“Mabel,” the young man stammered, “I love you…even so.”
The young woman burst out laughing. “You love me. Marry me, then. But you’re not unaware that you wouldn’t be marrying the Mabel of old? Do you think you have the mental strength to forget? And the physical strength to be able to replace Ouha?”
“Mabel!” Archibald exclaimed.
“Well, what? I don’t have enough hypocrisy to feign sentiments outside my nature. Was it a misfortune for me, that sojourn among the apes? I don’t believe so; I don’t feel that it was. Now, there are a number of social conventions that weigh upon me like chains. I know that the free life of the forests might soon have made a brute of me…but afterwards? What interest can your civilized life have for me? In myself, I only feel two desires: a life contemplative of free nature, and the satisfaction of my sense of womanhood—appeals that your civilization has repressed, but whose tide carries me away. That’s insanity, you’ll say, a mania—but it takes hold of you.”
“Then you want to go back…out there?”
“Perhaps. I’m fighting it. But everything here irritates me and exasperates me—your habits, your pleasures, your games, the division of time, your semblance of morality, your so-called delicacies. In short, everything that once amused me annoys me now.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because an obsession stronger than my reason, stronger that anything, is weighing upon me, physically and morally; because I know that, behind your great romantic love, there’s nothing, fundamentally, but a desire to possess Mabel, and that you don’t have the courage to say so frankly. Can you imagine, now, that I need the approval of a pastor to give myself? What do you want of me? A mate—or what is called among you a wife? A housekeeping wife, mother of a family? Children! A husband! A family with me!”
She burst into wild laughter, took off and threw aside her garments with a gesture of her hand and stood there, totally naked, in front of the astounded Wilson.
“With me, the mate of an ape! Well, what are you waiting for? You want me, my dear! Take me! I’m offering myself…so take me!”
And as Archibald recoiled, aghast, she leapt upon him and threw her arms around him.
LXXVIII. Affairs of Gold and the Heart
Early the next morning, a visitor arrived at Riddle-Temple: Silven Gorden, accompanied by a party of ten courageous pioneers. They had come in search of the three Malays, anticipating their departure. According to their information, the river was presently more accessible, and Gorden had had the opportunity to but a steam-launch with a very shallow draught from one of his compatriots, which optimized the conditions. It could carry twenty people and a load of four tons. That stroke of fortune had led him to bring forward the departure. He had sent the vessel to wait for them at anchor in the Strait of Makassar.
After breakfast—which was cheerful, everyone having, that day, reason to be more-or-less satisfied with life—Gorden told Wilson, that he wanted to speak to him in private, and the latter took him to his room.
“You can imagine that I don’t want to disturb your quietude, my dear Archibald, but I have something important to tell you.”
“What is it, Gorden?”
“The orangs have been seen in the forest, in the direction of the Muni-Wali plantation. Be on your guard! Personally, having only been able to play a ridiculous role in this adventure, I’ll take advantage of it to go in search of the gold—but that discovery was made together, and I ought, therefore, to settle matters with you and decide what your share of the exploitation of the deposit will be.” When the young American made a dismissive gesture he went on: “Don’t give up your interest in the affair. If you marry Mabel Smith, whose fortune is considerable, it’s preferable for you to be able to go into the marriage with a comparable sum. I’ve taken the necessary steps with regard to the Dutch government. The State will be content with 25%. I therefore reckon that, given the risks and the expenses I have to bear, I have the right to 50%. That leaves 25% for your share.”
“But I don’t have any more right to it than my other companions.”
“You’re free the share it out as you wish. Only you and Harry Smith are eligible, since the others were part of the expedition—but Mr. Smith’s fortune is already an embarrassment to him. As for Dr. Goldry, he has no right to anything, not being a member of our party at that time.”
“As you wish, then.”
“Thanks,” said Gorden. “That acceptance reestablishes a certain equality between us. By withdrawing my competition in the matter of Miss Smith, I placed myself, morally, in a state of inferiority relative to you. This restitution, in gold, restores the equilibrium. Perhaps I’m not fulfilling all of a duty I assumed, and I’m paying compensation in gold.”
“You have a singular fashion of evaluating our moral qualities—but I’m still astonished by the facility with which you renounced Mabel.”
“I’ve already told you my reasons. There’s one that overshadows all the others.”
“You’ve said too much—or not enough. Miss Smith’s future husband has the right to know everything.”
“You’re definitely going to marry Mabel, then?”
Archibald hesitated. After what had happened the night before, that required reflection, and the young man, still intoxicated by his success, had not had time to reflect.
Gorden looked at him, and seemed to read his thoughts. He continued: “The principal reason that made me renounce my courteous rivalry with you is that, for me, for a man in the situation I occupy here, Mabel Smith has none of the qualities necessary to a colonist and a man who wants to found a family. You, who have lived with the Smiths more than I have, might judge otherwise. Mabel has been, above all else, a socialite. Her father’s immense fortune has been able to satisfy her most eccentric desires. Her beauty, in dazzling me, annihilated my reflection. The misfortune that overtook her, in forcing me to accompany you, permitted me, with time, to reconsider and to analyze a sentiment that was entirely impulsive. Mabel Smith is not the wife I need, so I renounced her.”
“Which you don’t think unfortunate for yourself, and excellent for me.”
“If you weren’t my friend, I might fear offending you, but between us, nothing needs to remain obscure. There’s a great difference between the two of us. My life, since leaving England, has been nothing but a series of brutal adventures, and that suits my nature. You on the contrary, have remained, by habit and almost by profession, what is conventionally known as a man of the world. Furthermore, an intense liking for sports bring you even closer to Miss Smith, creating a perfectly natural bond between you. The events through which we’ve lived have been, for you, an anomaly; if they were to continue, it would displease you.”
Archibald was on the point of confessing that the abnormal events were continuing, but a certain modesty prevented him from admitting to Gorden that Mabel had given to him that which, in his youthful fatuity, he attributed to love.
“You’re right. Mabel is bored here. We’ll get married as soon as possible and go back to America.”
“Where I wish you all possible happiness, Wilson. For myself, I won’t forget you, and will keep you up to date not just with our business affairs, but with my life. I hope that you’ll do the same.”
“Certainly—one doesn’t forget a friendship born amid such perils.”
“Perils that might be renewed, my dear Archibald, if you stay in the islands. Leave! Go as soon as possible. Remember what I told you about the great apes. If their leader isn’t dead, I believe him to be dangerous.”
Archibald felt a shiver run through him. It was not fear of the orangutan but fear for Mabel. For the first time it occurred to him that the previous night’s scene might only have been, for Mabel, an exercise in comparison. He clenched his fists. Ah! Mabel would return to the ape. He would rather kill her.”
Gorden noticed the gesture.
“When are you leaving.
“From here, tomorrow morning—and for the ca
ve of gold and diamonds, as soon as we reach our vessel.”
“We’ll drink to your success this evening, then.”
“And I to your marriage, my dear chap, and to your happiness.”
Archibald went pale, but did not unclench his teeth.
“My dear Archibald,” said Gorden, “you’re hiding something from me. I won’t insist, of course, on penetrating your secret—but remember, if you need me, that I can postpone our expedition for a few days.”
“Thanks. You’re not mistaken. Something has happened that I can’t tell you about.”
“Hey, you up there! We’re going for a ride in the forest!”
The two men looked down into the courtyard. Mabel, her father and the doctor, already in the saddle, were waiting for them; two domestics were holding two horses for them. They went down rapidly, and a few minutes later, they were all galloping around the Temple’s enclosing wall.
LXXIX. Combat Between a Tiger, a Woman
and an Orangutan
The weather in the period that follows the rainy season is delightful, and it remains the best time of the year. After ten days or so, when the earth has finished absorbing the mass of water accumulated in the vegetal humus that covers it and the atmosphere is rid of the mists caused by evaporation, the forest continues its intensive life, but the growth of the plants ceases to be abnormal and resumes a healthier and more even pace.
On Harry Smith’s orders, a few paths had been traced around the habitation, which permitted excursions of several kilometers. Two parallel routes, departing from Riddle, extend into the heart of the forest, to a crossroads fabricated in the virgin forest, from which four other projected paths departed. The little troop set off at a trot along the left-hand path, eyes and ears alert, in the hope of encountering some game.
The first shot was fired by the billionaire; he brought down a superb pelican, which was also hunting on the edge of a lake. That exploit animated the entire band; instead of proceeding in a group they dispersed, questing through the forest anywhere that a horse was able to set foot.
Mabel had taken the lead. First, she galloped quite tranquilly; then, intoxicated by the ride, she launched her animal at top speed, and her companions were left behind.
“A rally! A rally!” Mabel shouted to them. “Catch me if you can...”
Within a few minutes, she had reached the crossroads, and recklessly launched herself at a gallop into a small track, summarily traced out to make the route of a future path—a track just large enough for a horse and rider, which had not yet been visited since the previous season. After a hundred strides, she found her route blocked by an enormous tree, whose roots, undermined by the water, had been unable to sustain it, and which had toppled across the track.
To jump over it was impossible. Its branches and the lianas with which it was laden made an inextricable tangle. Entirely given over to her game of tag, the young woman saw nothing in that sylvan accident but a means of giving the slip to her friends. Dismounting, she took her horse by the bridle and forced it into the undergrowth, in order to go around the obstacle. She got half way without any difficulty, but the ground on the other side, horribly broken up, rendered any passage impossible. Frustrated, she was about to turn round; she could already hear the horsemen calling; she was caught.
At that moment, she saw a gap in front of her. Still pulling her horse, she went into it, laughing in advance at the disappointment of the hunters confronted by the obstacle and her disappearance. She had no intention of going very far, though. Masked by the foliage, she heard her father and his friends stop at the fallen tree and call out to her, laughing at first, then becoming anxious. She was about to reply to them when her horse made a sudden bound, which knocked her over, and then fled, terrified, into the forest. Furious, Mabel launched herself in pursuit—but she soon had to stop, fearful of going astray.
She called out. No voice replied. She was about to call out again when a muffled growl made her turn round. Ten paces away, ready to pounce, was a tiger.
Mabel was brave, but at the sight of the monster, so close, she felt a chill of fear grip her heart.
With a terrible roar, the tiger launched itself forward. She only just had time to throw herself sideways, behind a tree that was fortunately right beside her. Carried by its momentum, the enormous beast went straight into a clump of thorn-bushes, where it struggled for a few moments before succeeding in getting free.
Mabel had recovered a degree of self-possession. She picked up her rifle, which had fallen to the ground, took aim at the animal, and fired. The bullet only grazed the tiger’s skull, rendering it even more furious. It hurled itself upon its adversary. Swiveling around the tree, the young woman avoided it once again.
With one bound, the tiger was at the foot of the tree. Rearing up on its hind legs, it reached out an enormous paw, whose sharp claws brushed Mabel’s face. She fired again, at point-blank range. The bullet went into the monster’s breast, but only served to augment its rage. It came around the trunk. Mabel tried to do likewise, but her heel encountered a root and she fell.
This time, she was well and truly doomed. Then, however, there was a racket of broken branches. A hairy mass tumbled down: an enormous brown body, which fell directly on to the tiger’s head, at the same time as a clamor tore through the silence of the woods:
“Ouha! Ouha! Ouha!”
Mabel stood up, and saw the two enormous animals at grips. The orangutan had seized the tiger by the neck, while his inferior arms clasped the sides and belly of his adversary. But he latter, suddenly rolling on the ground on top of Ouha, lying on his back, turned round with a thrust of its hips and raked the ape’s body with its terrible curved claws.
Ouha was able to seize his enemy’s muzzle, and, sticking his fingers into the fuming nostrils, forced it to retreat. Then, getting up, braced on his hind legs, he pushed it further, holding back the immense effort of wild beast and nailing it to the ground. The tiger snorted, making hoarse sounds; a frightful rictus uncovered Ouha’s teeth.
The two adversaries remained thus, face to face, without the tiger or the ape venturing a gesture. Ouha sensed that at the slightest movement, the tiger would reach him again and lacerate his flesh. His hide was already stained with large patches of crimson blood, dripping on to the ground in heavy garnet drops. Muscles taut, they were both breathing heavily.
Suddenly, the tiger freed its head with a abrupt effort, and seized one of the orangutan’s hands; he uttered a cry of agony. But neither body was displaced, so tightly were they gripping one another, each certain of falling as soon as the equilibrium in which they were held was broken.
With his free hand, however, Ouha seized the feline’s upper jaw and with a magnificent effort, while his half-crushed fingers pressed down on the monster’s teeth and gums, forced the terrible vice open. Bones cracked in a sinister fashion between the enormous hairy palms. From the tiger’s gaping throat, the muzzle and maw of which were breaking almost lamentably, a whistling sound emerged, continuous and obsessive, mingling rage and complaint.
With a convulsive somersault, in a last effort of its entire body, the tiger found the strength and courage to attack Ouha again; with a supreme bound of savage energy it planted its claws on the shoulders and in the breast of the sovereign ape, tearing with feverish thrusts at his muscles, still powerful in spite of the atrocity of his wounds, through which all of its blood was spurting over the wild beast and the black stripes of its marvelously beautiful body.
Mabel dared not fire. The two adversaries were too close together, too confused with one another for her not to fear wounding Ouha while trying to help him. Before that combat, in the face of the superhuman devotion of her bestial lover, she remained a spectator, admiring as well as terrified.
For an instant, Ouha weakened. The tiger’s claws struck at his entrails, his neck, his face—but he grabbed the monster’s forepaws, drew them apart as far as they would go, and with a sudden thrust of his giant arms, tore his
enemy’s breast apart. The tiger fell, dying, with a muted death-rattle, a tattered cadaver, in the long grass, on to the soil wet with their mingled, fuming blood.
Mabel, emerging from her stupor, went to the wounded victor, panting, intoxicated by his strength, joy and unleashed desire. She spoke to him in a very soft vice, slowly and with coaxing gestures. She staunched Ouha’s wounds, put compresses of fresh herbs on his cuts, which she bandaged as best she could with her handkerchief and her underwear, which she ripped into pieces.
Ouha, exhausted by the merciless struggle in which he had just engaged, let her do it, still utterly intoxicated by having found Mabel again. Suddenly, he pushed the young woman away and stood up, growling. Shouts resounded in the distance.
The hunters had heard the tiger’s roars and the young woman’s two gunshots. Guided by them, they had tied their horses to the fallen tree, and had come running. Rounding the uprooted tree, Harry Smith had fallen into the hole in the ground freshly opened up by the tree’s fall, and his companions were obliged to pull him out before continuing their search. They were about to start off again when there was a noise of trampled and torn brushwood not far away, and they saw Mabel’s horse surge out of the thicket. They caught it and tied it up with theirs.
Their anxiety was at its peak when Archibald discovered the gap into which Mabel had gone. At the same time, formidable roars made the forest tremble. In the blink of a eye, the four men understood, and with one movement launched themselves in the direction indicated by the wild beast’s rage. A rifle-shot signified: “Be brave! We’re coming!”
They ran forward, firing a second shot to reassure Mabel.
She’s there! they thought. Will we arrive in time?
Ouha, King of the Apes Page 21