"Oh!" she cried, "you will not understand. The sacrifice is but a part--it is but the beginning. Death is terrible; yet it may be endured--if there is only death. But oh!--oh think!--think of that which comes after--the Mista Kosek!"
Now the full meaning flashed upon me, and I saw it all. In an instant there arose in my mind the awful sacrifice on the pyramid and the unutterable horror of the Mista Kosek. Oh, horror, horror, horror! Oh, hideous abomination and deed without a name! I could not speak. I caught her in my arms, and we both wept pa.s.sionately.
The happiness of our love was now darkened by this tremendous cloud that lowered before us. The shock of this discovery was overpowering, and some time elapsed before I could rally from it. Though Almah"s love was sweet beyond expression, and though as the time pa.s.sed I saw that every jom she regained more and more of her former health and strength, still I could not forget what had been revealed.
We were happy with one another, yet our happiness was clouded, and amid the brightness of our love there was ever present the dread spectre of our appalling doom.
These feelings, however, grew fainter. Hope is ever ready to arise; and I began to think that these people, though given to evil ways, were after all kind-hearted, and might listen to entreaty. Above all, there was the Kohen, so benevolent, so self-denying, so amiable, so sympathetic. I could not forget all that he had said during Almah"s illness, and it seemed more than probable that an appeal to his better nature might not be without effect. I said as much to Almah.
"The Kohen," said she; "why, he can do nothing."
"Why not? He is the chief man here, and ought to have great influence."
"You don"t understand," said she, with a sigh. "The Kohen is the lowest and least influential man in the city."
"Why, who are influential if he is not?" I asked.
"The paupers," said Almah.
"The paupers!" I exclaimed, in amazement.
"Yes," said Almah. "Here among these people the paupers form the most honored, influential, and envied portion of the community."
This was incomprehensible. Almah tried to explain, but to no purpose, and I determined to talk to the Kohen.
CHAPTER XV
THE KOHEN IS INEXORABLE
I determined to talk to the Kohen, and try for myself whether he might not be accessible to pity. This greatest of cannibals might, indeed, have his little peculiarities, I thought, and who has not?--yet at bottom he seemed full of tender and benevolent feeling; and as he evidently spent his whole time in the endeavor to make us happy, it seemed not unlikely that he might do something for our happiness in a case where our very existence was at stake.
The Kohen listened with deep attention as I stated my case. I did this fully and frankly. I talked of my love for Almah and of Almah"s love for me; our hope that we might be united so as to live happily in reciprocal affection; and I was going on to speak of the dread that was in my heart when he interrupted me:
"You speak of being united," said he. "You talk strangely. Of course you mean that you wish to be separated."
"Separated!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Of course we wish to be united."
The Kohen stared at me as I said this with the look of one who was quite puzzled; and I then went on to speak of the fate that was before us, and to entreat his sympathy and his aid that we might be saved from so hideous a doom. To all these words the Kohen listened with an air of amazement, as though I were saying incomprehensible things.
"You have a gentle and an affectionate nature," I said--"a nature full of sympathy with others, and n.o.ble self-denial."
"Of course," said the Kohen, quickly, as though glad to get hold of something which he could understand, "of course we are all so, for we are so made. It is our nature. Who is there who is not self-denying?
No one can help that."
This sounded strange indeed; but I did not care to criticize it. I came to my purpose direct and said,
"Save us from our fate."
"Your fate?"
"Yes, from death--that death of horror."
"Death?--horror? What do you mean by horror?" said the Kohen, in an amazement that was sincere and unfeigned. "I cannot comprehend your meaning. It seems as though you actually dislike death; but that is not conceivable. It cannot be possible that you fear death."
"Fear death!" I exclaimed, "I do--I do. Who is there that does not fear it?"
The Kohen stared.
"I do not understand you," he said.
"Do you not understand," said I, "that death is abhorrent to humanity?"
"Abhorrent!" said the Kohen; "that is impossible. Is it not the highest blessing? Who is there that does not long for death? Death is the greatest blessing, the chief desire of man--the highest aim. And you--are you not to be envied in having your felicity so near? above all, in having such a death as that which is appointed for you--so n.o.ble, so sublime? You must be mad; your happiness has turned your head."
All this seemed like hideous mockery, and I stared at the Kohen with a gaze that probably strengthened his opinion of my madness.
"Do you love death?" I asked at length, in amazement.
"Love death? What a question! Of course I love death--all men do; who does not? Is it not human nature? Do we not instinctively fly to meet it whenever we can? Do we not rush into the jaws of sea-monsters, or throw ourselves within their grasp? Who does not feel within him this intense longing after death as the strongest pa.s.sion of his heart?"
"I don"t know--I don"t know," said I. "You are of a different race; I do not understand what you say. But I belong to a race that fears death. I fear death and love life; and I entreat you, I implore you to help me now in my distress, and a.s.sist me so that I may save my life and that of Almah."
"I--I help you!" said the Kohen, in new amazement. "Why do you come to me--to me, of all men? Why, I am nothing here. And help you to live--to live! Who ever heard of such a thing?"
And the Kohen looked at me with the same astonishment which I should evince if a man should ask me to help him to die.
Still, I persisted in my entreaty for his help.
"Such a request," said he, "is revolting; you must be mad. Such a request outrages all the instincts of humanity. And even if I could do such violence to my own nature as to help you to such a thing, how do you think I could face my fellow-men, or how could I endure the terrible punishment which would fall upon me?"
"Punishment!" said I. "What! would you be punished?"
"Punished!" said the Kohen. "That, of course, would be inevitable. I should be esteemed an unnatural monster and the chief of criminals. My lot in life now is painful enough; but in this case my punishment would involve me in evils without end. Riches would be poured upon me; I should be raised to the rank of Kohen Gadol; I should be removed farther away than ever from the pauper cla.s.s--so far, indeed, that all hope in life would be over. I should be made the first and n.o.blest and richest in all the land."
He spoke these words just as if he had said, "the lowest, meanest, poorest, and most infamous." It sounded like fresh mockery, and I could not believe but that he was amusing himself at my expense.
"This is cruel," said I. "You are mocking me."
"Cruel?--cruel?" said he; "what is cruel? You mean that such a fate would be cruel for me."
"No, no," said I; "but alas! I see we cannot understand one another."
"No," said the Kohen, musingly, as he looked at me. "No, it seems not; but tell me, Atam-or, is it possible that you really fear death--that you really love life?"
"Fear death!--love life!" I cried. "Who does not? Who can help it? Why do you ask me that?"
The Kohen clasped his hands in amazement.