"I shaw you--called--wouldn"t stop. Why didn"t yo" stop?"
"Never heerd yo"; we"s runnin"."
The Satyr"s recital was not given with the lucidity of my transcription.
It was halting, stammering, uncertain in places, but it imparted a glorious truth which rolled a stone from my breast. Even in the depths of my state of inebriety I was uplifted. I saw the light of day once more, who had been following paths of gloom and horror. I remember that I arose with the intention of grasping his hand to thank him, then a veil dropped before my eyes and my mind went blank.
I awoke this morning with my head splitting and every joint stiff. I had spent the remaining hours of night upon the floor. My first thought was of my visitor. I sat up and looked around, but he was gone. All of this day I have been trying to get myself together. I was never drunk before--beastly drunk. I never shall be again. It is not the physical discomfort which causes me to make this declaration. That is bad enough, but I am no cringing coward, and am ready to pay the penalty for any conscious misdemeanor. It is the shame of it which makes me say it.
When a man sets out to tell the whole truth about himself he has a task before him. Willingly would I have omitted this scandalous episode; not willingly, but gladly. I feel humiliated; I feel unworthy of that great joy which surely will be mine as soon as I can see my Dryad. True, it was for her I did it. I had to humor that antic creature to worm his secret from him. My soul is at peace to-night despite the misery of my mistreated body. Now I must go to bed, and I believe I can sleep.
To-morrow--to-morrow--oh, my brothers! did you ever go to bed in the firm belief that to-morrow heaven"s gate would open for you?
CHAPTER TWENTY
IN WHICH I VIEW AN EMPTY WORLD, ACT A HYPOCRITE, AND HEAR A CONFESSION OF LOVE
I sometimes wonder why it is that troubles pile up. Why they are not scattered along through our lives, instead of being acc.u.mulated, and then dumped upon our heads all at once. It doesn"t seem like a fair game to me. It seems as if something was taking advantage of our helplessness. You see a fellow can rally under one or two back licks of Fate, if they are not too hard, and if there"s any sort of fighting stuff in him. But when they come often, and come big and strong, his knees get wobbly and his spirit sickens. Is he to blame?
I find myself in some such strait to-night, for the open door of heaven which I went to sleep thinking about is not open, at all. It might be--I believe it would be if I could see Celeste, but she is gone. I marvel at the steady hand with which I trace these words. It is not because I do not feel. There are invisible fingers at my throat, and a spiked hand about my heart. Each spasmodic throb seems to thrust the cardiac walls against nettles. If my journal had not progressed so far I think I would end it right here. It appears as if this is to be the logical end anyway. Perhaps when I rise from my work to-night I shall gather up the written sheets and toss them, so much sc.r.a.p paper, into the black jaws of the old fireplace. I don"t know. I have come to look forward to my night"s writing. It is not a diary, you see. It is--well, it must be a story, in a way, but how could we call such simple and homely things as I have jotted down a story? I"m sure it is not like the other story I wrote; the book which was published, and which no one would read. I made that up out of the whole cloth. I wonder if people knew--and I wonder if they will believe my word that this is the truth. But if I stop writing to-night I won"t have a story. Things have gone on and on, and here I am mortally in love with Celeste Somebody, and elsewhere are the others I have met who have touched my life in various ways. All in suspense, as it were, awaiting developments. I can"t end my journal to-night. That is, I can"t end it and expect any sane people to put it between book covers. Wouldn"t it be an innovation! The thought amuses me in the midst of my heartsickness. But Celeste is gone, and with her gone there is nothing more to say. I could offer little else than Mark Twain"s memorable diary on shipboard: "Got up, washed, and went to bed." She must come back, that is all. I don"t know where she is, nor how long she will be away. These things I will find out. Here I have wandered on much like a maundering old man, without first setting down the adventure of the day, and then commenting, if so inclined. I beg pardon. To-night I really am not fit, and should not attempt to write. But I have begun; inaction would be galling, so I will continue.
Was I astir early this morning? The first gray arrow, barbed with silver and feathered with gloom, had not found my small window ere I was up with a s.n.a.t.c.h of song welling from my throat, and hurrying for the big washtub back of the kitchen which does the duty of a bathtub in civilization. I had never been so completely happy since I was a boy on my grandad"s farm. I even wanted to whistle while I was shaving, I was so full of song and laughter. Cooking breakfast was a jolly lark; eating it a delicious pastime. Then I was gone like a deer breaking cover, the door to the Lodge open to its fullest extent. She knew the truth, and I might even meet her coming to me.
As I ran easily through the forest on the now familiar way, I noticed that my exuberant spirits began to decline. A foreboding of some disaster crept stealthily and steadily upon me, until I actually had a chilly sensation down my spine, and a woeful sinking in my breast. This phenomenon, in common with many others attendant upon our daily life, cannot be explained. I really suffered until I came in sight of the roof which sheltered my beloved; then, as I mounted to the tree-bridge with feet suddenly grown leaden, a numb calm gripped me. I stood and leaned against the section of the root-wadded disk which projected above the b.u.t.t of the oak, little spiders of feeling scurrying out all over my chest from a center above my heart. No signs of morning activity greeted my despairing gaze. The house was silent and lifeless as the trunk beneath my feet. No blue wood smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney.
Not even the dog was visible. Only from the comb of the chicken house a lonesome guinea fowl squawked harshly. I dragged myself forward. When I reached the house I went in a mechanical way to each door and window in turn. They were fastened, but I discovered the dining room window was without a shade or curtain, and to a pane of gla.s.s here I pressed my face, shielding my eyes from the light with my hands. Slowly the interior took shape. A table covered with oilcloth; a few low-backed, shuck-bottomed chairs; a smaller table against the wall holding what appeared to be a jar of honey; a safe with tin paneled doors stuck full of holes in some kind of design; a fly-brush in the corner made of newspaper slit into strips and fastened to the end of a piece of bamboo fishing-pole. A bare floor, well scrubbed. I saw no one; I heard nothing, though I listened for several minutes with parted lips. They were gone. Everybody was gone. Where? Maybe just to spend the day with a neighbor. I knew this was a rural custom. Hope flared up with a quick rush to welcome this idea. Where were those neighbors? Ah, yes! The Tollers! Celeste had told me of them the first time I had talked with her. She had said they lived over the hill. So over the hill I fared in a bee-line, ignoring the road below which in all probability would conduct me to my destination. It was a hard climb, for the spur rose up rugged and forbidding, but I was growing inured to such things and scarcely noticed the exertion. When I reached the valley upon the other side I came upon the road. Following this for a short distance I discovered a log cabin, set dangerously near the bank of a creek. To one side a huge black kettle was a-boil over a f.a.ggot fire, and by it stood a woman stirring with a long stick the clothes she was getting ready for the wash. Children were everywhere, like squirrels in a hickory tree in nutting time. There must have been fourteen, and the oldest was far from grown. At sight of me one gave a shrill little yelp, then there began a mighty scuttling for hiding places. The majority made for the door of the cabin, several found refuge behind convenient trees, while one of the boys shinned up an ash as though in mortal fright. Two or three more dropped over the shelving bank of the stream, and holding to the sod with tenacious, grimy paws, thrust their heads up and watched me with brilliant, dancing eyes. The smallest sought the protection of their mother"s bedraggled skirts, which they pulled over their faces, thus stifling in a measure the piercing wails which had marked their progress to her side. The woman turned impatiently at the hubbub, brushed the smoke from her eyes, and peered at me with puckered face.
I came boldly toward her. Already I knew she whom I sought was not here, but I had to make my errand known.
"I"m looking for--a person," I began, conscious that I was stating my mission very lamely.
A look of mingled craft and truculence spread over the seamed, sallow face of the woman. What a pitiful appearance she made! I was a.s.sured she was not over thirty, but she seemed nearer fifty. Hipless, flat-breasted, stringy-necked; her hands and wrists red and rough. Her scanty hair was pale straw in color, showed dirt, and was slicked back and screwed into a knot about the size of a walnut on the crown of her head. Her dress was--simply a protection against nakedness.
"I "low yo" "d better git!" presently exclaimed this mother of many, with painful directness.
"Yes," I a.s.sented; "I"ll git in a minute. Have you seen Lessie this morning? It is she I want!"
"Oh!"
The washed-out blue, almost vacant eyes popped open wider in instant relief. Then I knew. Her man was a "shiner, and she, seeing at a glance that I was not of the vicinity, had visions of revenue officers and penitentiaries when I vaguely declared I was looking for a person.
"Air you him?" she resumed, squinting one eye and giving a little jerk of her head.
From which I judged that my fame had gone abroad throughout all the region round about, and that her ambiguous query related to the unhappy dweller on old Baldy"s lap.
"I"m him," I acquiesced, a dull misery making me careless of speech.
"Have you seen Lessie this morning?" I repeated, listlessly.
The woman drew a deep breath of visible comfort.
"Naw. She "s gone a-visit"n". Th" hull kit "n" bil"n" uv "em tuk train this morn"n" at peep o" day. I"s over to Granny"s yistiddy to borry a chunk o" soap. She "s tur"ble worrit, "n" tol" me she "s go"n" "way fur a spell."
"Where have they gone?"
"Snack Holler."
"Where "s that?"
"Lard knows! T" other en" o" th" worl", some"r"s, lak "s not. Granny"s got folks thur."
She turned to the kettle again and began to stir the clothes.
"You say they left on the train from Hebron?"
"I never said Hebrin, but that"s whur they tuk train.... I wouldn"t git on one o" th" murder"n" thin"s fur a sheer in th" railroad," she confided, almost instantly.
"Then they must be going on a long trip?"
"To Snack Holler, I tol" yo". Granny"s got folks thur."
"You don"t know whether or not Snack Hollow is in Kentucky?"
A doggedness born of desperation was goading me to find out all I could about the destination of the fugitives, for I had no doubt this was a move on Granny"s part to elude me utterly and permanently.
""Pears to me yo" "ve axed questions "nough fur a plum" stranger, "n"
I"m too busy to be pestered no mo". "T ain"t none o" my business whur Snack Holler"s at, "n" thin"s whut ain"t none o" my business I let "lone. That"s a mort"l good thin" to "member, stranger--don"t bother "bout other people"s business!"
The unkempt brood among whom my approach had wrought such consternation was beginning to make itself manifest again. Those who had fled creekward now squatted on the verge of the bank; those who had rushed indoors had inched out and lined up by the cabin wall; those who had hastened to place the thickness of a tree between themselves and the deadly danger which emanated from my simple presence now stalked boldly in the open, while the infants had forsaken the folds of their mother"s dress and, on hands and knees, were diligently pursuing the erratic journey of a spotted toad, punching him in the rear with their fingers when he fain would rest. The tree climber was still wary; I could see his slim brown legs and knotty knees dangling below a limb where he sat astride.
I had a prescience that this hill woman knew more than she had told me, but how was I to get it from her after that last speech? It was safe to a.s.sume the Tollers were good friends to Granny, and confidences were just as essential to these people as to those more civilized. I determined to employ strategy. Would it hurt my conscience? Bah! For Celeste I would lie, or steal, or kill!
"Mrs. Toller," I began, as though I had at that moment made a discovery.
"I declare you have a fine, handsome lot of children. All of them yours?"
I turned smiling from one group to the other. When my eyes came back to the woman I saw with joy that her features had relaxed, and something resembling a grin played about her bloodless lips. She quit work, and beamed upon her frowzy, tatterdemalion progeny, proud as if each had been a world conqueror instead of a dirt-enameled midgit of ignorance.
Ah! the simplicity and the beauty of motherhood!
"Ever" chick "n" chil" "s mine "n" th" ol" man"s." How her voice had changed; a silver thread had crept into it where before iron had rung.
"Fo"teen uv "em, sir, "n" we"ve marrit fifteen year come th" fust o"
Jinnywary!"
"Fine, healthy lot!"
I rubbed my chin and took a fresh view of the spindle-shanked, pinched-cheeked, tallow-faced little creatures, salving my conscience as best as I could by bringing to mind that faulty old saw that the end justifies the means. But I knew I was lying, and I wasn"t used to it.
True this lie would do good. It would give happiness unalloyed to Mrs.
Toller, and I felt that I had put in a wedge with which I might prize out the information I coveted.