The Black Fox A Novel Of The Seventies

by Gerald Heard

  She paused; surely this should reassure Dr. McPhail at least to the point of making it possible for him to say what he had planned and plotted. To put him more at his ease she had avoided looking at him as she spoke and now glancing up she found that he had turned his back on her. But after peering at the window for a moment or two he evidently had succeeded in composing a sentence that was at least utterable with the aid of a number of throat clearances.

  "I know oratio recta is said to be the sign of a bore. But, if accurate, which of course is seldom"—his nervousness made him titter—"it is most informative. I am therefore asking only that you would listen to my report, every detail of which is certainly impressed on my memory. Then if you judge that I have been wholly inept in this matter I trust you will leave without questioning my wish to be of use."

  The stilted opening seemed to give him self-assurance. For after that he succeeded in acting up to his word as to the style of his narrative.

  "We have, as you know, the honour of Sheik Reshad ibn-Khaldun's presence with us. The fact that he was able to visit England was the chief reason for my so hastily summoning all the lovers of Arabic on whom I could lay hands. As I believed he would be, he has proved a star on our voyages. I so preface my report because otherwise I could not have listened to what I am now about to repeat. It would have been wholly impossible for me to retail it to you. He and I were together as yesterday our noon conference closed. He had been taking the chair for us and I had been seated on the rostrum beside him acting as secretary and reporter. As the members were adjourning he turned and touched me as I was completing an entry. He said almost in my ear, 'Do you see that man?' I looked up. I saw unmistakably at whom he was looking. I replied, 'He has been introduced to you and has spoken several times. You recall he is. . . ' He cut me short. That man is followed.' 'Followed?' I asked, a little absent-mindedly, I fear, for I was writing at the time and, believe me, had not an idea as to what he could mean. 'That man is closely followed,' he went on. 'I saw the dark jackal in his shadow.' 'I don't understand,' I said with complete frankness. I wish he had not felt he must"—Dr. McPhail paused at the word —"enlighten me further."

  Miss Throcton put out her hand and held onto one of the book shelves.

  "I could hardly believe my ears. 'He has put evil on another,' the Sheik continued quite quietly, 'and it is now following him until it comes up with him.''My dear Sheik,' I exclaimed, for we are very close to each other, and he knows the—well I may as well say it—the more than regard, the reverence in which I hold him, 'My dear Sheik, really that is, I can assure you, nonsense. It's just one of the things that can't be true. You must remember he is a Dean—it is a position of great prestige.' I even attempted, for I was so at a loss, a small weak jest. 'You may not need to be told that we seldom seem to produce sanctity, but the reason for that, many have thought, is because we so heartily pursue respectability. And a Deanery is, I repeat, a station which only the most highly respectable can ambition or retain.' 'How did he come to it?' 'By preferment,' I answered at once. 'It, like all the Deaneries, is a gift of the Crown. And I must say that whereas in our time a scandalous appointment can hardly be made, though holiness may be passed over, scholarship may not only apply but may expect to be called. In this case pre-eminently, as in many others, a scholar of high excellence has been chosen for recognition.' "

  " 'I am not questioning—and would not—his intellectual power. Be assured I have judged of that. Further, I have not only found it powerful. I have detected in it a quality that might have suggested to me the very diagnosis which now my inner sight has confirmed. It is his wish for recognition that gave him his present place. Ambition, and the power which it has to raise us high in this world, can always and with equal power drive us to the brink of the unseen precipice of the world unseen.' "

  " 'But even if there could be the slightest truth in this,' I asked him, for by now I was alarmed (after all, he knows more than we of books and words can ever learn), 'even then we could do nothing about it.' There is still a little time,' he answered, and then asked, 'Is there no one in this world who still cares for him, has a real devotion to him? Of course he may not have kept any such contacts. It is the danger of the lonely arrogant soul. In its crisis it finds itself without allies, without sureties. It is through such selfless loving-kindness and through that alone that there is a hope of making a passage to deliver his beleaguered soul.' "

  The reporter had evidently come to the end of his narrative.

  Miss Throcton heard him sigh deeply, that sigh which is half exhaustion brought on by bewilderment and half relief at the discharge of a repugnant task.

  'That is why I ventured to send for you."

  Dr. McPhail's colophon obviously called on her to reply.

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked distressedly.

  What was the use of this poor little man pouring out all this to her? Granted it was true, and of course in some horrible irrational way it was, it must be, what could he or she do about it? It was, then, with something that was more surprise, but had in it a species of relief, that she heard him reply promptly.

  'The Sheik says that he will speak with you in the garden at the party tomorrow."

  The reply, however, with its tone of superior arrangement, the moment she reflected on it increased her surprise and lessened the small element of relief.

  "But I don't know that I want to speak with him," she said defensively. And as the horrible absurdity of the situation grew clearer to her, she added, "I mean how can a complete stranger, a ... a ... foreigner"—her exhaustion, coming on her long fear, made it condense into a sudden uncontrollable irritability— "... I mean how dare he have such suspicions!"

  The moment she had permitted herself the irrational relief of trying to put out of countenance her informant, who had told her more truth than she could bear, she felt ashamed. He was watching her now. The fact that he had discharged his task had given him his courage. And so he was able to judge hers.

  "I realize, Miss Throcton, I realize how utterly painful this must be to you. And"—he turned aside for a moment to pat a broad calf-bound folio on its back—"may I be permitted to say how much the thought of your courage heartened me in my attempt to be of use and my determination—in which I had the Sheik's strong counsel—not to shirk, as I would have wished,

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  the discharge of this duty. It is therefore that I would beg you to consider the two things which finally decided me to take this unprecedented step of sending for you: Firstly, I have never known the Sheik to be mistaken in his diagnoses—yes, that is the word—and, secondly, I have known his advice neglected, neglected with the gravest consequences."

  The offer was still one she would have given much to be able to refuse. But now she saw that choice was no longer offered her. Here, however painful it might be, lay an offer of help. To try and disregard it would be to show that she, like her brother, no longer had the power to face facts but in their determination not to recognize the change in their world, the successful intrusion from another, were taking refuge in a fantasy of common sense.

  The kindly common-sense world of "average sensual people," the quiet highly diluted piety of the Close, these things she and her brother might regain. But today they were as banished from it as Adam and Eve from Paradise. She must face the fact—call it madness, molestation, possession. Words didn't matter. Only the price of the return, the redemptive price had now to be asked. "Thank you very much," she said. "Please understand I realize what this must have cost you to perform. I will certainly and gladly consult with the Sheik."

  As they parted in the main room of the great shop, Dr. Me-Phail said, t( I will see that a couple of chairs are put under some trees that are at the border of the farther lawn. You will be able to be quiet there."

  It was a lovely afternoon, the year having reached that turn in its tide when summer's salience and autumn's recoil are balanced, a day when it seems possible to believe that the climate
has settled down and might give up having seasons and changes, give up growth and decay and stabilize in a quiet perpetuation of unhurried beauty* Miss Throcton had found the two chairs, had been found, served and left supplied by a tea-distributing

  waiter. She was glad the main group was still round the long table-clothed benches on which silver cake-dishes and tea and coffee urns rose like miniature spires and domes. Her eye had just wandered, climbing up the creeper-covered walls, to the still sky, when she heard a voice beside her.

  "These days when Nature seems to pause are of course far more significant than winter's storms or the splendour of spring. It is not really the climate of the land 'where it was always afternoon.' It is that the veil between that which does not move and our periodic selves is now thin."

  The voice spoke English with that perfection ot accent hardly ever achieved either by those who have learned it after they have ceased to be children or those who have carelessly misspoken it from infancy. She turned to see looking down at her a man dressed in a dark robe that passed in this group where a number of the residents were wearing their gowns. What could not be passed over were his eyes. Indeed she was held by them so that afterwards she found she was unable to recall his other features. Was his beard grey or black, his nose straight or hooked, his complexion olive or pale? Even of the eyes themselves she could not remember their tint. He sat down beside her and in the same quiet almost reminiscent tone remarked, "You are of course sister to Dean Throcton. Further, you brought him here, by the mercy of the All Merciful while time remained. When I left Egypt I questioned my soul why it should warn me that grave necessity lay behind my intention. I had duties in regard to my religious concerns which called for a visit to London—now that your country by the mysterious powers of money and machinery has reversed the miracle of Moses by joining two seas and so has made a water highway across the desert. I had the pleasure of this extemporized conference and generous hospitality to expect, and my expectations have been more than met. But neither business nor pleasure could have given me that deep sense of urgency. Now I know. And this particular day, yes it is fitting, lucky as the ignorant say, auspicious as you might put it, blessed would be my term."

  'Who are you?" she asked directly; surely he would tell her a little more than had Dr. McPhail He replied,

  "A Sufi."

  Whether he would have told her more or not, at that moment the easily moving group of guests which had been circling the lawns, deserted the tea-tables as their pivot and began to approach that farther end of the garden in which he and she were sitting. She saw her brother talking almost vivaciously with Dr. McPhail.

  "You are relieved." The voice beside her followed the change of her thought, and added, "Yes, we have a reprieve, a reprieve so that we may restate our case, offer, maybe, fresh surety and approach the Supreme Court with our appeal, and," he continued slowly, "our promise to make a further. . . ." He paused, then went on,

  "Let me tell you what I now see straight before me on this quiet lawn in this place where ancient piety and learning have been refined until like a rich heavy wine too long kept it has become little more than a clear, thin, faintly flavoured, faintly coloured water. I see a fine and honoured presence, learning, yes, and learning made polished, finished, closed, as the pores of wood are closed when the cabinet worker has lacquered them. And so there is pride. And with pride always the danger of scorn, and with scorn hatred and with hatred hell."

  His voice had deepened until it was so low that she thought she had never heard a human tone so profound. But quiet, so that, even as close as they were, she could hardly catch the words. As she strained to catch what he was saying a sudden irritation swept into her mind. Surely all of this was unhelpfully odd, in spite of all Dr. McPhail's efforts—themselves rather ab-

  surd—to prepare her and to ally himself with her fears. How could it help her brother's mental difficulties for her to sit here and be lectured about his character by a complete stranger, an African too, however learned he might be, and surely his learning could hardly be helpful in a case of brain-tension? She had heard that the medical and hygienic state of Egypt was so low that those who travelled there in spite of every modern precaution often suffered severe upsets of the digestion and severe fevers. Her mind felt a colour-bar rising between her and this stranger who disconcertingly combined aloofness with personality.

  The voice beside her spoke again. But it was light now.

  *Tou are right to resent a liberty if taken by one who is impertinent, though even then it would be more right to endure even that, I have no right certainly to lecture you, giving you a cheap form of character analysis of your closest relation, as a charlatan might do at a fair. So I will add, I see one of the finest works of God, a learned man who has industriously used his talent. And I see"—his voice hardly modified at all its same clear unstressed tone—"I see, at this moment, following him, hardly a cubit behind his heels. . . "

  She had grasped the arm of her chair, and he interrupted himself to say kindly,

  "No, don't feel panic. Practically everyone here is followed by a form or trail that would profoundly startle them and theirs, if these wraiths could be seen. And yet I do not see any but one who is in immediate danger of being overtaken. Indeed some are actually—how shall I put it?—increasing the distance between themselves and that which Follows, dogs them, don't you say. Of course that is not an accurate way of describing what is going on, but it will serve,"

  "But that one, my brother?" Her voice was now tautly urgent, l." he spoke gravely but with no trace of alarm in his

  tone, "that is why we are here. There is hope, I mean in this world. It will depend, must depend on him. But if you are to understand, and we are to do whatever may be permitted of us, you must grasp clearly what it is I am now seeing. I see that he is closely followed by a form that, because of its particular character, I know"—again he paused and concluded—"I know what he has done."

  "Are you sure?"

  It was all she could think to say. He closed the issue by saying quietly,"A murderer alone is followed by that species and that particular variety follows those who have done murder through magic—or as you would put it, not by deed but by intention. I need hardly, however, point out to you that your Prophet, Jeshua ben Miriam, may his name be blessed, has specifically told us that it is intention rather than act that establishes blood-guiltiness before the Throne of the Most High. Your brother is followed by what my predecessors in my land called the black form of Anubis, the dark and dreadful aspect of him who summons the dead before the Judge in the underworld. I see further that the creature is not only black with the shadow of the darkness caused by murderous death, it is also leprous. He placed evil on another and then lied to himself when he had done it and while he did it. Therefore, not only has it returned on him, as it must: He is unable, because of his lie, to rid himself of it by expiation, by making the offering that, though it might not save his forfeited life of the body, would at least save his soul out of the hand of vengeance."

  They sat silent for some time. Time seemed to have stopped for her as she looked across from the pass to which he had brought her, the pass between two worlds, the unseen and the seen, and saw, as though she were already a stranger, a disembodied revenant, the bright innocent scene, where, as ignorant as children playing over a covered mine-shaft, the conference members—her brother treated as one of them—chatted of their studies. She felt herself at last sighing, as one coming to from fainting, and then heard her voice saying,

  "Can't anything be done? Can't I do anything?"

  "That offer is never useless."

  He spoke as might a fine judge of engravings who, turning over a large portfolio, will select one and hold it up to the light. "Next to its own act of trust in the Most High, the devotion of another can be the soul's greatest defence."

  "I would do anything for him."

  "I had judged that possible or it would have been litde use our meeting."

>   'Then can't I take this thing from him, for him—he is so helpless, so young, if the word does not sound absurd to you."

  "No"—and almost a smile could be suspected in the tone— "No: years are made by the soul and its desire for growth. I am in my ninth decade, as it has been my duty to wait, and, if it might be, to grow inwardly. And others can refuse to grow, as he has. The folly of youth is the vice of old age, you know the phrase. So"—and his voice again let go its lightness—"had he been really young, and not merely arrested, then you might have taken this for him. Parents, devoted and wise parents, can for their children. But very seldom a sister for her brother. For he acted with an adult intention and he can pay the price, the heavy price, if he will ... if he will confess to his evil and throw himself on the mercy of the All Merciful. Therefore no one can do it for him. 'No man may make agreement for his brother nor take his guiltiness upon him. For it cost more to redeem their souls, so he must leave that alone for ever.' " "

  The Psalter quotation she had heard mumbled over so often, and sometimes wondered about as the choir chanted all question out of it, now used by an Arab seemed to give a certain security

  to their conversation, a conversation that seemed to waver between incredible fantasy and hopeless despair. She felt a sudden strength of confidence come to her. This man knew. He knew with a precision about the things of the heart and soul that we had yet to achieve in things of the body and its hygiene. And with that, because her engrossed absorption with the present had been for the moment a little relieved, her memory began again to work.