.
It was nearly a year after the affair on Malabar Hill before I had
the heart to return with your mother to Bombay. I had thought all
emotion forever dead within me, but, ah! how little do we understand
ourselves. Twelve months had not passed, and already I was conscious
of a vague ache - a feeling that something, I scarcely knew what, had
gone wrong, so terribly wrong! I told myself that I was now married,
and had a duty both to my wife and society, and I tried hard to
ignore the ache, on the one hand, and not to permit myself to define
and analyse it on the other. But a man does not have to understand
anatomy in order to break his heart, and so my longing defined itself
even by itself. The old fire, built on a virgin hearth, was far
from out. Society had heaped a mouthful of conventional ashes upon
it, but they had served only to preserve it. From the fiat of the
human heart there is no court of appeal.
One night, to my utter amazement, I received a letter from Lona which
you will find filed away among my other valuable documents.
It was addressed in her own quaint little hand, and I trembled
violently as I opened the envelope. It was but a brief note, and
ran as follows:
“I am dying, and have much to explain before I go. Be generous,
and do not think too harshly of me. Suspend your judgment until
I have spoken. You must come by stealth, or you will not be
permitted to see me. Follow my directions carefully and you will
have no trouble in reaching me. Go at once to the cave on Malabar
Hill, whistle thrice, and one will appear who will conduct you
safely to me. Follow him, and whatever happens, make no noise.
Do not delay - I can last but little longer.
“LONA.”
I did not even pause to re-read the letter, or to ask why it was
necessary to follow such singular directions in order to be led to
her. I simply knew she had written to me; that she was dying; that
she wanted me; that was all, but it was enough. Dazed, filled with
a strange mixture of dread and yearning, I hurried to the cave. It
was already night when I reached it - just such a moonlit night as
that on which, nearly a year before, Lona and I had planned our
elopement; and now that heart, which then had beaten so wildly
against mine, was slowly throbbing itself into eternal silence,
- and I - I had been more than dead ever since.
I looked about on all sides, but no human being was visible. I
whistled thrice, but no sound came in response. Again I whistled,
with the same result. Where was my guide? Perhaps he was in the
cave and had not heard me. I entered it to see, but had barely
passed the narrow portal when a voice said close behind me: “Did
you whistle, Sahib?” The suddenness, the strangeness of this
uncanny appearance, so close to me that I felt the breath of the
words upon my neck, sent a chill over me. I shall never forget that
feeling! Many times since then have I dreamt of a hand that struck
me from out the darkness, while the same unspeakable dread froze up
my life, until, by repetition, it has sunk deep into my soul with
the weight of a positive conviction. I know, as I now write, that
this will be my end, and his will be the hand that strikes. The
fibre of our lives is twisted in a certain way, and each has its own
fixed mode of unravelling, - this will be mine.
When I had recovered from the first momentary shock I turned and
looked behind me. There, close upon me, with his huge form blocking
the narrow entrance, stood Rama Ragobah, my rival, his face hideous
with malignant triumph! I was trapped, and that, too, by a man whom
my hatred, could it have worked its will, would have plunged into the
uttermost hell of torment. I felt sure my hour had come, but my
assassin should not have the satisfaction of thinking I feared him.
I did not permit myself to betray the slightest concern as to my
position - indeed, after the shock of the first surprise, I did not
care so very much what fate awaited me. Why should I? Had I not
seriously thought of taking my own life? Was it not clear now that
Lona, whose own handwriting had decoyed me, had most basely
betrayed me into her husband’s hands? If I had wished to end my
own life before, surely now, death, at the hands of another, was no
very terrible thing. Could I have dragged that other down with me,
I would have rejoiced at the prospect!
Ragobah broke the silence. “You have left your stick this time, I
see,” he said, as he unsheathed the long knife I had once before
escaped, and ostentatiously felt its edge as if he were about to
shave with it.
“You were in haste, Sahib, when you left me last time, or I should
not now have the pleasure of this interview. Be assured I shall do
my work more thoroughly this time. Behind you there is a hole
partly filled with water. If you drop a stone into this well, it
is several seconds before you hear the splash, and there is a saying
hereabouts that it is bottomless. I am curious to know if this be
true, and I am going to send you to see. Of course, if the story is
well founded, I shall not expect you to come back. That would be
unreasonable, Sahib.”
All this was said with a refined sarcasm which maddened me, and, as
he concluded, he began to edge stealthily toward me. So strong is
the instinct of self-preservation within us that I doubt not a
would-be suicide, caught in the act of hanging himself, would
struggle madly for his life were someone else to forcibly adjust the
noose about his neck. At all events, I found myself unwilling, at
the last moment, to have someone else launch me into eternity and,
as I wished to gain time to think what I should do to escape, I
said to him:
“Why do you bear me such malice? Can you not see that any injury I
may have done you was purely in self-defence? You sought the quarrel,
and I took the only means at hand to protect myself. I did not, as
you know, seek to kill you, a thing I could easily have done, but
was content merely to make good my escape. I -”
“Bah!” he said, interrupting me savagely. “That has nothing to do
with it. Had you only pounded my head you might live, but you have
pounded my heart! It is for that I hate you, and for that you die!”
“What have I done?” I asked.
“What have you done?” he roared, furious with rage. “I will tell
you. You have by magic possessed the mind of my wife. Your name,
your cursed name is ever upon her lips! My entreaties, my
supplications are answered by nothing else. Even in her sleep she
starts up and calls for you. You have cast a spell upon her. Day
by day she droops and withers like a lotus-flower whose root is
severed; yet ever and always, is your cursed name upon her lips,
goading me to madness, until at last I have registered a sacred oath
to kill you, and remove the accursed spell you have thrown upon her.”
Had he advanced upon me at this moment he would have found me as
helpless as a child, so overcome was I by the sudden joy which seized
upon me, and seemed to turn my melancholy inside out. Those words of
hatred had been as a torch illumining the gloom of my despair, for
they had shown me that my existence was not altogether barren and
unproductive. The life which has known the heaven of true love
cannot be called a failure. There is no wall so high, no distance
so great, no separation so complete as to defy the ineffable commerce
of two loving hearts! Lona, then, was still mine, despite all
obstacles. What a change this knowledge made! In an instant life
became an inexpressible benefaction, for it permitted me to realise
I was beloved, - and death was dowered with a new horror - the fear
that I should cease to know it.
I was roughly aroused from my reflections by Rama Ragobah.
“Come, Sahib,” he said, as his thick lips curled sneeringly, “suppose
you try your spells upon me? You will never have a better chance
than now to show your power,” and again he made a slight movement
toward me with the gleaming knife. The moon, low down upon the
horizon, sent a broad
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