The Pointing Man

by Marjorie Douie

  XII

  SHOWS HOW A MAN MAY CLIMB A HUNDRED STEPS INTO A PASSIONLESS PEACE, ANDRETURN AGAIN TO A WORLD OF SMALL TORMENTS

  By the end of a week Coryndon had slipped into the ways of Mangadone,slipped in quietly and without causing much comment. He went to the Clubwith Hartley and made the acquaintance of nearly all his host's friends,and they, in return, gave him the casual notice accorded to a passingstranger who had no part or lot in their lives or interests. Coryndonwas very quiet and listened to everything; he listened to a great dealin the first three days, and Fitzgibbon, a barrister, offered to takehim round and show him the town.

  Coryndon was "shown the town," but apparently he found a lasting joy insight-seeing, and could witness the same sights repeatedly withoutfailing interest. He climbed the steps to the Pagoda, under the guidanceof Fitzgibbon, the first afternoon they met.

  "Won't you come, too, Hartley?" asked the Barrister.

  "Not if I know it. I've been there about sixty times. If Coryndon wantsto see it, I'm thankful to let him go there with you."

  Fitzgibbon, who had a craze for borrowing anything that he was likelyto want, had persuaded Prescott, the junior partner in a rice firm, tolend him his car, and as he sat in the tonneau beside Coryndon, hepointed out the places of interest. Their way lay first through theresidential quarter, and Hartley's guest saw the entrance gate andgardens of Draycott Wilder's house.

  "The most interesting and certainly the best-looking woman in Mangadonelives there, a Mrs. Wilder. Hartley ought to have told you about her; heis rather favoured by the lady. Her husband is a rising civilian. Mrs.Wilder has bought Asia, and is wondering whether she'll buy Europenext."

  Coryndon hardly appeared impressed or even interested.

  "So she is a friend of Hartley's?" he said carelessly. "I hadn't heardthat."

  Fitzgibbon laughed.

  "It's something to be a friend of Mrs. Wilder--that is, in Mangadone."

  They sped on over the level road, and the car swung through the streetsthat led towards the open space before the temple.

  "That is the curio dealer's shop. Don't get any of your stuff there. Theman's a robber."

  "Which shop?" asked Coryndon patiently.

  "We're past it now, but it was the one with a dancing man outside of it,a funny little effigy."

  Coryndon's eyes were turned to the Pagoda, and he was evidentlyinattentive.

  "It strikes you, doesn't it?" asked Fitzgibbon, in the tones of agratified showman. "It always does strike people who haven't seen itbefore."

  "Naturally, when one has not seen it before," echoed his companion, asthe car drew up.

  Coryndon stood for a moment looking at the entrance, and surveying thehuge plaster dragons with their gaping mouths and vermilion-red tongues.They were ranged up a green slope, two on either side of the brownfretted roof that covered the steep tunnel that led up a flight of morethan a hundred steps to the flat plateau, where the golden spire toweredhigh over all, amid a crowd of lesser minarets.

  Surrounded by baskets of roses and orchids, little silk-clothed Burmesegirls sat on the entrance steps, and sold their wares. Fitzgibbon wouldhave hurried on, but Coryndon, in true tripper fashion, stopped andbought an armful of blossoms.

  "What am I to do with these things?" he asked helplessly.

  "Oh, you'd better leave them before one of the _Gaudamas_, and acquiremerit. If you let them all plunder you like this, we'll never get to thetop."

  Flight after flight, the two men climbed slowly, and Coryndon stood atintervals to watch the crowd that came up and down. The steps were sosteep that the arch above them only disclosed descending feet, butCoryndon watched the feet appear first and then the rest of the hurryingor loitering men and women, and he sat on a seat beside a littlegathering of yellow-robed _Hypongyis_ until Fitzgibbon lost allpatience.

  "There is a whole town of piety to see up at the top. Come on, man; wehave hours of it yet to get through. Don't waste time over those stalls.Every picture of the Buddha story was made in Birmingham."

  Progressing a little faster, Fitzgibbon piloted Coryndon past a stallwhere yellow candles and bundles of joss-sticks in red paper cases weresold at a varying price.

  "I must get some of these," objected Coryndon, who added a rupee's worthof incense and a white cheroot to his collection.

  When they passed through the last archway and gained the plateau, helooked round with eyes that spoke his keen interest. Even though he hadbeen there many times before, Coryndon looked at the sight with eyesthat grew shadowed by the dreaming soul that lived within him.

  Twilight was gathering behind the trees; only the gold-laced spires of athousand minarets caught the last light of the sun. On the plateau belowthe great pillar, that glimmered like a golden sword from base tobell-hung _Htee_, lay what Fitzgibbon had described as "a little town ofpiety." A village of shrines and Pagodas, each built with seven roofs,open-fronted to disclose the holy place within; some large as a smallchapel; some small, giving room only for the figure of the _Gaudama_.Here and there, the votive offerings had fallen into decay, and thegold-leaf covering the Buddha was black and dilapidated by the passingof years, for there is no merit to be acquired in rebuilding orrenovating a sacred place. From innumerable shrines, uncounted Buddhaslooked out with the same long, contemplative eyes; in bronze, in jade,in white and black marble, in grey stone and gilded ebony, thepassionless face of the great Peace looked out upon his children.

  Near to where Coryndon and the Barrister stood together, in thepeach-coloured evening light, a large shrine with a fretted roof wasthronged with worshippers, and Coryndon stood on the steps and lookedin. The floor of black, polished marble dimly reflected the immense goldpillars that supported a lofty ceiling, lost entirely in the gloom, andbefore a blaze of candles and a floating veil of scented grey smoke apriest bowed himself, and prayed in a low, chanting voice. The face ofthe Lord Buddha behind the rails was lighted by the wind-blown flame ofmany tapers, so that it almost looked as though he smiled out of hisfar-away Nirvana upon his kneeling worshippers, who could ask nothing ofhim, not even mercy, since the salvation of a man is in his own hands.

  Before the rails, a settle with low gilt legs was covered with offeringsof flowers, that added their scent to the heavy air, and on a smalltable a feast of cakes and sweets was placed, to be distributed later onamong the poor. Coryndon disposed of his burden of pink and white rosesand little magenta prayer-flags, and lighted a bundle of joss-sticks,before they came out again and wandered on.

  As the daylight faded the lights from the shrines and the small boothsgrew stronger, and the rising night wind, coming in from the river, rangthe silver bells around the spires, filling the whole air with tinklingsound, and the slow-moving crowd around them laughed and joked, likepeople at a fair. His eyes still full of dreams, Coryndon followed withthem, keeping one small packet of amber candles to light in honour ofsome other Buddha in another shrine.

  "Funny devils, these Burmese," remarked the Barrister. "They never cleanup anything. Look at the years of tallow collected under that spikedgate that is falling off its hinges. That black little Buddha insidemust once have been a popular favourite, but no one gives him anythingnow."

  They turned a corner past a booth where bottles full of pink and yellowfluid, and green leaves, wrapped around betel-nut, appeared to be thechief stock-in-trade, and a noise of hammering struck on their ears.Here a new shrine was being erected and was all but completed. A fewChinamen, who had been working at it, were putting their tools intocanvas bags, preparatory to withdrawing like the remaining daylight.

  "This is Mhtoon Pah's edifice," said Fitzgibbon, coming to a standstill."He doesn't seem to have spared expense, either. Shall we go in?"

  The shrine was not a very large one, and the entrance was like theentrance to a grotto at an Exhibition. Tiny facets of glass were crustedinto grass-green cement, shining like a thousand eyes, and, seated on avermilion lacquer dais, a Buddha, with heavy eyelids that hid hisstrange e
yes, presided over an illumination of smoking flame. The smellof joss-sticks was heavy on the air, and the filigree cloak worn by theBuddha was enriched with red and green glass that shone and glittered.

  "They say the caste-mark in his forehead is a real diamond," remarkedthe Barrister. "I don't suppose it is, but at least it is a goodimitation."

  Coryndon was not listening to him; he had gone close to the marblerails, and was lighting his little bunch of yellow tapers. He lightedthem one by one, and put each one down on the floor very slowly andcarefully, and when he had finished he turned round.

  "Mhtoon Pah is the man who has the curio shop?" he asked.

  "The very same. It gives you some idea of his percentage on sales,what?"

  Coryndon joined in his laugh, and they went out again into the street ofsanctity. Fitzgibbon was now getting exhausted, for his companion'sdesire to "do" the Pagoda was apparently insatiable; and he askedinterminable questions that the Barrister was totally unable to answer.

  Coryndon seemed to find something fresh and interesting around everycorner. The white elephants delighted him, particularly where greencreepers had grown round their trunks, giving them a realistic effect ofenjoying a meal. The handles off very common English chests-of-drawers,that were set along a rail enclosing a sleeping Buddha, pleased him likea child, as did the bits of looking-glass with "Black and White Whisky,"or "Apollinaris Water," inscribed across their faces.

  "That sort of thing seems to attract them," explained Fitzgibbon. "Inone of the shrines there is a fancy biscuit-box at a Buddha's feet. Ithas got 'Huntley and Palmer' on the top, and pictures of children andswans all around it. Funny devils, I always say so."

  At length he had to drag Coryndon away, almost by main force.

  "I'd like to have seen Mhtoon Pah," he objected. "He ought to be on viewwith his chapel."

  "Shrine, Coryndon. You can see him in his shop," and they began thedescent down the steep steps.

  "Look," said the Barrister quickly, "there is Mhtoon Pah. No, not theman in white trousers, that's a Chinaman with a pigtail under his hat;the fat old thing in the short silk _loongyi_ and crimson head-scarf."

  Coryndon hardly glanced at him, as he passed with a scent of spice andsandal-wood in his garments; his attention had been attracted by a boothwhere men were eating curry.

  "It is a curious custom to sell food in a place like this," he remarkedto the Barrister.

  "It's part of the Oriental mind," replied his guide. "No one understandsit. No one ever will; so don't try and begin, or you'll wear yourselfout."

  When they got back to the Club it was already late, and the hall of thebar was crowded with men, standing together in groups, or sitting inlong, uncompromising chairs under the impression that they werecomfortable seats.

  "Hullo, Joicey," said the Barrister, as he fell over his legs. "I'mdog-beat. Been doing the Pagoda with Coryndon. Do you know eachother--?" He waved his hand by way of introduction, and Coryndon took anempty chair beside the Banker, who heaved himself up a little in hisseat, and signalled to a small boy in white, who was scuffling withanother small boy, also in white, and ordered some drinks.

  "I am new to it," explained Coryndon, and his voice sounded tired, asthough the Pagoda had been a little too much for him.

  Joicey did not reply; he was looking away, and Coryndon followed hiseyes. Near the wide staircase, and just about to go up it, a man wasstanding, talking to a friend. He was dressed in an ill-cut suit ofwhite, with a V-shaped inlet of black under his round collar; he held a_topi_ of an old pattern under his arm, and the light showed his facecadaverous and worn. Joicey was holding the arm of his chair, and hisunder-lip trembled.

  "Inexplicable," he muttered, and drank with a gulping sound.

  "What did you say?" asked Coryndon politely.

  "Say? Did I say anything? I can't remember that I did." The Banker'svoice was irritable, and he still watched the clergyman.

  "What strikes me about the Pagoda is the strong Chinese element in thedesign. I am told that there are a lot of Chinamen in Mangadone. Ishould like to see their quarter."

  "Hartley should be able to arrange that for you."

  Joicey was evidently growing tired of Coryndon's freshness andenthusiasm, and he passed his hand over his face, as though the dampheat of the night depressed his mind.

  "Hartley is very busy," said Coryndon, with the determination of a manwho intends to see what he has come to see. "I don't like to beperpetually badgering him. Could I go alone?"

  "You could," said Joicey shortly.

  "I want to miss nothing."

  Coryndon turned his head away and looked at the crowded room, fixing hisgaze on a whirring fan that hung low on a brass rod, and when he lookedround again, Joicey had got up and was making his way out into thenight. Fitzgibbon was surrounded by several other men, and there was nosign of his friend Hartley, so he got up and slipped out, standinghatless, until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

  The strong lights from the veranda encroached some way into the gloom,and, here and there, a few people still sat around basket tables,enjoying the evening air. Coryndon looked at them, with his head bentforward, a little like a cat just about to emerge through a door into adark passage. For a little time, he stood there, watching and listening,and then he turned away and walked out along the footpath, as though ina hurry to get back to his bungalow.