VIII
CAIN'S ATONEMENT
So many thousands to-day have deliberately put Self aside, and areready to yield their lives for an ideal, that it is not surprising afew of them should have registered experiences of a novel order. Forto step aside from Self is to enter a larger world, to be open to newimpressions. If Powers of Good exist in the universe at all, they canhardly be inactive at the present time....
The case of two men, who may be called Jones and Smith, occurs to themind in this connection. Whether a veil actually was lifted for amoment, or whether the tension of long and terrible months resulted inan exaltation of emotion, the experience claims significance. Smith,to whom the experience came, holds the firm belief that it was real.Jones, though it involved him too, remained unaware.
It is a somewhat personal story, their peculiar relationship datingfrom early youth: a kind of unwilling antipathy was born between them,yet an antipathy that had no touch of hate or even of dislike. It wasrather in the nature of an instinctive rivalry. Some tie operated thatflung them ever into the same arena with strange persistence, and everas opponents. An inevitable fate delighted to throw them together in asense that made them rivals; small as well as large affairs betrayedthis malicious tendency of the gods. It showed itself in earliestdays, at school, at Cambridge, in travel, even in house-partiesand the lighter social intercourse. Though distant cousins, theirfamilies were not intimate, and there was no obvious reason why theirpaths should fall so persistently together. Yet their paths did so,crossing and recrossing in the way described. Sooner or later, inall his undertakings, Smith would note the shadow of Jones darkeningthe ground in front of him; and later, when called to the Bar in hischosen profession, he found most frequently that the learned counselin opposition to him was the owner of this shadow, Jones. In anothermatter, too, they became rivals, for the same girl, oddly enough,attracted both, and though she accepted neither offer of marriage(during Smith's lifetime!), the attitude between them was that ofunwilling rivals. For they were friends as well.
Jones, it appears, was hardly aware that any rivalry existed; he didnot think of Smith as an opponent, and as an adversary, never. He didnotice, however, the constantly recurring meetings, for more than oncehe commented on them with good-humoured amusement. Smith, on the otherhand, was conscious of a depth and strength in the tie that certainlyintrigued him; being of a thoughtful, introspective nature, he waskeenly sensible of the strange competition in their lives, and soughtin various ways for its explanation, though without success. The desireto find out was very strong in him. And this was natural enough, owingto the singular fact that in all their battles he was the one to lose.Invariably Jones got the best of every conflict. Smith always paid;sometimes he paid with interest.
Occasionally, too, he seemed forced to injure himself whilecontributing to his cousin's success. It was very curious. He reflectedmuch upon it; he wondered what the origin of their tie and rivalrymight be, but especially why it was that he invariably lost, and whyhe was so often obliged to help his rival to the point even of his owndetriment. Tempted to bitterness sometimes, he did not yield to it,however; the relationship remained frank and pleasant; if anything, itdeepened.
He remembered once, for instance, giving his cousin a chanceintroduction which yet led, a little later, to the third party offeringcertain evidence which lost him an important case--Jones, of course,winning it. The third party, too, angry at being dragged into the case,turned hostile to him, thwarting various subsequent projects. In noother way could Jones have procured this particular evidence; he didnot know of its existence even. That chance introduction did it all.There was nothing the least dishonourable on the part of Jones--itwas just the chance of the dice. The dice were always loaded againstSmith--and there were other instances of similar kind.
About this time, moreover, a singular feeling that had lain vaguelyin his mind for some years past, took more definite form. It suddenlyassumed the character of a conviction, that yet had no evidence tosupport it. A voice, long whispering in the depths of him, becamemuch louder, grew into a statement that he accepted without furtherado: "I'm paying off a debt," he phrased it, "an old, old debt isbeing discharged. I owe him this--my help and so forth." He acceptedit, that is, as just; and this certainty of justice kept sweet hisheart and mind, shutting the door on bitterness or envy. The thought,however, though it recurred persistently with each encounter, broughtno explanation.
When the war broke out both offered their services; as members of theO.T.C., they got commissions quickly; but it was a chance remark ofSmith's that made his friend join the very regiment he himself was in.They trained together, were in the same retreats and the same advancestogether. Their friendship deepened. Under the stress of circumstancesthe tie did not dissolve, but strengthened. It was indubitably real,therefore. Then, oddly enough, they were both wounded in the sameengagement.
And it was here the remarkable fate that jointly haunted them betrayeditself more clearly than in any previous incident of their longrelationship--Smith was wounded in the act of protecting his cousin.How it happened is confusing to a layman, but each apparently wasleading a bombing-party, and the two parties came together. They foundthemselves shoulder to shoulder, both brimmed with that pluck whichis complete indifference to Self; they exchanged a word of excitedgreeting; and the same second one of those rare opportunities ofadvantage presented itself which only the highest courage could makeuse of. Neither, certainly, was thinking of personal reward; it wasmerely that each saw the chance by which instant heroism might gain asurprise advantage for their side. The risk was heavy, but there _was_a chance; and success would mean a decisive result, to say nothing ofhigh distinction for the man who obtained it--if he survived. Smith,being a few yards ahead of his cousin, had the moment in his grasp.He was in the act of dashing forward when something made him pause.A bomb in mid-air, flung from the opposing trench, was falling; itseemed immediately above him; he saw that it would just miss himself,but land full upon his cousin--whose head was turned the other way. Bystretching out his hand, Smith knew he could field it like a cricketball. There was an interval of a second and a half, he judged. Hehesitated--perhaps a quarter of a second--then he acted. He caught it.It was the obvious thing to do. He flung it back into the opposingtrench.
The rapidity of thought is hard to realise. In that second and ahalf Smith was aware of many things: He saved his cousin's lifeunquestionably; unquestionably also Jones seized the opportunity thatotherwise was his cousin's. But it was neither of these reflectionsthat filled Smith's mind. The dominant impression was another. Itflashed into actual words inside his excited brain: "I must risk it.I owe it to him--and more besides!" He was, further, aware of anotherimpulse than the obvious one. In the first fraction of a second it wasoverwhelmingly established. And it was this: that the entire episodewas familiar to him. A subtle familiarity was present. All this hadhappened before. He had already--somewhere, somehow--seen deathdescending upon his cousin from the air. Yet with a difference. The"difference" escaped him; the familiarity was vivid. That he missed thedeadly detonators in making the catch, or that the fuse delayed, hecalled good luck. He only remembers that he flung the gruesome weaponback whence it had come, and that its explosion in the opposite trenchmaterially helped his cousin to find glory in the place of death. Theslight delay, however, resulted in his receiving a bullet through thechest--a bullet he would not otherwise have received, presumably.
It was some days later, gravely wounded, that he discovered his cousinin another bed across the darkened floor. They exchanged remarks.Jones was already "decorated," it seemed, having snatched successfrom his cousin's hands, while little aware whose help had made iteasier.... And once again there stole across the inmost mind of Smiththat strange, insistent whisper: "I owed it to him ... but, by God, Iowe more than that ... I mean to pay it too...!"
There was not a trace of bitterness or envy now; only this profoundconviction, of obscurest origin, that it was right and absolutelyju
st--full, honest repayment of a debt incurred. Some ancient balanceof account was being settled; there was no "chance"; injustice andcaprice played no role at all.... And a deeper understanding of life'sironies crept into him; for if everything was _just_, there was no roomfor whimpering.
And the voice persisted above the sound of busy footsteps in the ward:"I owe it ... I'll pay it gladly...!"
Through the pain and weakness the whisper died away. He wasexhausted. There were periods of unconsciousness, but there wereperiods of half-consciousness as well; then flashes of another kindof consciousness altogether, when, bathed in high, soft light, hewas aware of things he could not quite account for. He _saw_. It wasabsolutely real. Only, the critical faculty was gone. He did notquestion what he saw, as he stared across at his cousin's bed. Heknew. Perhaps the beaten, worn-out body let something through at last.The nerves, over-strained to numbness, lay very still. The physicalsystem, battered and depleted, made no cry. The clamour of the fleshwas hushed. He was aware, however, of an undeniable exaltation of thespirit in him, as he lay and gazed towards his cousin's bed....
Across the night of time, it seemed to him, the picture stole beforehis inner eye with a certainty that left no room for doubt. It was notthe cells of memory in his brain of To-day that gave up their dead,it was the eternal Self in him that remembered and understood--thesoul....
With that satisfaction which is born of full comprehension, hewatched the light glow and spread about the little bed. Thick mattingdeadened the footsteps of nurses, orderlies, doctors. New cases werebrought in, "old" cases were carried out; he ignored them; he sawonly the light above his cousin's bed grow stronger. He lay still andstared. It came neither from the ceiling nor the floor; it unfoldedlike a cloud of shining smoke. And the little lamp, the sheets, thefigure framed between them--all these slid cleverly away and vanishedutterly. He stood in another place that had lain behind all theseappearances--a landscape with wooded hills, a foaming river, the sunjust sinking below the forest, and dusk creeping from a gorge alongthe lonely banks. In the warm air there was a perfume of great flowersand heavy-scented trees; there were fire-flies, and the taste of sprayfrom the tumbling river was on his lips. Across the water a largebird, flapped its heavy wings, as it moved down-stream to find anotherfishing place. For he and his companion had disturbed it as they brokeout of the thick foliage and reached the river-bank. The companion,moreover, was his brother; they ever hunted together; there was apassionate link between them born of blood and of affection--they weretwins....
It all was as clear as though of Yesterday. In his heart was the lustof the hunt; in his blood was the lust of woman; and thick behind theselurked the jealousy and fierce desire of a primitive day. But, thoughclear as of Yesterday, he knew that it was of long, long ago.... Andhis brother came up close beside him, resting his bloody spear with aclattering sound against the boulders on the shore. He saw the gleamingof the metal in the sunset, he saw the shining glitter of the sprayupon the boulders, he saw his brother's eyes look straight into hisown. And in them shone a light that was neither the reflection of thesunset, nor the excitement of the hunt just over.
"It escaped us," said his brother. "Yet I know my first spear struck."
"It followed the fawn that crossed," was the reply. "Besides, wecame down wind, thus giving it warning. Our flocks, at any rate, aresafer----"
The other laughed significantly.
"It is not the safety of our flocks that troubles me just now,brother," he interrupted eagerly, while the light burned more deeply inhis eyes. "It is, rather, that _she_ waits for me by the fire acrossthe river, and that I would get to her. With your help added to mylove," he went on in a trusting voice, "the gods have shown me thefavour of true happiness!" He pointed with his spear to a camp-fireon the farther bank, turning his head as he strode to plunge into thestream and swim across.
For an instant, then, the other felt his natural love turn into bitterhate. His own fierce passion, unconfessed, concealed, burst intoinstant flame. That the girl should become his brother's wife sent theblood surging through his veins in fury. He felt his life and all thathe desired go down in ashes.... He watched his brother stride towardsthe water, the deer-skin cast across one naked shoulder--when anotherobject caught his practised eye. In mid-air it passed suddenly, likea shining gleam; it seemed to hang a second; then it swept swiftlyforward past his head--and downward. It had leaped with a blazing furyfrom the overhanging bank behind; he saw the blood still streamingfrom its wounded flank. It must land--he saw it with a secret, awfulpleasure--full upon the striding figure, whose head was turned away!
The swiftness of that leap, however, was not so swift but that he couldeasily have used his spear. Indeed, he gripped it strongly. His skill,his strength, his aim--he knew them well enough. But hate and love,fastening upon his heart, held all his muscles still. He hesitated. Hewas no murderer, yet he paused. He heard the roar, the ugly thud, thecrash, the cry for help--too late ... and when, an instant afterwards,his steel plunged into the great beast's heart, the human heart andlife he might have saved lay still for ever.... He heard the waterrushing past, an icy wind came down the gorge against his naked back,he saw the fire shine upon the farther bank ... and the figure of agirl in skins was wading across, seeking out the shallow places in thedusk, and calling wildly as she came.... Then darkness hid the entirelandscape, yet a darkness that was deeper, bluer than the velvet of thenight alone....
And he shrieked aloud in his remorseful anguish: "May the godsforgive me, for I did not mean it! Oh, that I might undo ... thatI might repay...!"
That his cries disturbed the weary occupants in more than one bed iscertain, but he remembers chiefly that a nurse was quickly by his side,and that something she gave him soothed his violent pain and helpedhim into deeper sleep again. There was, he noticed, anyhow, no longerthe soft, clear, blazing light about his cousin's bed. He saw only thefaint glitter of the oil-lamps down the length of the great room....
And some weeks later he went back to fight. The picture, however, neverleft his memory. It stayed with him as an actual reality that wasneither delusion nor hallucination. He believed that he understood atlast the meaning of the tie that had fettered him and puzzled him solong. The memory of those far-off days of shepherding beneath the starsof long ago remained vividly beside him. He kept his secret, however.In many a talk with his cousin beneath the nearer stars of Flanders noword of it ever passed his lips.
The friendship between them, meanwhile, experienced a curiousdeepening, though unacknowledged in any spoken words. Smith, at anyrate, on his side, put into it an affection that was a brave man'slove. He watched over his cousin. In the fighting especially, whenpossible, he sought to protect and shield him, regardless of his ownpersonal safety. He delighted secretly in the honours his cousin hadalready won. He himself was not yet even mentioned in dispatches, andno public distinction of any kind had come his way.
His V.C. eventually--well, he was no longer occupying his body when itwas bestowed. He had already "left." ... He was now conscious, possibly,of other experiences besides that one of ancient, primitive days whenhe and his brother were shepherding beneath other stars. But thereckless heroism which saved his cousin under fire may later enshrineanother memory which, at some far future time, shall reawaken as a"hallucination" from a Past that to-day is called the Present.... Thenotion, at any rate, flashed across his mind before he "left."
Day and Night Stories Page 8