CHAPTER XIV
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY
After two hours of sleep I awoke. My brief rest had been haunted byunpleasant dreams, vague and indefinite, but seeming to centre about theidea of an impending catastrophe. I lay in bed staring at the dimlyoutlined window. I felt quite rested and very wide awake. For some timeI remained motionless, reflecting on my night adventures and idlythinking whether it was worth while getting up and attending to somecorrespondence that was overdue. The prospect of a chilly study was notattractive. And then I noticed a very peculiar sensation.
There is only one thing that I can compare it with. After a day ofexhausting work a glass of champagne produces in me an almost immediateeffect. I feel as if the worries of the day are suddenly removed to agreat and blessed distance. A happy indifference takes their place. Ifelt the same effect as I lay in bed on that dreary winter's morning.The idea that I should get up and work retreated swiftly. A pleasantsense of languor came over me. My eyes closed and for some time I lay ina blissful state of peace, such as I had never experienced before so faras my memory could tell.
I do not know how long I lay in this state, but at length a persistentnoise made me open my eyes. I looked round. It seemed to be fulldaylight now. The first thing I noticed was the unusual size of theroom. The ceiling seemed far above my head. The walls seemed to havereceded many feet. In my astonishment I uttered an exclamation. Theresult was startling. My voice seemed to reverberate and re-echo as if Ihad shouted with all my strength. Considerably startled, I remained in asitting posture, gazing at my unfamiliar surroundings. The persistentnoise that had first roused me continued, and for a long time I couldnot account for it. It appeared to come from under my bed. I leaned overthe edge, but could see nothing. And then, in a flash, I knew what itwas. It was the sound of my watch, that lay under my pillow.
I drew it out and stared at it in a state of mystification. Each of itsticks sounded like a small hammer striking sharply against a metalplate. I held it to my ear and was almost deafened. For a moment Iwondered whether I were not in the throes of some acute nervousdisorder, in which the senses became sharpened to an incredible degree.Such an exultation of perception could only be due to some powerfulintoxicant at work on my body. Was I going mad? I laid the watch on thecounterpane and in the act of doing it, the explanation burst on mymind. For the recollection of Mr. Herbert Wain and the Clockdrumsuddenly came to me. I flung aside the bedclothes, ran to the window anddrew the curtains. The radiance of the day almost blinded me. I pressedmy hands to my eyes in a kind of agony, feeling that they had beenseared and destroyed, and dropped on my knees. I remained in thisposition for over a minute and then gradually withdrew my hands andgazed at the carpet. I dared not look up yet. The pattern of the carpetglowed in colours more brilliant than I had ever seen before. As Iknelt there, in attitude of prayer, it seemed to me that I had nevernoticed colour before; that all my life had been passed without anyconsciousness of colour. At last I lifted my sight from the miracle ofthe carpet to the miracle of the day. High overhead, through the dingywindowpane, was a patch of clear sky, infinitely sweet, remote andinaccessible, framed by golden clouds. As I gazed at it an indescribablereverence and joy filled my mind. In the purity of the morning light, itseemed the most lovely and wonderful thing I had ever beheld. And I,Richard Harden, consulting physician who had hitherto looked on lifethrough a microscope, remained kneeling on my miraculous carpet, gazingupwards at the miraculous heavens. Acting on some strange impulse Istretched out my hands, and then I saw something which turned me into arigid statue.
It was in this attitude that Sarakoff found me.
He entered my room violently. His hair was tousled and his beard stuckout at a grotesque angle. He was clad in pink pyjamas, and in his handhe carried a silver-backed mirror. My attitude did not seem to cause himany surprise. The door slammed behind him, with a noise of thunder, andhe rushed across the room to where I knelt, and stooping, examined myfinger nails at which I was staring.
"Good!" he shouted. "Good! Harden, you've got it too!"
He pointed triumphantly. Under the nails there was a faint tinge ofblue, and at the nail-bed this was already intense, forming littlecrescent-shaped areas of vivid turquoise.
Sarakoff sat down on the edge of my bed and studied himself attentivelyin the hand mirror.
"A slight pallor is perceptible in the skin," he announced as if he wasdictating a note for a medical journal, "and this is due, no doubt, to adeposit of the blue pigment in the deeper layers of the epidermis. Thehair is at present unaffected save at the roots. God knows what colourblond hair will become. I am anxious about Leonora. The expression--Isuppose I can regard myself as a typical case, Harden--is serene, if notanimated. Subjectively, one may observe a great sense of exhilarationcoupled with an extraordinary increase in the power of perception. You,for example, look to me quite different."
"In what way?" I demanded.
"Well, as you kneel there, I notice in you a kind of angular grandeur, agrotesque touch of the sublime, that was not evident to me before. If Iwere a sculptor, I would like to model you like that. I cannot explainwhy--I am just saying what I feel. I have never felt any impulse towardsart until this morning." He twisted his moustache. "Yes, you have quitean interesting face, Harden. I can see in it evidence that you havesuffered intensely. You have taken life too seriously. You have workedtoo hard. You are stunted and deformed with work."
I regarded him with some astonishment.
"Work is all very well," he continued, "but this morning I see withsingular clarity that it is only a means of development. My dear Harden,if it is overdone, it simply dwarfs the soul. Our generation has notrecognized this properly."
"But you were always an apostle of hard work," I remarked irritably.
"May be." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Now, I am an Immortal, andyou are an Immortal. The background to life has changed. Formerly, theidea of death lurked constantly in the depths of the unconscious mind,and by its vaguely-felt influences spurred us on to continual exertion.That is all changed. We have, at one stroke, removed this dire spectre.We are free."
He rose suddenly and flung the mirror across the room.
"What do we need mirrors for?" he cried. "It is only when we fear deaththat we need mirrors to tell us how long we have to live." He strodeover to me and halted. "You seem in no hurry to get up from thatcarpet," he observed. His remark made me realize that I had beenkneeling for some minutes. Now this was rather odd. I am restless bynature and rarely remain in one position for any length of time, and tostay like that, kneeling before the window, was indeed curious. I got upand moved to the dressing-table, thinking. Sarakoff must have beenthinking in the same direction, for he asked me a question.
"Did you realize you were kneeling?"
"Yes," I replied. "I knew what I was doing. It merely did not occur tome that I should change my position."
"The explanation is simple," said the Russian. "Restlessness, or theidea that we must change our position, or that we should be doingsomething else, belongs to the anxious side of life; and the anxiousside of life is nourished and kept vigorous by the latent fear of death.All that is removed from you, and therefore you see no reason why youshould do anything until it pleases you."
I began to study myself in the glass on the dressing-table. Theexamination interested me immensely. There was certainly a marble-likehue about the skin. The whites of my eyes were distinctly stained, butnot so intensely as had been the case with Mr. Herbert Wain, showingthat I had not suffered from the Blue Disease as long as he had. Butwhen I began to study my reflection from the aesthetic point of view, Ibecame deeply engrossed.
"I don't agree with you, Sarakoff," I remarked at length. "We still needmirrors. In fact I have never found the mirror so interesting in mylife."
"Don't use that absurd phrase," he answered. "It implies that somethingother than life exists."
"So it does."
"What do you mean?"
&
nbsp; "Well, if I stick this pair of scissors into your heart you will die, mydear fellow." He was silent, and a frown began to gather on his brow."Yes," I continued, "your psychological deductions are not entirelyvalid. The fear of death still exists, but now limited to a smallsphere. In that sphere, it will operate with extreme intensity." Ipicked up the scissors and made a stealthy movement towards him. To myamazement I obtained an immediate proof of my theory. He sprang up witha loud cry, darted to the door and vanished. For a moment I stood in astate of bewilderment. Was it possible that he, with all his size andstrength, was afraid of me? And then a great fit of laughter overcame meand I sank down on my bed with the tears coming from my eyes.
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