The announcement of this enterprise immediately attracted a swarm of adventurous manhood—all sorts of unsuccessful actors, discharged barber’s assistants, and so on, saw themselves called upon to undertake this attractive journey, and the pious council had to make a considerable effort to look past these intruders in order to seek out serious and worthy men. Without saying so, they were particularly hoping to attract young theologians; however, the English clergy on the whole were not at all tired of the homeland nor the slightest bit keen on strenuous, dangerous enterprises. Thus the search dragged on and on, and the founding patron began getting impatient.
At last the news of his intentions as well as his lack of success found its way to a farming village in the vicinity of Lancaster and to the vicarage there, whose venerable master was providing room and board to a nephew named Robert Aghion, a son of his brother, whom he was modestly employing as his assistant. Robert Aghion was the son of a ship’s captain and a hardworking Scotswoman. He had lost his father early and had hardly known him. Thus as a boy with good faculties he was sent to school by an uncle of his, who had earlier on been in love with Robert’s mother. Robert was properly trained for a career in the ministry, and was now as well qualified a candidate for such a position as a person with good references but no private means could be. In the meantime he was assisting his uncle and benefactor in his vicar’s duties, and could not reckon on a parish of his own as long as his uncle was alive. Since the worthy vicar was still a healthy and vigorous man in his late fifties, his nephew’s future did not look all that bright. As a poor lad with little prospect of coming into his own position and income before his middle years, he was no enviable match for a young woman, at least not for an honorable one, and he had never come in contact with any other kind.
Thus, like his destiny itself, his state of mind was not free from dark clouds, but they hung over his modest and innocent nature more like weighty decorations than dangerous obstacles. True, as a healthy man with simple feelings, he did not see why a person like himself who had completed his studies and been dignified with the clerical office should stand in love’s fortunes and in the opportunity to marry behind every young farmer or weaver or wool spinner, and when occasionally he accompanied a wedding ceremony on the small fragile organ of the village church, his state of mind was not always free from discontent and envy. But his simple nature itself taught him to keep impossibilities out of his thoughts and to focus instead on what was open to him in view of his capabilities and station in life, and that was not at all inconsiderable. As the son of a deeply pious mother, he had straightforward, tried-and-true Christian sensibilities and Christian faith, to sermonize upon which was a joy to him. But he found his true spiritual pleasures in the contemplation of nature, for which he had a keen eye. He had not, however, the slightest inkling of those bold, revolutionary, positivistic sciences of nature that were coming into being just during his time and in his country and would later sour the lives of so many clergymen. Instead, as a modest, fresh young man without philosophical concerns but with capable eyes and hands, he found complete satisfaction in seeing and knowing, gathering and examining, the things of nature he encountered. As a boy, he had bred flowers and taken an interest in botany and had then avidly occupied himself with stones and fossils. In regard to the latter, of course, he did no more than venerate nature’s wondrous and suggestive play of forms. Most recently, since he had been spending his time in rural surroundings, he had become especially fond of the colorful world of insects. His favorite thing of all was butterflies, whose amazing transformation out of the pupal and larval stages never failed to enchant him. In particular, their exquisite markings and soft blend of saturated colors gave him the kind of pleasure that a less talented person can only experience in the impressionable years of early childhood.
Such was the makeup of the young theologian who was among the first to sit up and take notice of the foundation’s announcement, and who immediately upon hearing it felt a sense of longing in his inmost being that felt just like a compass needle pointing to India. His mother had died a few years ago and he was not engaged to any young woman nor had he even made a secret promise to one. His uncle did indeed earnestly express his misgivings about the prospect, but in the end he proved to be an upright man of the cloth who knew that his nephew was not at all indispensable to him in his work. The young man wrote to London, received an encouraging answer as well as money for the trip to the capital, and he happily departed at once for London, following a stern leave-taking from his uncle, who was still angry and continued to issue emphatic warnings. The young man took with him a small box of books and a bundle of clothes, sad only that he could not also bring along his herbaria and his fossil and butterfly cases.
Eager and anxious, this candidate for India entered the tall, solemn-looking house of the pious merchant in the somber, blustering old city of London. There in a dim corridor his future was held up before his eyes by a huge wall map of the Eastern Hemisphere and then, in the first room, by a big, mottled tiger skin. Apprehensive and confused, he let himself be conducted by an elegant servant to the room where the merchant awaited him. The man who received him was a large, serious, well-shaven gentleman with sharp, ice-blue, eyes, who despite his stern mien, after only a short bit of conversation, found the shy applicant quite to his liking. He invited him to sit down and continued the interview with an air of trust and benevolence. He then had the young man hand over his written curriculum vitae and his references and rang for a servant, who after brief instruction silently led the theologian away to a guest room, where immediately a second servant appeared with tea, wine, ham, and bread and butter. The young man was left alone with this snack and proceeded to satisfy his hunger and thirst. Afterward, reassured, he made himself comfortable in a blue velvet armchair, thought over his situation, and idly inspected the room. After a brief look around he discovered two further representatives of a distant, hot clime. In one corner, next to the fireplace, was a stuffed, red-brown monkey, and hanging above it on a blue silk panel was the tanned skin of a huge snake, whose eyeless head hung down limp and blind. These were things he appreciated, and he immediately hurried over to look at them close up and run his hands over them. Though the notion of a living boa, which he tried to strengthen by rolling the shining silvery skin into a tube, was somewhat gruesome and abhorrent, nevertheless his curiosity toward mysterious faraway places full of wonders was roused yet further by the sight of it. He felt he ought not let himself be frightened by either snakes or monkeys, and with delight painted a picture in his mind of the fabulous flowers, trees, birds, and butterflies that must thrive in those blessed lands.
Meanwhile, it was nearly evening, and a mute servant brought a lit lamp in. Out the high window, which gave on a lifeless back alley, it was foggy twilight. The silence of the elegant house, the distant, faint hurly-burly of the big city, the loneliness of the high, cool rooms in which he felt as though imprisoned, the lack of anything whatever for him to do, and the dramatic uncertainty of his situation—all these things combined with the oncoming darkness of the London autumn night to bring the mood of the young man ever further down from the peak of his optimism, until after two hours, which he spent waiting in his armchair for some sign, he gave up every expectation for the day. Without further ado he lay down in the excellent guest bed and in a short time was asleep.
He was awakened, in what seemed to him the middle of the night, by a servant with the message that the young man was expected for dinner, and would he be so kind as to make haste. Half asleep, Aghion crawled into his clothes and, bleary-eyed, stumbled after the man through rooms and corridors and down a flight of stairs until they reached the large dining room, brightly lit by great chandeliers, where the lady of the house, clothed in velvet and sparkling with jewelry, peered at him through a lorgnette, and the master of the house introduced him to two clergymen. During the meal, the latter proceeded at once to sharply examine their younger brother, es
pecially seeking to probe the genuineness of his Christian convictions. The sleep-drunk apostle had trouble understanding all the questions much less answering them, but his shyness sat well on him and the men, who were accustomed to quite another sort of aspirant, were all well-disposed toward him. After the meal in the adjoining room, maps were laid out, and Aghion for the first time saw the region where he was to proclaim the Word of God. It appeared on the map of India as a yellow dot south of the city of Bombay.
The next day he was brought to see a venerable old gentleman who was the merchant’s chief spiritual advisor and for years had been confined to his study on account of his gout. The old man immediately felt drawn to the guileless young man. Without subjecting him to any questions concerning the faith, he very quickly came to an understanding of Robert’s mind and being and, since he perceived little missionary zeal in him, began to feel sorry for the young fellow. He began vividly describing to him the dangers of the sea voyage and the horrors of tropical regions; for it seemed senseless to him for a fresh, young man to offer himself up and perhaps perish out there when he did not possess the talents and aspirations that would suit him to such service. Thus he laid a friendly hand on the candidate’s shoulder, looked him in a kindly manner deep in the eye, and said, “Everything you say is all well and good, but I still cannot quite fathom what it is that attracts you to India. Be frank with me, dear friend, and tell me without holding anything back: Is it some sort of worldly desire or urge that compels you, or is it just your inner desire to bring our Gospel to the poor heathen?” At these words Robert Aghion blushed red as a cheat caught in the act. He lowered his eyelids and for a moment held his tongue. But then he confessed in all candor that though he was indeed sincere in his pious intent, it would in truth never have occurred to him to try to go to India or become a missionary at all if his enthusiasm for the wondrous, rare plants and animals of the tropical lands, especially the butterflies, had not drawn him to it. The old man saw clearly that the youth had now given up his ultimate secret and that he had nothing more to confess. Smiling, he nodded to him and said in a kindly way, “This is a sin you must work through on your own. Go to India, my dear boy!” And immediately taking on an air of gravity, he laid both hands on Aghion’s head and blessed him solemnly with biblical words of blessing.
Three weeks later, the young missionary, fully fitted out with trunks and suitcases, sailed away as a passenger on a lovely sailing ship. He watched his homeland sink away in the gray sea, and he became acquainted with the moods and perils of the sea in the first weeks, even before the ship reached Spain. In those days, it was not possible for a traveler to India to arrive as green and unseasoned at his destination as it is now. Today you can board a comfortable steamer, skip Africa by sailing through the Suez Canal, and after a short time, dazed and inert from too much sleeping and eating, you lay eyes on the coast of India. But in those days, sailing vessels had to toil for months around the immensity of Africa, imperiled by storms and becalmed by doldrums for days at a time; and the passenger had to sweat and freeze, to suffer hunger and do without sleep. Thus a man who had successfully completed such a voyage was long since no longer a mother’s child or an untested neophyte. Rather he was a man who had learned to some extent to stand on his own two legs and rely on his own resources. And this was also the case with the young missionary. His journey from England to India took a hundred fifty-six days, and he set foot on land in the port of Bombay as a mariner, tanned and lean.
In the meantime, he had not lost his joy and curiosity, although it had grown somewhat calmer, since during the journey his sense of exploration had made him disembark on every beach and he had regarded every palm-grown and coral isle with awestruck curiosity. Now he set foot in the land of India with eager, wide-open, grateful, joyous eyes and made his entry into the beautiful, shining city with courage intact.
First he searched for and found the house that had been recommended to him. It was nicely set in a quiet suburban street, with coconut palms hanging over it. To the happy newcomer, under the broad leaves and with its windows open, it looked like an ideal Indian home. As he was entering, though at the moment he had more important things to do and to look at, he had just time to notice a dark-leaved shrub with large golden yellow flowers, around which a host of lovely white butterflies were gaily fluttering. With this image in his somewhat bedazzled eyes, he climbed over the few low steps that lay in the shade of the broad veranda and walked through the open door of the house. A Hindu servant in white clothing with bare, dark-brown limbs came across the cool tile floor to meet him, made a respectful bow, and began speaking to him in nasal, singsong Hindustani. He was quick to see, however, that the foreigner did not understand a word, and he conducted him with further fawning bows and serpent-like gestures of respect and invitation deeper into the house and to a doorway that, instead of a door for closure, had a bast mat hanging in it. At once the hanging was pulled aside from within, and a big, gaunt, imperious-looking man appeared, wearing white tropical clothes and straw sandals on his bare feet. He directed a stream of abuse in an incomprehensible Indian language at the servant, who made himself small and slunk away along the wall. Then he turned to Aghion and, in English, bade him come in.
The missionary first tried to excuse his unannounced arrival and to justify the poor servant, who was not guilty of any wrongdoing. But the man made an impatient motion with his hand and said, “You’ll soon learn how to deal with these knavish servants. Come in, I’ve been expecting you.”
“You are Mr. Bradley, then?” asked the newcomer politely. Taking his first step into this exotic household and looking at his advisor, teacher, and colleague, a feeling of alienation and cold arose in him.
“Yes, of course, I’m Bradley, and you of course are Aghion. So Aghion, do come right ahead in! Have you already had lunch?”
The big, bony man—unhesitatingly, with the brusque, peremptory manner of the experienced overseer and commercial agent that he was—took the destiny of his guest into his brown, dark-haired hands. He had him served a meal of rice and mutton in a fiery curry sauce, assigned him a room, showed him around the house, answered his first inquisitive questions, and laid out the primary, essential rules of life in India. He set the four brown Hindu servants scurrying about, barking cold, angry orders that echoed through the house. He also called for a master tailor who he charged with immediately making Aghion a dozen outfits of the sort that suited local custom. With gratitude and somewhat intimidated, the newcomer accepted all this, though it would have been more to his taste to have made his entry into India a quieter and more stately affair. He would have liked first to have made himself a bit at home and to have unbosomed himself in friendly conversation concerning his first impressions here as well as the many strong impressions he had had of his journey. However, in the course of a sea voyage of a half a year, one learns to make do with all kinds of situations and when as evening approached Mr. Bradley went off to take care of his commercial business in town, the young evangelist breathed a happy sigh of relief and decided now to celebrate his arrival quietly in his own manner and go out and greet the land of India.
Solemnly, after quickly tidying it up a bit, he left his airy room—which instead of doors or windows had big empty openings in each wall—and set off into the outside world with a broad-brimmed hat with a long sun veil on his blonde head and a sturdy walking stick in his hand. With his first step into the garden, he took a deep breath, looked eagerly around him, and with heightened senses drew in the air, the odors, the light, and the colors of this strange, legendary land that he, in a modest way, was to help conquer, and to which now, after such long waiting and anxious anticipation, he was inclined to abandon himself to without holding back.
He liked very much all that he saw and sensed around him, which seemed to him like a radiant, thousandfold confirmation of his many dreams and visions. High, dense bushes stood round and succulent in the potent sunlight, covered with la
rge, marvelous, vividly colored flowers. On their slender, smooth, pillar-like trunks, the still crowns of the coconut palms seemed incredibly high in the air. A fan palm stood behind the house, holding its weird, severely uniform, giant wheel of huge leaves, a man’s height in length, stiff in the air. By the roadside his nature-friendly eye made out a small living being, which he cautiously approached. It was a small green chameleon with a triangular head and evil little eyes. He bent down over it and felt a childlike feeling of good fortune at having had it granted to him to see such things and to examine the inexhaustible abundance of nature at the very source of her wealth.
Weird music woke him from his rapture. Out of the whispering quiet of the deep green wilderness of garden plants and trees erupted the rhythmic din of metal drums and bass drums and the piercing bright tones of wind instruments. The nature devotee listened dumbfounded, and since nothing could be seen, he was immediately eager to discover the nature and source of this festive, barbaric music. Following the sound, he left the garden, whose gate stood wide open, and was soon walking down a lovely, grassy road through a pleasant cultivated landscape of domestic gardens, palm plantations, and smiling, bright-green rice fields. Coming around the hedge of a park or garden, he found himself on a village-like lane lined with Indian huts. The little houses were made of mud or only bamboo poles, their roofs covered with dry palm leaves. In all the doorways brown Hindu families stood and squatted. He looked at them with curiosity, getting his first glimpse of the humble village life of a foreign nature folk. From the first moment he was fond of these brown people, whose beautiful childlike eyes conveyed an unconscious, unresolvable, animal-like sadness. Beautiful women gazed at him, silent and deer-like, from amid heavy plaits of long, dark-black hair. They wore gold jewelry in their noses, on their wrists and ankles, and had rings on their toes. The little children were completely naked, with nothing on their bodies but strange amulets of silver or horn hung on hempen string.
Singapore Dream and Other Adventures Page 10