Kim - Rudyard Kipling (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📗

head, and looked forth across them into space and emptiness.

“And I am a Follower of the Way,” he said bitterly. “The sin is mine and the punishment is mine. I made believe to myself⁠—for now I see it was but make-believe⁠—that thou wast sent to me to aid in the Search. So my heart went out to thee for thy charity and thy courtesy and the wisdom of thy little years. But those who follow the Way must permit not the fire of any desire or attachment, for that is all Illusion. As says⁠ ⁠…” He quoted an old, old Chinese text, backed it with another, and reinforced these with a third. “I stepped aside from the Way, my chela. It was no fault of thine. I delighted in the sight of life, the new people upon the roads, and in thy joy at seeing these things. I was pleased with thee who should have considered my Search and my Search alone. Now I am sorrowful because thou art taken away and my River is far from me. It is the Law which I have broken!”

“Powers of Darkness below!” said Father Victor, who, wise in the confessional, heard the pain in every sentence.

“I see now that the sign of the Red Bull was a sign for me as well as for thee. All Desire is red⁠—and evil. I will do penance and find my River alone.”

“At least go back to the Kulu woman,” said Kim, “otherwise thou wilt be lost upon the roads. She will feed thee till I run back to thee.”

The lama waved a hand to show that the matter was finally settled in his mind.

“Now,”⁠—his tone altered as he turned to Kim⁠—“what will they do with thee? At least I may, acquiring merit, wipe out past ill.”

“Make me a Sahib⁠—so they think. The day after tomorrow I return. Do not grieve.”

“Of what sort? Such an one as this or that man?” He pointed to Father Victor. “Such an one as those I saw this evening, men wearing swords and stamping heavily?”

“Maybe.”

“That is not well. These men follow desire and come to emptiness. Thou must not be of their sort.”

“The Umballa priest said that my Star was War,” Kim interjected. “I will ask these fools⁠—but there is truly no need. I will run away this night, for all I wanted to see the new things.”

Kim put two or three questions in English to Father Victor, translating the replies to the lama.

Then: “He says, ‘You take him from me and you cannot say what you will make him.’ He says, ‘Tell me before I go, for it is not a small thing to make a child.’ ”

“You will be sent to a school. Later on, we shall see. Kimball, I suppose you’d like to be a soldier?”

“Gorah-log.31 No-ah! No-ah!” Kim shook his head violently. There was nothing in his composition to which drill and routine appealed. “I will not be a soldier.”

“You will be what you’re told to be,” said Bennett; “and you should be grateful that we’re going to help you.”

Kim smiled compassionately. If these men lay under the delusion that he would do anything that he did not fancy, so much the better.

Another long silence followed. Bennett fidgeted with impatience, and suggested calling a sentry to evict the fakir.

“Do they give or sell learning among the Sahibs? Ask them,” said the lama, and Kim interpreted.

“They say that money is paid to the teacher⁠—but that money the Regiment will give⁠ ⁠… What need? It is only for a night.”

“And⁠—the more money is paid the better learning is given?” The lama disregarded Kim’s plans for an early flight. “It is no wrong to pay for learning. To help the ignorant to wisdom is always a merit.” The rosary clicked furiously as an abacus. Then he faced his oppressors.

“Ask them for how much money do they give a wise and suitable teaching? And in what city is that teaching given?”

“Well,” said Father Victor in English, when Kim had translated, “that depends. The Regiment would pay for you all the time you are at the Military Orphanage; or you might go on the Punjab Masonic Orphanage’s list (not that he or you ’ud understand what that means); but the best schooling a boy can get in India is, of course, at St. Xavier’s in Partibus at Lucknow.” This took some time to interpret, for Bennett wished to cut it short.

“He wants to know how much?” said Kim placidly.

“Two or three hundred rupees a year.” Father Victor was long past any sense of amazement. Bennett, impatient, did not understand.

“He says: ‘Write that name and the money upon a paper and give it him.’ And he says you must write your name below, because he is going to write a letter in some days to you. He says you are a good man. He says the other man is a fool. He is going away.”

The lama rose suddenly. “I follow my Search,” he cried, and was gone.

“He’ll run slap into the sentries,” cried Father Victor, jumping up as the lama stalked out; “but I can’t leave the boy.” Kim made swift motion to follow, but checked himself. There was no sound of challenge outside. The lama had disappeared.

Kim settled himself composedly on the Chaplain’s cot. At least the lama had promised that he would stay with the Raiput woman from Kulu, and the rest was of the smallest importance. It pleased him that the two padres were so evidently excited. They talked long in undertones, Father Victor urging some scheme on Mr. Bennett, who seemed incredulous. All this was very new and fascinating, but Kim felt sleepy. They called men into the tent⁠—one of them certainly was the Colonel, as his father had prophesied⁠—and they asked him an infinity of questions, chiefly about the woman who looked after him, all of which Kim answered truthfully. They did not seem to think the woman a good guardian.

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