“Alone?”
“Yes. My brothers are watching for him.”
LXXXV. A Beautiful Tropical Evening
It was one of those splendid nights unique to the tropical zones. The ardent heat of the day was succeeded by a delightful coolness. From the sky, so richly sprinkled with stars that it was nothing but an immense scintillating luminous vault, light descended like diamond dust. The dark green trees took on, at a certain distance, the colorations of a magical effect passing through all the shades of dark blue, almost black velvet, to the most delightful violets. In places, a flamboyance made a bright or dark red stain within the mass, punctuated from time to time by yellow orange or bright pink streaks.
Crouched down in the tall grass, which hid them completely, Sing Mah and Mog Kih were watching with the patience particular to their race; they were waiting. For two hours, they had been certain of Ouha’s entry into the Temple enclosure. He had been squatting beneath the palisade, unmoving, for some time. Evidently, he was waiting for a signal before heading for the habitation—unless Mabel was coming to join him.
It had been shortly before dinner-time, when the four Malays were together, watching the part of the palisade to which Mabel had attached the rope. In the midst of the great silence of the starry night, they had heard a slight rustling. The four men had crouched down even lower in the grass. The rope had been drawn taut, and then a mighty hand had gripped the top of the barrier, and Ouha’s had had appeared. He remained attentive for a moment, and then, slowly, without making the slightest sound, he had appeared in his entirety, gripped the rope and let himself slide down inside. That had taken scarcely a minute.
Then with infinite precaution, To Wang and Eg Merh, crawling backwards, had withdraw to the edge of the cloister. There they had been able to stand up, and, going around the immense courtyard, had reached the Temple, arriving in time to warn Silven Gorden and take part in the meal. They excused the absence of their brethren by a visit to the Muni-Wali residence—something that had happened frequently since their return from the land of the apes.
The meal was scarcely animated, except for Mabel. She was in full possession of her mocking and teasing spirit. This time, it was Goldry who had to suffer her sarcasm most of all.
“Tell me, Godfather, was it in the land of the Orangs that you acquired that meditative expression? Are you preparing an imminent lecture for us on the precursors of humankind on the terrestrial globe? I hope your work is making progress and that you can give us a glimpse of it this evening.”
“It would go more quickly if you’d help me with it a little,” the doctor replied. “You were better placed than I was to observe the habits and customs of the apes.”
“Oh, I didn’t get into their skin, as you did.”
Involuntarily, Goldry thought, mockingly: Ouha got into yours. Benevolently, he said: “I’m not sorry to have lived those few months among the anthropoids, and it’s certain that no naturalist know more about them than me—except you.” He added the last remark maliciously.
“Oh! A stone in my secret garden! But I’m a good sport, and no longer have any regrets.”
“Oh, Mabel!” exclaimed Mrs. Simyan. “How can you say such things!”
“Oh, Betty,” the American woman replied, imitating the governess’s gestures, “wouldn’t you be curious to experience those sensations, during a sojourn of a few months among the Orangs?”
“What horror! I’d rather die!”
“Before, perhaps—but afterwards?”
“After what? After what?”
“Brrou!” said Mabel, shaking her head like a dog emerged from the water. “Help, Godfather Abraham! This ingénue is drowning!”
“A dangerous conversation, Daughter,” said Harry Smith. “Let’s go to bed.”
“My word, you’re right. I’m joking like this to keep myself awake, for I’m falling asleep.”
“Nothing astonishing about that, after this morning’s events,” said Gorden.
“Then, gentlemen, I’ll wish you good night. Until tomorrow!”
Mabel kissed her father and the doctor on the cheek, shook hands with the others, and retired to her room.
LXXXVI. By Moonlight
“It’s up to us now!” said Gorden, deliberately taking command. “Sir Harry, I beg you, lock your daughter in her apartment, carefully.” He turned toward the Malays. “Return to your companions and cut off the orang’s retreat if he escapes us. And above all, don’t hold back. We need him dead rather than alive. As for us, let’s get good rifles and install ourselves in the gallery in front of Miss Smith’s windows. If the whole army of apes arrives, everyone retreat toward the main gate. The horses and carriages are waiting for us there. All right!”
When the four men went into the gallery facing Mabel’s bedroom, a faint light indicated that the young woman was still awake. Crouching down behind the thick balustrade, the night-watchmen took up their positions. Through the stone latticework they saw the young woman’s window open. A lamp lit in the depths of the apartment illuminated the immense room confusedly. It was one of the defects of Riddle-Temple that all of it rooms had large dimensions scarcely in accord with modern furnishing.
The American woman leaned on the window-sill and imitated the call of a nocturnal bird that hunted fireflies. A muffled growl replied to her. The form of the gallery prevented the watchers from seeing the base of the monument, save for Mabel’s windows. Suddenly, without them having heard the slightest noise, the colossal anthropoid appeared.
Going back into the apartment, the young woman had picked up the rope, already attached to the window-ledge, and had thrown the end down to Ouha. In less than ten seconds, the orang had grasped the rope, climbed up and leapt into the room. Mabel drew him in, the lamp clearly illuminating their kiss.
Archibald uttered a cry of rage. He aimed his rifle at the tightly-interlaced couple. An iron hand shoved the weapon down.
“Leave it,” said Gorden. “It was necessary for you to see that. I’ve already seen much more; that’s what cured my love for Mabel.”
“What shame! What shame!” murmured the father.
As for Abraham, he said nothing, but scratched his head as energetically as his former pupil Ouha.
Wilson, doubtless rendered mad or imbecilic by the spectacle, recited Shakespeare: “‘I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes; and but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued wanting of thy love.’ Thus thinks, no doubt, the simian Romeo at this moment. But of the two of us, Archibald will add the tragic denouement.”
“My daughter, my daughter!” moaned Harry Smith. “My daughter loves an ape, an orangutan!”
“Loves? That remains to be determined. We’re more likely in the presence of a special physiological phenomenon. It’s impossible to love such a monster.”
“What are we going to do?” Gorden demanded. “Are we going to lie in ambush for the ape or leave those grotesque lovers to their erotic capers?”
The four men looked at one another, indecisively.
“Let them live!” exclaimed Wilson, suddenly. “For myself, I can’t survive such a spectacle. May my sin have its remorse and punishment!”
Before his friends had time to stop him, he ran along the terrace and, leaping over the stone rail, plunged on to the pavement of the courtyard, directly under Mabel’s windows. A triple exclamation of horror escaped the throats of the witnesses to that tragic crisis of self-respect. Wilson dead! The poor idealist!
The three men raised their eyes. Ouha and Mabel together at the window, were looking alternately down at the broken body of the young American and across at the horrified faces of Harry Smith and his friends. The orang was growling at the three men with increasing fury, his eyes blazing—but a gap of more than ten meters prevented him from attacking them.
Mabel saw the rifle barrels gleaming, and understood the danger. “Go! Save yourself!” she cried, gesturing toward the forest.
The orang understood—but, seizing Mabel with one arm, he took hold of the rope with three powerful hands and let himself slide down.
“Fire!” cried Harry Smith. “Fire! Better that my daughter die then…!” Without finishing his sentence he discharged his weapon at the entwined couple.
There was a heart-rending cry from Mabel, struck by the bullet: “Father!”
The wild beast, seeing the blood of his wife flowing, turned toward the colonnade threateningly. Two shots, better aimed this time, hit him in the breast and shoulder.
Ouha understood that, thus visible, he was powerless. He beat a retreat, still hugging Mabel to his breast, and, hurling himself into the shadow of the building, he headed for the palisade. The three Europeans also moved back, in order to go through the apartments of the courtyard and the gardens. That gave the beast a ten-second start. He was no more than twenty meters from the enclosure when five menacing shadows stood up in front of him, rifles at the ready, and bowed to him.
Ouha sensed that he was doomed; he embraced Mabel recklessly, and stood up to his full height, uttering his war-cry—and thirty roaring voices repeated the formidable cry:
“Ouha! Ouha! Ouha!”
The Malays, taken by surprise, turned round. Grimacing heads and gripping hands appeared at the top of the palisade. One monster hoisted himself over and let himself fall inside. It was almost instantaneous; in no time at all thirty Orangs surrounded Ouha, repeating in chorus the terrible cry:
“Ouha! Ouha! Ouha!”
The king of the apes pointed at the five petrified Malays. The orangs launched themselves forward.
To Wang was the first to recover his self-possession. “Retreat!” he ordered. They discharged their weapons as they turned round, then fell back toward the Temple. They collided with two running Europeans. Harry Smith had fainted after the unfortunate rifle-shot that had hit his daughter.
“The army of apes is behind him!” Gorden shouted.
They all took flight, pursued by a hail of stones and tree-branches. The doctor tottered, his arm broken. Two of the Malays fell. Gorden grabbed hold of the doctor and dragged him away.
They reached the galleries. Swiftly, the Englishman closed the gate. They were safe.
“To the horses!” he shouted. “Everybody out!”
There was a mad stampede. The domestics, Betty and everyone else ran for the exit, and were soon all galloping toward White House.
Riddle-Temple was in the power of Ouha and the anthropoids.
LXXXVII. Of What Young Women Dream
Harry Smith was roused from unconsciousness by an infernal racket. The orangutans, in pursuit of the fugitives, were uttering ferocious howls and shaking the gates of the covered gallery. The American billionaire, dazed at first, did not take long to recall the recent events and the maladroit gunshot he had fired at Mabel and her abductor. His daughter’s cry was still ringing in his ears, and the thought that had felled him also came back to his memory: I’ve killed my daughter!
Looking over the balustrade, he saw, vaguely, in the shadow of the house, a black mass and a motionless white form: Ouha and Mabel. Without thinking about the danger he was running, he went into the apartments of the Temple. First he took a medical kit from Goldry’s room; then, going to Mabel’s room, he stepped over the windowsill and let himself slide down the rope. He found himself in the presence of Archibald’s body. A rapid examination told him that there was nothing more to be done for him. The poor sentimental boy had fallen head first; his skull was smashed.
Then he ran to his daughter. A dull growl from Ouha made him recoil at first, but his daughter—his daughter!—was lying there, inanimate. Without paying any heed to the peril, he marched toward them.
Ouha undoubtedly understood that it was help that was arriving; he ceased growing and let matters take their course.
The American carried Mabel into the illuminated part of the garden. The ape followed, dragging himself along, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The bullet had struck the young woman in the shoulder above the clavicle and had lodged beneath the left scapula. He could feel it with his finger. With the aid of a scalpel, he extracted it, and then swabbed the wound with alcohol. He applied a tampon of cotton-wool to the two wounds and bandaged the injury as best he could. The patient, relieved, eventually sighed and opened her eyes. The first thing her gaze encountered was her father.
“Father! I remember…a gunshot…yours! I’m hurt.”
She sat up, examined herself, and said: “It’s not serious”—but a hoarse sigh caused her to turn round. At a glance she saw that the great ape was seriously wounded.
“Father,” she said, “help him!”
“Are you mad? Care for the ape that tried to carry you off!”
“He saved my life, and I love him. Listen, father! His companions—his subjects—are coming back. If you don’t help me tend to him, so far as they’re concerned, you’re the enemy. They’ll kill you. If, on the other hand, they see you with me, caring for their master, they’ll spare you.”
That argument convinced Smith. He went to Ouha and examined him. In addition to the wound in the shoulder, which had shattered it, the breast had been pierced right through—perhaps fortunately, for, if no essential organ had been hit, it would not be fatal. The orang had lost an enormous amount of blood, though; he was very weak. Allowing himself be handled, like a little child, he was moaning softly, gazing at Mabel with an expression of truly touching tenderness.
Harry Smith dressed the wounds, aided by his daughter, whose right arm was fortunately sound. The orangs had returned a few moments ago, but they kept their distance, attentively watching all the movements made by Mabel and her father.
When they had finished, the American turned to his daughter. “Shall we go inside?” he said.
“It’s unlikely that they’ll permit us to do that. Our situation demands reflection. Let me collect my thoughts.”
“There’s no need for much reflection. It’s not possible to stay with these apes. Let’s find a means of getting rid of them. It seems to me that the best thing is to go back inside, barricade ourselves in the servants’ quarters, which seems to me to be best-placed to withstand a siege, and wait for help.”
“And afterwards, we resume life as before?” said Mabel. “No, I’ve had enough—too-much—of that. When you came to Borneo to cure your neurasthenia, I was worse afflicted than you were. The life we were leading had become intolerable. You see, Father, beings like us are exceptional individuals—or, rather, life has made us such.”
She stopped a gesture by her father. “Have you ever thought about what might be going on in my head? As a child, I was deprived of the care of a mother: your wife, by virtue of her worldly carelessness, was only interested me as an object of luxury, to keep need and well-decorated, for the amusement of the high society frequenting your house.
“I’ll render you this justice: that at certain times, always too short for me, you came to embrace me and play with me—which my mother never did. Believe me, the increase of intelligence in small children is a curious process. Our mentality is formed very slowly, and when it isn’t guided by an absolutely devoted superior intelligence, it turns inwards and soon makes judgments that are perhaps erroneous but which, in the mind of a child, take on an enormous importance.
“Thus, I can say that, since my earliest youth, I was left to my own devices and judged my entourage, perhaps with more severity than I should have done. Everything around me yielded to my slightest caprices, my mother by indifference and you because you thought that your immense fortune put you and your kin above the rest of humankind.
“What might have made someone else happy didn’t have that effect on me. I exercised a despotic authority over everything—not that I was wicked, but everyone, thinking that giving me everything might bring them a large profit, encouraged my most eccentric caprices, and I had some bizarre ones.
“Later, as a young woman, after my mother’s de
ath, when I took the worldly direction of our house, the immoderate adulation and base platitudes of my over-interested admirers, only succeeded in filling my heart with nausea. Without your knowledge, I had strange, unhealthy fantasies, realized thanks to the complicity of domestics ready to satisfy all the turpitudes of the mind of an amoral virgin, for money. In brief, Father, I was, unknown to you, the best-informed of all the joyful virgins in New Jersey.
“That sensual excitation, in any case, had no other results for me but a sort of exaltation that relieved itself in all kinds of mockery and teasing of the masculine society that surrounded me. I was too well aware of the appetites of young men coveting the only daughter of a billionaire. Yes, I observed everyone around me, male and female, and perceived that the same instincts, the same needs, enslaved humankind. I once saw you, Father, on returning from your club, throwing down a maid in the antechamber, who submitted, not daring to resist the billionaire master. I imagine that you were generous to the poor child, but that doesn’t alter the fact and doesn’t destroy the impression it made on me.
“In brief, as neurasthenic as you, I had as much need as you did of solitude and distractions other than those of sickening worldly life. The hazard of an adventure has made me the mate of an orangutan. Well, Father, I find a bitter satisfaction in feeling myself estranged from that so-called civilization for which, before we came to this island, I had conceived a disgust. There are, to be sure, among these primitives, the same sexual needs, less the hypocrisy. Moreover, my lover seems to be progressing beyond his companions; under my influence, his intelligence has developed more rapidly. He was, for me, both an extraordinary male and a prodigious child.
“Then again, the free life, has gradually dissipated the unhealthy state of my mind, I’ve become interested in a thousand aspects of the evolutions of matter and force. I’ve felt a new philosophy born within me, devoid of egotism as of constraint. When you came with your friends to rescue you, I confess that I was not yet detached from my old habits, and I allowed myself to go. Also, the adventure seduced me: the unexpected marvels of that immense cavern, a cathedral of gold and precious stones; the pleasure, in spite of everything, of seeing old companions again; the thousand dangers of the return journey—all that dazed me enough to make me forget, temporarily, my ignoble and marvelous spouse, and my simian subjects...
Ouha, King of the Apes Page 23