Black Narcissus

by Rumer Godden

  From a gold cigarette case he took out a cutting:

  ‘Wanted, for a fair complexioned girl, now studying B.A. knows music and knitting, a gentleman of position, preferably I.C.S. or other adequate post. Apply Box –’

  He watched her expression as she read it. ‘Don’t you think that might be a favourable idea?’ he asked. ‘You see, it says she is studying B.A. and even if she’s not a girl you’ve taught, we could have her up and teach her a little here. Though I’m not I.C.S., my Uncle is a very important man.’

  ‘I think,’ said Sister Clodagh, ‘that you had better tie up your pony and come with me.’

  In the office he put his hat and gloves on the edge of her desk and then picked them up, blushing, and put them on the carpet stool. When he sat down, he took another piece of paper from his gold case.

  ‘Before I came to you,’ he told her, ‘I wrote out my timetable. Please read it and give me your advice. I want to study far harder than with the Brothers. You will see that I have decided to study every subject, every day, and not spare myself. In that way I shall get on.’

  She took the paper. He had written it carefully on both sides and drawn the hours in red ink:

  5 a.m. – 7 a.m. Algebra and Geometry and Arithmetic with the Mathematical Sister.

  8 a.m. – 10 a.m. Studying Religions, especially Christianity, with the Scriptural Sister.

  10 a.m. Art.

  1 p.m. – 3 p.m. French and German with the French and German Sisters (if any).

  3 p.m. – 4 p.m. Physics with the Physical Sister.

  She laid it hastily down on her desk, without reading any more. He was looking at her searchingly. ‘Do you think my ideas are any good? Will you let me come? Of course I give you carte blanche and all that to alter it in any way, if you think so. You see I mean to study earnestly, I must prove to you my energy and interest.’

  ‘I must consult Sister Briony,’ said Sister Clodagh. ‘In a day or two, when we have talked it all over, I’ll send you a note to let you know our decision.’

  ‘But I want you to tell me now,’ he cried in dismay. ‘My Uncle goes away to-day and I want to tell him before he leaves. Why should there be any difficulty? I can start now. I have brought my pony’s feed with me, and I have eaten before I came so that I could stay a nice long time.’

  She looked at him helplessly and rang her bell.

  He was asked to wait in the salon that he knew well; but not with the floor polished and smelling of wax, and the chairs standing primly round the wall and the lamp burning quietly in front of the figure of the Sacred Heart. He liked the lamp, he thought it was a pretty red colour, the red of rhododendrons in the spring. As he stood there, Kanchi came in, flicking with her brush and, seeing him staring at the shrine, with lowered lids she came to dust it, which she was strictly forbidden to do. The gold of the niche and its gold rays and the gold in her nose ring shone in the warm light, and he stood there thinking how delightful and pretty they were until the office door opened.

  ‘This is a wild place,’ Sister Briony had said, ‘it’s an uncommon place and, yes, we must expect to have to do uncommon things.’

  That was a surprise after what Sister Clodagh had thought half an hour ago; Sister Briony should have wanted to do what had always been done before.

  ‘As the boy says, he has no other means of learning and we don’t want to offend his Uncle, Sister. I don’t see how we can refuse. He might turn us out. Why not try it, and meanwhile you could write to Reverend Mother and Father Roberts.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Sister Clodagh. ‘As you say, we mustn’t offend the General, and yet –’ She was curiously reluctant to allow him in. It was somehow bound up with the fear of the morning.

  ‘In any case I should ask Mr Dean. He’s so nice and sensible, and yet they tell you such terrible things about him that he would be sure to know the very worst about the boy. He seems a nice young man. He stood up as I passed through the reception room and I thought that encouraging in a native Royalty. He doesn’t seem in the least spoilt. Let’s ask Mr Dean.’

  He was not enthusiastic when Sister Clodagh consulted him. ‘Won’t you be letting a cuckoo into your nest?’ he said.

  This was so exactly her own feeling that she stared.

  ‘Apart from that, you may have trouble with Kanchi.’

  ‘I don’t think that,’ she said. ‘She won’t see him, and she knows very well that she’s a little servant and he’s the General’s heir.’

  ‘I expect she knows the story of the king and the beggar maid all the same,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t thinking only of Kanchi. You’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s letting a new element into your lives. Don’t you think you’ve got enough to digest already?’

  She looked at him stiffly and for one of the few times in her life she felt herself flushing; she could feel it tingling her face and neck under her wimple. ‘I only asked you to tell me something about the boy.’

  He said: ‘You don’t need me to tell you you must keep him off religion. That boy can never be converted to Christianity.’

  ‘We’re not in the habit of trying to convert our pupils,’ she answered icily.

  ‘You ought not to be able to help it,’ he said.

  15

  ‘I should like to do something for the children,’ said Sister Honey.

  Sister Clodagh looked up. She had not heard Sister Honey come in, and now the Sister was standing beside her, twisting her hands together and speaking very earnestly. ‘I feel I could do something for them.’

  ‘You do a great deal already.’

  ‘I play with them and help in the classes sometimes; but –’ Sister Honey turned pink, ‘I feel I’m only there on sufferance.’

  ‘You have all your own work to do. Isn’t that enough? I expect we could find some more girls if you feel that you could manage them.’

  ‘But it’s the children I should like to help. Not of course that I’d ever neglect the girls, and I think you’ll allow that they’re getting on well. I’d thought of some kind of a clinic for the children; some kind of welfare work, Sister. My time isn’t fully occupied. I mean I could find time to do it without neglecting anything and it goes to my heart to see them so ragged and dirty. If I could teach the mothers to care for their babies and keep them cleaner –’

  ‘How would you get them to come to your clinic?’ asked Sister Clodagh. ‘The General’s away, and we haven’t the money to pay them, as he did to start the schools and patients.’

  ‘Well, I’d thought of giving them little presents,’ said Sister Honey blushing, ‘just to begin with,’ she pleaded. ‘Penny toys and those little flannel coats that are sent out by the box-full. You remember, Sister, we brought some with us and we could easily ask for more. And I had thought –’ the words came tumbling out, ‘that now the new Lace School is so nearly finished, the girls could move in there and I could use the part of the verandah they’re in now. Mr Dean could put up some shelves and I could take a table from the house, and the people needn’t come inside at all, but could wait in the class-room, if I could have an afternoon a week when it isn’t being used. Sister Briony would help me. I could talk to the mothers about keeping the babies clean, and give them ointment for their eyes, because their eyes are shocking, aren’t they? And their ringworm is too. And I could weigh them and give them clean clothes and –’

  ‘One minute. One minute,’ said Sister Clodagh. ‘This must be thought out carefully. You mustn’t go so fast.’

  ‘But it is a good idea, isn’t it, Sister?’

  ‘It’s a damn fool idea,’ said Mr Dean. Sister Clodagh had asked for the tables and shelves for the clinic which Sister Honey was to be allowed to start as an experiment under Sister Briony’s eye. He measured the wall for a set of shelves. ‘You’ll be sorry for this, see if you’re not.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Sister Clodagh coldly. ‘It seems to me that Sister Blanche may fill a very much needed want by this work.’ />
  ‘Remember what I told you when you opened your dispensary? Sister Briony’s a sensible woman, but Sister Honey is not, saving her presence.’ Sister Honey gave a little squeak of dismay. ‘You know yourself you’ve got no sense,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘These babies are born like flies and die like flies; the mothers think that’s right and natural, but if you start monkeying about with them and then they die, just you wait and see what happens.’

  ‘If they’re ill she won’t touch them,’ said Sister Clodagh. ‘They’ll go to Sister Briony in the usual way. Sister Blanche will only treat things like sore eyes and sores, and try to teach them a little hygiene and give them clean clothes and soap.’

  ‘You’re not going to let her wash them?’ cried Mr Dean in horror.

  ‘Of course I shall encourage them to wash,’ said Sister Honey.

  ‘Damn it all, don’t let her start tricks like that,’ he said earnestly. ‘Let her put muck on their eyes and plaster their sores if she must. If you want to do good you might give them pure oil and warm clothes, but you must stop her at that. Scratch any mother and you find a savage, but scratch a savage mother and I’ll not answer for what you’ll find.’

  Sister Honey was inclined to be tearful and pout, but Sister Clodagh said thoughtfully: ‘You must remember to go carefully, Sister.’

  Sister Honey told Sister Briony.

  ‘He’s perfectly right,’ said Sister Briony, ‘and just you remember it, Sister. Don’t let me find you carrying out any fancy ideas of your own. Mr Dean knows what he’s talking about. We want you to do good, not harm.’

  ‘As if I would harm them,’ said Sister Honey, smoothing one of the flannelette coatees as tenderly as if it were a baby itself. ‘As if I’d harm them when I love them so.’

  16

  It was on Christmas Eve, when they had been out in the forest cutting boughs, that Mr Dean sent Phuba up with a parcel. The Sisters’ feet were soaking when they came in and, even after rubbings and dry stockings, they could not get warm. They gathered round Phuba, stamping their feet and wrapping their cold hands in their sleeves. He was a tall old Bhotiya with a pigtail hanging to his hams and, like Mr Dean, he wore a felt hat of no shape at all, but in his he had a peacock’s feather.

  ‘It’s a parcel for us!’ cried Sister Honey.

  ‘Not for us,’ corrected Sister Clodagh. ‘Mr Dean knows better than to send us presents. It’s for the Order.’

  ‘That’s splitting a hair,’ said Sister Ruth boldly, but, as if she had not heard her, Sister Clodagh opened the parcel. Inside were five pairs of Tibetan boots, knee high and made of felt and worked with wool and lined with fleece.

  ‘Ahh!’ whispered Sister Briony, going down on her knees as if they were something holy. ‘Dear goodness! Just feel the warmth and the fleece and the softness. Blessings on the dear, dear man. Now I shall be able to get about on my poor feet without wanting to cry at every step.’

  But Sister Clodagh was looking at them doubtfully as if she had half a mind to send them back. ‘I wonder if we ought to take them. These are gifts to us, not to the Community.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Sister Briony. ‘I don’t agree at all, if you’ll excuse me saying so, dear Sister. Mr Dean knows how our work has been spoiled and crippled, yes really crippled by this cold. I don’t know how many things I’ve been forced to leave undone because of hobbling so badly on my poor feet. I shall put on a pair at once and thank God for them and Mr Dean.’

  She sat down there and then on a stool and, grimacing, took off her own leather boots and drew on the largest pair of Mr Dean’s. ‘He must have measured us up very nicely,’ she chuckled. ‘I always have difficulty in getting fitted, but these are plenty big enough for me.’

  ‘And didn’t he make me call you one by one across the yard when the mud was soft?’ said Ayah in huge delight. ‘And he measured the footsteps and wrote it all down on the paper he keeps in his hat.’

  Sister Briony’s feet looked an elephant’s in the high felt boots, but her face wore a look of bliss. When Sister Clodagh saw that they did not show too much under her habit and that the colours were not really too bright, she told the others that they might wear them too. Sister Ruth did not try hers on, but sat apart with them, touching them with her finger and looking at them; there was something tense and childish in that look that gave Sister Clodagh a sudden shiver.

  ‘Come along,’ Sister Briony said to her. ‘We have all this litter to clear and supper to eat before we can start hanging the boughs. Pick up your boots and get on.’

  ‘Don’t you touch them,’ said Sister Ruth turning on her. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on them.’

  Sister Briony was folding up the parcel paper and undoing the smallest knots in the string, and did not hear her, but Sister Clodagh watched her sharply.

  ‘I wish we could do something for Mr Dean after all he’s done for us,’ said Sister Honey. ‘Couldn’t we invite him to the carol singing, Sister?’

  ‘No,’ cried Sister Ruth fiercely. ‘That wouldn’t do at all.’

  ‘Sister Blanche was speaking to me and not to you,’ said Sister Clodagh, still watching her. ‘Mr Dean can certainly come to the carol singing if he likes. The service is open to everyone who cares to come.’ She saw her face darken, but she picked up the papers and carried them away without answering.

  Joseph had been given boots too; his had come in the Christmas Box from Canstead. When he saw them he licked his lips uneasily.

  ‘Look,’ cried Sister Honey. ‘They’ve come all the way from England. Joseph, aren’t you a lucky little boy?’ and Joseph’s heart sank as she showed him the laces and the toe-caps and the beautiful welted soles. He felt he was bound to keep them always with him, and, after that, Joseph could be seen trotting on his errands with his beautiful English boots hung round his neck.

  All the servants had presents.

  ‘These are extraordinary people,’ said Ayah. ‘I don’t understand them.’ She folded the cardigan that had come for her in the box. ‘They buy coolie blankets for themselves and sleep on thin cotton, and this, that they give to me, is thick wool and good bone buttons; and yet they don’t owe me anything, they always pay my wages on the first of every month.’

  Sister Honey had spent hours in making a Crib for the children; she had put it inside the porch as there was no room in the chapel, and it was made of spruce and bamboo boughs strangely mingled together. The figures for it had been sent from Canstead too, and she made them change colour by holding strips of coloured talc across a light. She made a rosy Bethlehem dawn outside the Inn, or a strong noon in yellow, or moonlight, shadowing with blue the tinsel star. The people thought it was wonderful and Sister Honey was gratified by their numbers, but she did not know that Ayah had invited them with promises of a free show and free tea. There were the women in their respectable gowns, the men who were so dirty in comparison and, most of all, the children.

  ‘Why have the devils with wings come to mock at the poor baby?’ asked the children, pointing to the angels.

  ‘The baby is the Number One Lord Jesus Christ,’ Ayah told them.

  ‘But He hasn’t any clothes on! Aren’t they going to give Him anything? Not a little red robe? Not a bit of melted butter?’

  ‘This is His Mother,’ said Ayah, showing them the little porcelain Virgin in blue and white and pink. ‘He is her child.’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ said the women, measuring the baby with their eyes. ‘He’s too big to be possible. Probably He’s a dragon, a bhût in the shape of a child, and presently He’ll eat up the woman.’

  They were all afraid of bhûts, Hindus and Buddhists alike, and the little Christian Joseph would not go down to Mr Dean’s house alone at night because of the bhût who lived on the road.

  All day the people came softly in and out; the porch was full of voices respectfully low, and of feet coming and going. A tide of love and liking seemed to lap the Convent; it was in Ayah’s dark skirts as she went to welcome t
hem in, and it was in the china figures under the boughs of spruce; it came from the children’s happy faces as they crowded round, and was in the nuns’ voices as they spoke to one another and in the candles they had lit before the Crib. All day Sister Clodagh had felt that sense of success and love and again she wrote glowingly to Mother Dorothea.

  At midnight Sister Clodagh read the Christmas prayers and psalms. The new harmonium had come; the ponies had carried it down, two harnessed together under its weight. When it was uncrated, the packing straw was frozen stiff, but it was not any the worse, and when Sister Honey practised on it, the music rolled down the hill. The wind carried it over the trees and across the gulf; in the village they woke to listen; it came in through the windows of the General’s house and reached Mr Dean as he sat at his dining-room table drinking the whisky that the General had sent him for Christmas. Sister Honey had not played for a long time and, even after practising, sometimes there would come, instead of a note, a long breath of wind or a sudden vibration that startled the room and jarred the window panes.

  The chapel was festive; they had laid branches along the sills and crossed them at the foot of the statues, and on the altar were the few precious sprays of holly that had come from the hedges at Canstead. After prayers came the carols, that were always sung by the Sisters on the first hour of Christmas morning. Sister Briony, Sister Philippa and Sister Ruth had risen in the front line, Kanchi and Joseph from among the empty seats behind them, Sister Clodagh stood by the altar facing them, when the door opened on the night and Mr Dean came in and with him the young General, Dilip Rai.

  The harmonium gave a long wail and a jar, the singing wavered, the book Sister Clodagh was holding dipped closer to the candle flames; then her voice rose:

  ‘I sing of a maiden

  That is matchless,

  King of all Kings