CHAPTER XIII
THE AWFUL "MISTA KOSEK"
The terrible sacrifice marked the end of the light season. The darkseason had now begun, which would last for half the coming year. Nomore sunlight would now be visible, save at first for a few joms,when at certain times the glare would be seen shooting up above theicy crests of the mountains. Now the people all moved out of thecaverns into the stone houses on the opposite side of the terraces,and the busy throng transferred themselves and their occupations tothe open air. This with them was the season of activity, when alltheir most important affairs were undertaken and carried out; theseason, too, of enjoyment, when all the chief sports and festivalstook place. Then the outer world all awoke to life; the streets werethronged, fleets of galleys came forth from their moorings, and thesounds of labor and of pleasure, of toil and revelry, arose into thedarkened skies. Then the city was a city of the living, no longersilent, but full of bustle, and the caverns were frequented butlittle. This cavern life was only tolerable during the light season,when the sun-glare was over the land; but now, when the beneficent andgrateful darkness pervaded all things, the outer world was infinitelymore agreeable.
To me, however, the arrival of the dark season brought only additionalgloom. I could not get rid of the thought that I was reserved for somehorrible fate, in which Almah might also be involved. We were bothaliens here, in a nation of kind-hearted and amiable miscreants--ofgenerous, refined, and most self-denying fiends; of men who werehighly civilized, yet utterly wrong-headed and irreclaimable in theirblood-thirsty cruelty. The stain of blood-guiltiness was over all theland. What was I, that I could hope to be spared? The hope wasmadness, and I did not pretend to indulge it.
The only consolation was Almah. The manners of these people were suchthat we were still left as unconstrained as ever in our movements, andalways, wherever we went, we encountered nothing but amiable smilesand courteous offices. Everyone was always eager to do anything forus--to give, to go, to act, to speak, as though we were the mosthonored of guests, the pride of the city. The Kohen was untiring inhis efforts to please. He was in the habit of making presents everytime he came to see me, and on each occasion the present was of adifferent kind; at one time it was a new robe of curiously wroughtfeathers, at another some beautiful gem, at another some rare fruit.He also made incessant efforts to render my situation pleasant, andwas delighted at my rapid progress in acquiring the language.
On the jom following the sacrifice I accompanied Almah as she wentto her daily task, and after it was over I asked when the new victimswould be placed here. "How long does it take to embalm them?" I added.
Almah looked at me earnestly. "They will not bring them here; theywill not embalm them," said she.
"Why not?" I asked; "what will they do with them?"
"Do not ask," said she. "It will pain you to know."
In spite of repeated solicitation she refused to give me anysatisfaction. I felt deeply moved at her words and her looks. What wasit, I wondered, that could give me pain? or what could there stillbe that could excite fear in me, who had learned and seen so much? Icould not imagine. It was evidently some disposal of the bodies ofthe victims--that was plain. Turning this over in my mind, with vagueconjectures as to Almah's meaning, I left her and walked along theterrace until I came to the next cavern. This had never been openbefore, and I now entered through curiosity to see what it might be.I saw a vast cavern, quite as large as the cheder nebilin, full ofpeople, who seemed to be engaged in decorating it. Hundreds were atwork, and they had brought immense tree-ferns, which were placed oneither side in long rows, with their branches meeting and interlacingat the top. It looked like the interior of some great Gothic cathedralat night, and the few twinkling lights that were scattered here andthere made the shadowy outline just visible to me.
I asked one of the bystanders what this might be, and he told me thatit was the Mista Kosek, which means the "Feast of Darkness," fromwhich I gathered that they were about to celebrate the advent of thedark season with a feast. From what I knew of their character thisseemed quite intelligible, and there was much beauty and taste in thearrangements. All were industrious and orderly, and each one seemedmost eager to assist his neighbor. Indeed, there seemed to be afriendly rivalry in this which at times amounted to positive violence;for more than once when a man was seen carrying too large a burden,someone else would insist on taking it from him. At first thesealtercations seemed exactly like the quarrels of workmen at home, buta closer inspection showed that it was merely the persistent effortof one to help another.
I learned that the feast was to take place as soon as the hall wasdecorated, and that it would be attended by a great multitude. I felta great interest in it. There seemed something of poetic beauty inthis mode of welcoming the advent of a welcome season, and it servedto mitigate the horrible remembrance of that other celebration, uponwhich I could not think without a shudder. I thought that it would bepleasant to join with them here, and resolved to ask Almah to comewith me, so that she might explain the meaning of the ceremonies. Fullof this thought, I went to her and told her my wish. She looked at mewith a face full of amazement and misery. In great surprise Iquestioned her eagerly.
"Ask me nothing," said she. "I will answer nothing; but do not thinkof it. Do not go near it. Stay in your room till the fearful repast isover."
"Fearful? How is it fearful?" I asked.
"Everything here is fearful," said Almah, with a sigh. "Every seasonit grows worse, and I shall grow at length to hate life and love deathas these people do. They can never understand us, and we can neverunderstand them. Oh, if I could but once more stand in my own dearnative land but for one moment--to see once more the scenes and thefaces that I love so well! Oh, how different is this land from mine!Here all is dark, all is terrible. There the people love the light andrejoice in the glorious sun, and when the dark season comes they wait,and have no other desire than long day. There we live under the sky,in the eye of the sun. We build our houses, and when the dark seasoncomes we fill them with lamps that make a blaze like the sun itself."
"We must try to escape," I said, in a low voice.
"Escape!" said she. "That is easy enough. We might go now; but where?"
"Back," said I, "to your own country. See, the sky is dotted withstars: I can find my way by them."
"Yes," said she, "if I could only tell you where to go; but I cannot.My country lies somewhere over the sea, but where, I know not. Overthe sea there are many lands, and we might reach one even worse thanthis."
"Perhaps," said I, "the Kohen might allow us to go away to yourcountry, and send us there. He is most generous and most amiable. Heseems to spend most of his time in efforts to make us happy. Theremust be many seamen in this nation who know the way. It would be worthtrying."
Almah shook her head. "You do not understand these people," said she."Their ruling passion is the hatred of self, and therefore they areeager to confer benefits on others. The only hope of life that I havefor you and for myself is in this, that if they kill us they will losetheir most agreeable occupation. They value us most highly, becausewe take everything that is given us. You and I now possess as our ownproperty all this city and all its buildings, and all the people havemade themselves our slaves."
At this I was utterly bewildered.
"I don't understand," said I.
"I suppose not," said Almah; "but you will understand better after youhave been here longer. At any rate, you can see for yourself that theruling passion here is self-denial and the good of others. Everyone isintent upon this, from the Kohen up to the most squalid pauper."
"_Up_ to the most squalid pauper?" said I. "I do not understand you.You mean _down_ to the most squalid pauper."
"No," said Almah; "I mean what I say. In this country the paupers formthe most honored and envied class."
"This is beyond my comprehension," said I. "But if this is really so,and if these people pretend to be our slaves, why may we not order outa galley and go?"
"Oh, well, with you in your land, if a master were to order his slavesto cut his throat and poison his children and burn his house, wouldthe slaves obey?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, our slaves here would not--in fact could not--obey a commandthat would be shocking to their natures. They think that we are in thebest of all lands, and my request to be sent home would be utterlymonstrous."
"I suppose," said I, "they would kill us if we asked them to do so?"
"Yes," said Almah; "for they think death the greatest blessing."
"And if at the point of death we should beg for life, would they spareus?"
"Certainly not," said Almah. "Would you kill a man who asked fordeath? No more would these people spare a man who asked for life."
All this was so utterly incomprehensible that I could pursue thesubject no further. I saw, however, that Almah was wretched, dejected,and suffering greatly from home-sickness. Gladly would I have takenher and started off on a desperate flight by sea or land--gladly wouldI have dared every peril, although I well knew what tremendous perilsthere were; but she would not consent, and believed the attempt to beuseless. I could only wait, therefore, and indulge the hope that atlast a chance of escape might one day come, of which she would bewilling to avail herself.
Almah utterly refused to go to the feast, and entreated me not to go;but this only served to increase my curiosity, and I determined to seeit for myself, whatever it was. She had seen it, and why should not I?Whatever it might be, my nerves could surely stand the shock as wellas hers. Besides, I was anxious to know the very worst; and if therewas anything that could surpass in atrocity what I had alreadywitnessed, it were better that I should not remain in ignorance of it.
So at length, leaving Almah, I returned to the hall of the feast. Ifound there a vast multitude, which seemed to comprise the wholecity--men, women, children, all were there. Long tables were laid out.The people were all standing an waiting. A choir was singing plaintivestrains that sounded like the chant of the sacrifice. Those nearest meregarded me with their usual amiable smiles, and wished to conduct meto some place of honor; but I did not care about taking part in thisfeast. I wished to be a mere spectator, nothing more. I walked pastand came to the next cavern. This seemed to be quite as large as theother. There was a crowd of people here also, and at one end thereblazed an enormous fire. It was a furnace that seemed to be used forcooking the food of this banquet, and there was a thick steam risingfrom an immense cauldron, while the air was filled with an odor likethat of a kitchen.
All this I took in at a glance, and at the same instant I sawsomething else. There were several very long tables, which stood atthe sides of the cavern and in the middle, and upon each of these Isaw lying certain things covered over with cloths. The shape of thesewas more than suggestive--it told me all. It was a sight ofhorror--awful, tremendous, unspeakable! For a moment I stoodmotionless staring; then all the cavern seemed to swim around me. Ireeled, I fell, and sank into nothingness.
When I revived I was in the lighted grotto, lying on a couch, withAlmah bending over me. Her face was full of tenderest anxiety, yetthere was also apparent a certain solemn gloom that well accorded withmy own feelings. As I looked at her she drew a long breath, and buriedher face in her hands.
After a time my recollection returned, and all came back to me. I roseto a sitting posture.
"Do not rise yet," said Almah, anxiously; "you are weak."
"No," said I; "I am as strong as ever; but I'm afraid that you areweaker."
Almah shuddered.
"If you had told me exactly what it was, I would not have gone."
"I could not tell you," said she. "It is too terrible to name. Eventhe thought is intolerable. I told you not to go. Why did you go?"
She spoke in accents of tender reproach, and there were tears in hereyes.
"I did not think of anything so hideous as that," said I. "I thoughtthat there might be a sacrifice, but nothing worse."
I now learned that when I fainted I had been raised most tenderly,and the Kohen himself came with me as I was carried back, and hethought that Almah would be my most agreeable nurse. The Kohen wasmost kind and sympathetic, and all the people vied with one anotherin their efforts to assist me--so much so that there was the greatestconfusion. It was only by Almah's express entreaty that they retiredand left me with her.
Here was a new phase in the character of this mysterious people.Could I ever hope to understand them? Where other people are cruel tostrangers, or at best indifferent, these are eager in their acts ofkindness; they exhibit the most unbounded hospitality, the most lavishgenerosity, the most self-denying care and attention; where otherswould be offended at the intrusion of a stranger, and enraged athis unconquerable disgust, these people had no feeling save pity,sympathy, and a desire to alleviate his distress. And yet--oh, andyet!--oh, thought of horror!--what was this that I had seen? Theabhorrent savages in the outer wilderness were surely of the same raceas these. They too received us kindly, they too lavished upon us theirhospitality, and yet there followed the horror of that frightfulrepast. Here there had been kindness and generosity and affectionateattention, to be succeeded by deeds without a name. Ah me! what anhour that was! And yet it was as nothing compared to what lay beforeme in the future.
But the subject was one of which I dared not speak--one from which Ihad to force my thoughts away. I took the violin and played "Lochaber"till Almah wept, and I had to put it away. Then I begged her to playor sing. She brought an instrument like a lute, and upon this sheplayed some melancholy strains. At length the Kohen came in. Hismild, benevolent face never exhibited more gentle and affectionatesympathy than now. He seated himself, and with eyes half closed, asusual, talked much; and yet, with a native delicacy which alwaysdistinguished this extraordinary man, he made no allusion to theawful Mista Kosek. For my own part, I could not speak. I wasabsent-minded, overwhelmed with gloom and despair, and at the sametime full of aversion toward him and all his race. One question,however, I had to put.
"Who were the victims of the Mista Kosek?"
"They?" said he, with an agreeable smile. "Oh, they were the victimsof the sacrifice."
I sank back in my seat, and said no more. The Kohen then took Almah'slute, played and sang in a very sweet voice, and at length, with hisusual consideration, seeing that I looked weary, he retired.
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