Nicky attempted facetious gaiety, prowled, sulked and postured, but all in vain. Rahossis treated him with the same friendliness she showed the others but simply could not be induced to favour him again with any special interest.
Whenever he did succeed in catching her alone she was always busy on some small task which, she declared, could not be put aside at the moment, and daily these frustrations were adding fuel to Nicky’s passion.
It was in the early evening after work, but while there was still an hour to go before the nightly meal that, just a week after Sally’s wedding, he at last found Rahossis alone and unoccupied, seated on the grass in front of her apartment.
“I suppose as soon as I sit down you’ll find you’ve got to get up and do something?” he said with heavy sarcasm.
Rahossis looked surprised. “No,” she said, “I have nothing to do at the moment if you wish to talk to me.”
Nicky sat down, put his chin on his knees; and muttered moodily: “Why are you so horrid to me now?”
Rahossis laughed indulgently. “I am not horrid to you. Be sensible my dear and you will become as happy as all the others here.”
“Happy!” he exclaimed. “How can I be happy when you don’t take any interest in me?”
“What is there to interest me in you?” she said lightly. “You seem like a rather spoilt child to me.” Then, because to give pain was quite contrary to her Atlantean nature she added quickly: “I did not mean that, it is I who am too old now to appreciate your youth. Tell me your life story; I should like to hear it.”
Nicky was pacified at once. He loved talking about Nicky Costello and plunged into the completely fictitious autobiography that he knew so well; having forgotten already his confession of his true origin made to his friends in the bathysphere when they all thought they were going to die.
“I was rather a cute little chap I believe,” he began modestly, “mop of golden curls you know and big eyes. Everyone used to turn and look at me in the streets. My father was in Real Estate an ordinary middle class business man—and ma was just a sweet homely woman. It’s all owing to her influence that I am what I am to-day. She kept me straight as a lad.”
“With exercises?” asked Rahossis brightening. “Perhaps you can show us some new ones?”
Nicky compressed his lips. “No, not exercises—prayers!” He replied in a faintly superior and snubbing tone.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” apologised Rahossis meekly.
“I was never any good at my books,” he continued with the gay laugh which reporters like to hear. “I’m afraid I wore the dunce’s cap many times and was my bottom sore?”
“Was it?” asked Rahossis with polite interest.
This time he ignored the interruption; “My poor old father lost all his money one fine day and there was the family on the rocks—Nicky told them not to worry and got a job as an errand boy to a theatrical costumiers. Yes folks! You can all see what’s coming. But stop a minute—father got ill, then mother got ill and little Nicky did his job by day and looked after the old folks, who had given him their lives, by night. Well—it’s no use dwelling on unhappiness—there’s enough of that in this little world—the old folks got better but meanwhile Nicky had walked into the Film Studios one day and asked for a part. There was a nerve you’ll say—well something had to be done. No one can support three people on the few dimes I got for being an errand boy.
“The casting director helped me out of his office with the the toe of his boot, although he has to listen to me now, then little Nicky lost his way in the passages of that vast palace of sets and dressing-rooms and quite by accident he found himself in the back of one of the Caravans they were using for a big film for the new Juvenile Star—a kid called Coral Pacific.
“When she trundled on to the set Nicky hops on to the box and she catches sight of him—she was a passionate little creature and spoilt then—though she’s got over all that now. ‘Plumok’ she yells at her director ‘I want that boy in my scene instead of that scrubby little hobo you tried out yesterday.’ She knew good stuff when she saw it.
“Then they discovered my voice,” Nicky announced impressively. He always treated his voice as if it had been a second American Continent though the role of Columbus varied according to the public he was appealing to at the time. “They were amazed. Such a perfect crooning voice had never been heard before—and then of course I had to do my training—hard work there—at it all day, and studying all night to get through college. No one can say that film stars don’t work for their living. But it is all worth it if we can give the great generous public even an hours relief from the problems which beset them—a little laughter makes life easier, and all the world loves a lover if the stuff is put over with genuine feeling and discretion—no hot stuff about Nicky Costello’s films. Keep it clean was my old mother’s motto and it still hangs over my bed.”
“That reminds me,” said Rahossis.
“What of?” he asked.
“To put an extra cushion on your bed—you seemed to be tossing about so uncomfortably when I walked past you early this morning.
Nicky did not consider that his poignant history of suffering and victory had been received with enough applause. “I wish my mother had known you,” he said.
“I wish I had known her.” Rahossis replied politely. “We should have been about the same age.”
“Good God! Don’t keep reminding me of that!” He exclaimed furiously. Then he glanced quickly at his companion’s lovely face. He had just thought of a plan to interest her.
“Would you like me to sing to you?” he suggested and without waiting for her assent he sat down on the grass and drew her down too. Tilting his face towards the radiance of the earthshine he closed his eyes. Nicky had very fine eyelashes. Then he lifted up the muted cross between a tenor and alto, which he called his voice and started to croon.
Fortunately Nicky kept his eyes closed in growing ecstasy as he sang. “Dear Baby … God gave me … I’m holding … your hands!” Rahossis had never been called a baby before but she was always ready for a new experience. She was a little perplexed however when, having finished the last sob-note of “Dear Baby” he embarked on “In all the World … Mother-r-r-r … there’s no one like you!” The tune of the second song was much the same as the first—both variations on about five notes and written specially for Nicky’s particular talent.
He sang on—really enjoying himself now and plunging deeper and deeper into the part he had selected, being no psychologist, as most likely to soften and attract Rahossis.
Suddenly he ceased and buried his face in his hands; Rahossis jumped, for he had broken off in the middle of a long wriggle on middle C, and said anxiously. “Are you not well Nicky—what is the matter?”
“Matter?” he muttered and gave his famous hollow laugh; “the matter is that I’m miserable because I love you so—and you will never be mine!” The part did not quite fit but it served Nicky’s purpose.
Rahossis looked relieved. “But I have been yours,” she corrected him gently “Twice.”
“Words! … words!” He exclaimed tragically, now visualising himself in the role of betrayed lover. “Rahossis—you are driving me to despair—I love you—I want you—we were made for each other. What is it that has come between us? You were so sweet to me only a few nights ago and now …! You are flirting with that man Quet—don’t deny it!”
“Oh I just find him amusing” Rahossis said lightly.
“Don’t lie to me! Not that! I could not bear it.” Nicky drew his hand across his eyes as the old cliches came back. “Tell me the truth—I am brave and I can bear that, although life will never be the same again.” He groaned just as beautifully as he had in ‘All for Love’. “I am only just a poor man who loves you—I’ve worked my way up from nothing—I know that—but I love you Rahossis. I love you more than words can say.”
Rahossis was kind and generous to a fault and for the moment she was not bored. This was just lik
e one of those romances which she and her companions were always following on their journeys—it was interesting to hear it at first hand. What odd words and gestures the people of the upper world use to make love—she thought. But Nicky was waiting there with a look like a hungry spaniel.
“Dear Nicky,” she said, “I cannot always be alone with you here—the life we lead is so different from yours. She put up her hand and touched his face caressingly. He seized and kissed it, slipping into the role of the ‘other’ man like an eel into mud.
“Rahossis—dearest—you must leave all this—let’s go away together. I’ll take care of you I swear it. We’ll start life anew. Just you and I in some place where no one knows us—it will be heaven to have you with me always. Poor little girl—you’ve had a rotten deal!”
Rahossis’ expression had changed as these singularly inapt lines flowed from Nicky’s beautifully curved mouth. His artistic temperament which always dominated his mentality at such times was his undoing.
She rose to her feet with dignity, pulled down her tunic and said coldly. “I think you are jesting. You know we could not leave Atlantis, even if we wished, and I am neither poor or a little girl.”
Nicky blinked as he realised the mess he had made and Rahossis turned to enter her apartment.
She walked into her room and sat down on her bed, but he followed, flinging himself at her knees.
“Rahossis”—he cried, “I’m sorry—please forgive me—God knows I do love you and I’m nearly mad with wanting you. I can’t sleep or eat—or think of anything else!” Then, without acting, he burst into tears.
Rahossis was horrified. She gathered him up in her arms as if he had been Ciston and held his head against her breast. “Darling” she murmured “there … there … there.”
But no amount of petting soothed Nicky’s sobs. He was on a good thing and he was going to stay on it as long as he could. So he sobbed and sobbed until poor tender-hearted Rahossis grew anxious. She gave him a drink of water but still he sobbed. “Come near me—let me love you … darling—don’t leave me!”
His hands started fumbling at her tunic and she had not the heart to stop him.
If Nicky had not been so fully occupied he might have noticed his ears burning for several of his friends were discussing him just then.
Axel and Lulluma had begun to stroll hand in hand towards the jungle directly their work for the day was over, but Sally and the McKay were seated by the lake-side in the meadow, so they paused to speak to them on the way.
The newly-married pair were engaged in what the Atlanteans regarded as a most curious pastime. Having discovered that neither of them were allowed to do anything but amuse each other during the period of their honeymoon, the McKay had collected an odd assortment of items on the first day that the Atlanteans went back to work; two long, tapering, bamboo canes, two lengths of yarn from the weaving shop, a couple of sharp bent nails from Nahou and some little pieces of silvery dress material provided by Lulluma. With the addition of a couple of pieces of cane for floats he and Sally had constructed a couple of rough fishing rods and had spent a good portion of the last three afternoons by the placid waters of the lake, trying in vain for a catch.
The Atlanteans had been tremendously intrigued, breaking off their labours and coming to stare over the kitchen garden fence at this strange spectacle of two lovers solemnly gazing at the water in which they had dropped a bent hook covered in dough with a tiny bit of tinsel above it.
To polite enquiries the McKay had replied that they were ‘fishing’—which the Atlanteans regarded as a gigantic joke.
Nahou, courteous as ever, had offered to operate the concealed dragnet which would enable them to secure as many fish as they wished, adding that they could throw back any they did not require into the lake again, but when the McKay rejected the suggestion it became quite evident to their new friends that they could not be fishing whatever else they might be up to.
Atlantean opinion then became divided into two camps. One school of thought inclined to the theory that the lovers could not be happy because they remained so quiet and that this offering of a small piece of dough on a string must be a propitiatory rite to some barbarous water God they followed. The other side postulated that there must be some queer hidden pleasure in the game which might add to the enjoyment of their own honeymoons if they could only find it out.
Lulluma inclined to the first belief. As she came up with Axel she paused beside Sally and eyed the rods dubiously for a moment. Then she stooped and said in a swift whisper: “I’m so sorry you’re unhappy darling—is there anything I can do?”
“But I’m not unhappy!” Sally lifted her face in swift astonishment. “I’m having a glorious time. I never dreamed that life could be so good—surely I look happy don’t I?”
“Yes,” Lulluma agreed cautiously. “It is only seeing you spend so much time at this queer game you play that made me wonder if you were …”
“It was sweet of you to worry for me.” Sally caught her hand and pressed it gratefully. “Sooner or later we’ll really catch a fish—you’ll see. The difficulty makes it all the more exciting in a way—but I am happy—divinely and deliriously so. Who could be otherwise in your enchanted island?”
The McKay, puffing contentedly at an Atlantean bamboo pipe, for he had now accustomed himself to their tobacco which had been introduced to him at his first banquet in the island, was explaining to Axel that they were getting plenty of bites but could not manage to land a catch owing to the indifferent hooks.
They both heard Sally’s last words and Axel turned to her; “I know one person who is by no means happy and it is worrying me very much indeed!”
“You mean Nicky eh?” The McKay shot him a swift glance from under his shaggy brows.
“That poor boy hankers after Rahossis,” remarked Lulluma.
“Hanker is a mild word me’dear,” the McKay took her up. “I’m sorry for the lad of course as he’s got it so badly, but he ought to learn to control himself. It’s downright indecent for any man to make an exhibition of himself tagging after a woman with his tongue hanging out like that!”
“It’s his temper that I’m afraid of,” said Axel slowly. “You remember the violent rages he used to get in with Vladimir about Camilla? And now he is positively consumed with jealousy because Rahossis prefers Quet. Well, Vladimir was so strong that he could afford to laugh but the Atlantean is quite a slim fellow so Nicky might go for him and then one of them would probably get badly hurt.”
“You think so eh?” the McKay grunted, lifting his dripping line out of the water to inspect the bait. “Well, I promised the Admiral I’d keep you all in order and by Gad I’ll tan that young man’s hide if he starts creating any trouble here.”
Sally laughed. “You are a bellicose person darling!”
Lulluma smiled and, catching Axel’s hand, led him away. “I’m happier about them now,” she said when they were out of hearing. “They do love each other an awful lot—far more than I’d supposed.”
He nodded. “You needn’t worry your sweet head about them—or those two nice pagans Vladimir and Camilla. They’re both as happy as the day is long and the Doctor is as contented as can be collecting his specimens and talking ancient religions with Menes. It’s Nicky who is going to cause trouble before we’re much older.”
“It is so difficult to know what to do in such a case,” Lulluma said as they entered the jungle. “You see he is a very stupid young man—extremely conceited, and a bore—so how could any woman be expected to like him?”
“He’s a fine strapping chap and very good-looking,” ventured Axel.
She shrugged her plump shoulders disdainfully. “Who isn’t? We’re all of us that but one needs something else beside health and good looks to be really attractive in this life.”
“Of course,” he agreed as they sat down side by side in front of the statue of Priapus where he had first seen Danöe sleeping, “anyhow for people like ourselves, but
this affair of Nicky’s does raise a general problem. You seem to have solved the usual evils that wreck human happiness here—except this one thing—jealousy and unrequited love. What happens if one of you falls in love with another who does not return that love. Doesn’t that sometimes lead to tragedy?”
She shook her dark curls. “No, such a situation never occurs. You see time is on our side here. None of us can escape physically from our island and if one of us feels drawn to another who is having an affair with someone else we check our incipient passion and travel at once. If the affair is still in progress when we return or the person for whom our love is growing is asleep, we travel again—distracting our minds with new scenes and interests; but we meet at the harvests or the sowings and are free to develop our romance, if the other one is all over by that time. Often, the longer we have to subdue our longings the greater is the joy of their realisation in the end.”
“Yes, I understand that,” Axel gazed down upon her fondly as she stretched herself out on the grass with her hands behind her head. “By such cultivated restraint you may practically eliminate jealousy. Especially if you are quite certain of achieving your object in the long run, but what happens if you return time and time again only to find that the other person doesn’t love you and is never likely to?”
Lulluma grunted. She did at times and Axel loved to hear the sound because it was a certain indication that she was in her happiest and most contented mood.
For a moment she stared up at him, a wicked little smile just lifting the corners of her full lips, then she said: “I’ll tell you if you wish. In most cases just being together a lot during the harvest and a little fooling at the Festival is enough, but if that fails we resort to other measures. There are what you would call electric currents which pass between people and either attract or repel. Those have to be manipulated. It is part of the lore passed down to us from that antediluvian world which contained such an enormous store of wisdom. By a secret ceremony privately performed we set certain vibrations in motion and then concentrate our thoughts. Such means never fail and the woman who employs them will be sure of receiving a gift of flowers from the lover of her desire the day afterwards, or a man tender looks from the woman of his choice.”
They Found Atlantis Page 35