The Empty House

by Неизвестный

  ‘“God of heaven!” cried my father, sinking down upon the earth in a swoon, as soon as he had discharged his gun.

  ‘I remained some time by his side before he recovered. “Where am I?” said he, “What has happened? Oh!—yes, yes! I recollect now. Heaven forgive me!”

  ‘He rose and we walked up to the grave; imagine our astonishment and horror to find that, instead of the dead body of my stepmother, as we expected, there was, lying over the remains of my poor sister, a large white she-wolf.

  ‘“The white wolf,” exclaimed my father, “the white wolf which decoyed me into the forest—I see it all now—I have dealt with the spirits of the Hartz Mountains.”

  ‘For some time my father remained in silence and deep thought. He then carefully lifted the body of my sister, replaced it in the grave, and covered it over as before, having struck the head of the dead animal with the heel of his boot, and raving like a madman. He walked back to the cottage, shut the door, and threw himself on the bed; I did the same, for I was in a stupor of amazement.

  ‘Early in the morning we were both roused by a loud knocking at the door, and in rushed the hunter Wilfred.

  ‘“My daughter—man—my daughter!—where is my daughter?” cried he in a rage.

  ‘“Where the wretch, the fiend should be, I trust,” replied my father, starting up, and displaying equal choler: “where she should be—in hell! Leave this cottage, or you may fare worse.”

  ‘“Ha—ha!” replied the hunter, “would you harm a potent spirit of the Hartz Mountains? Poor mortal, who must needs wed a werewolf.”

  ‘“Out, demon! I defy thee and thy power.”

  ‘“Yet shall you feel it; remember your oath—your solemn oath—never to raise your hand against her to harm her.”

  ‘“I made no compact with evil spirits.”

  ‘“You did, and if you failed in your vow, you were to meet the vengeance of the spirits. Your children were to perish by the vulture, the wolf—”

  ‘“Out, out, demon!”

  ‘“And their bones blanch in the wilderness. Ha—ha!”

  ‘My father, frantic with rage, seized his axe and raised it over Wilfred’s head to strike.

  ‘“All this I swear,” continued the huntsman mockingly.

  ‘The axe descended; but it passed through the form of the hunter, and my father lost his balance, and fell heavily on the floor.

  ‘“Mortal!” said the hunter, striding over my father’s body, “We have power over those only who have committed murder. You have been guilty of a double murder: you shall pay the penalty attached to your marriage vow. Two of your children are gone, the third is yet to follow—and follow them he will, for your oath is registered. Go—it were kindness to kill thee—your punishment is, that you live!”

  ‘With these words the spirit disappeared. My father rose from the floor, embraced me tenderly, and knelt down in prayer.

  ‘The next morning he quitted the cottage for ever. He took me with him, and bent his steps to Holland, where we safely arrived. He had some little money with him; but he had not been many days in Amsterdam before he was seized with a brain fever, and died raving mad. I was put into the asylum, and afterwards was sent to sea before the mast. You now know all my history. The question is, whether I am to pay the penalty of my father’s oath? I am myself perfectly convinced that, in some way or another, I shall.’

  II

  On the twenty-second day the high land of the south of Sumatra was in view: as there were no vessels in sight, they resolved to keep their course through the Straits, and run for Pulo Penang, which they expected, as their vessel lay so close to the wind, to reach in seven or eight days. By constant exposure Philip and Krantz were now so bronzed that with their long beards and Mussulman dresses, they might easily have passed off for natives. They had steered during the whole of the days exposed to a burning sun; they had lain down and slept in the dew of the night; but their health had not suffered. But for several days, since he had confided the history of his family to Philip, Krantz had become silent and melancholy; his usual flow of spirits had vanished, and Philip had often questioned him as to the cause. As they entered the Straits, Philip talked of what they should do upon their arrival at Goa; when Krantz gravely replied, ‘For some days, Philip, I have had a presentiment that I shall never see that city.’

  ‘You are out of health, Krantz,’ replied Philip.

  ‘No, I am in sound health, body and mind. I have endeavoured to shake off the presentiment, but in vain; there is a warning voice that continually tells me that I shall not be long with you Philip; will you oblige me by making me content on one point? I have gold about my person which may be useful to you; oblige me by taking it, and securing it on your own.’

  ‘What nonsense, Krantz.’

  ‘It is no nonsense, Philip. Have you not had your warnings? Why should I not have mine? You know that I have little fear in my composition, and that I care not about death; but I feel the presentiment which I speak of more strongly every hour …’

  ‘These are the imaginings of a disturbed brain, Krantz; why you, young, in full health and vigour, should not pass your days in peace, and live to a good old age, there is no cause for believing. You will be better tomorrow.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ replied Krantz; ‘but you still must yield to my whim, and take the gold. If I am wrong, and we do arrive safe, you know, Philip, you can let me have it back,’ observed Krantz, with a faint smile—’but you forget, our water is nearly out, and we must look out for a rill on the coast to obtain a fresh supply.’

  ‘I was thinking of that when you commenced this unwelcome topic. We had better look out for the water before dark, and as soon as we have replenished our jars, we will make sail again.’

  At the time that this conversation took place, they were on the eastern side of the Strait, about forty miles to the northward. The interior of the coast was rocky and mountainous, but it slowly descended to low lands of alternate forest and jungles, which continued to the beach; the country appeared to be uninhabited. Keeping close in to the shore, they discovered, after two hours’ run, a fresh stream which burst in a cascade from the mountains, and swept its devious course through the jungle, until it poured its tribute into the waters of the Strait.

  They ran close into the mouth of the stream, lowered the sails, and pulled the peroqua against the current until they had advanced far enough to assure them that the water was quite fresh. The jars were soon filled, and they were again thinking of pushing off, when enticed by the beauty of the spot, the coolness of the fresh water, and wearied with their long confinement on board of the peroqua, they proposed to bathe—a luxury hardly to be appreciated by those who have not been in a similar situation. They threw off their Mussulman dresses, and plunged into the stream, where they remained for some time. Krantz was the first to get out; he complained of feeling chilled, and he walked on to the banks where their clothes had been laid. Philip also approached nearer to the beach, intending to follow him.

  ‘And now, Philip,’ said Krantz, ‘this will be a good opportunity for me to give you the money. I will open my sash and pour it out, and you can put it into your own before you put it on.’

  Philip was standing in the water, which was about level with his waist.

  ‘Well, Krantz,’ said he, ‘I suppose if it must be so, it must; but it appears to me an idea so ridiculous—however, you shall have your own way.

  Philip quitted the run, and sat down by Krantz, who was already busy in shaking the doubloons out of the folds of his sash; at last he said—

  ‘I believe, Philip, you have got them all, now? I feel satisfied.’

  ‘What danger there can be to you, which I am not equally exposed to, I cannot conceive,’ replied Philip: ‘however—’

  Hardly had he said these words, when there was a tremendous roar—a rush like a mighty wind through the air—a blow which threw him on his back—a loud cry—and a contention. Philip recovered himself, and perceived
the naked form of Krantz carried off with the speed of an arrow by an enormous tiger through the jungle. He watched with distended eyeballs; in a few seconds the animal and Krantz had disappeared.

  ‘God of Heaven! Would that Thou hadst spared me this,’ cried Philip, throwing himself down in agony on his face. ‘O Krantz! My friend—my brother—too sure was your presentiment. Merciful God! Have pity—but Thy will be done.’ And Philip burst into a flood of tears.

  For more than an hour did he remain fixed upon the spot, careless and indifferent to the danger by which he was surrounded. At last, somewhat recovered, he rose, dressed himself, and then again sat down—his eyes fixed upon the clothes of Krantz, and the gold which still lay on the sand.

  ‘He would give me that gold. He foretold his doom. Yes! Yes! It was his destiny, and it has been fulfilled. His bones will bleach in the wilderness, and the spirit-hunter and his wolfish daughter are avenged.’

  Gone Fishing

  Ruskin Bond

  The house was called ‘Undercliff’, because that’s where it stood—under a cliff. The man who went away—the owner of the house was Robert Astley. And the man who stayed behind—the old family retainer—was Prem Bahadur.

  Astley had been gone many years. He was still a bachelor in his late thirties when he’d suddenly decided that he wanted adventure, romance, faraway places; and he’d given the keys of the house to Prem Bahadur—who’d served the family for thirty years—and had set off on his travels.

  Someone saw him in Sri Lanka. He’d been heard of in Burma, around the ruby mines at Mogok. Then he turned up in Java, seeking a passage through the Sunda Straits. After that the trail petered out. Years passed. The house in the hill station remained empty.

  But Prem Bahadur was still there, living in an outhouse.

  Every day he opened up Undercliff, dusted the furniture in all the rooms, made sure that the bedsheets and pillowcases were clean, and set out Astley’s dressing gown and slippers. In the old days, whenever Astley had come home after a journey or a long tramp in the hills, he had liked to bathe and change into his gown and slippers, no matter what the hour. Prem Bahadur still kept them ready. He was convinced that Robert would return one day.

  Astley himself had said so.

  ‘Keep everything ready for me, Prem, old chap. I may be back after a year, or two years, or even longer, but I’ll be back, I promise you. On the first of every month I want you to go to my lawyer, Mr Kapoor. He’ll give you your salary and any money that’s needed for the rates and repairs. I want you to keep the house tip-top?’

  ‘Will you bring back a wife, Sahib?’

  ‘Lord, no! Whatever put that idea in your head?’

  ‘I thought, perhaps—because you wanted the house kept ready …’

  ‘Ready for me, Prem. I don’t want to come home and find the old place falling down.’

  And so Prem had taken care of the house—although there was no news from Astley. What had happened to him? The mystery provided a talking point whenever local people met on the Mall. And in the bazaar the shopkeepers missed Astley because he was a man who spent freely.

  His relatives still believed him to be alive. Only a few months back a brother had turned up—a brother who had a farm—in Canada and could not stay in India for long. He had deposited a further sum with the lawyer and told Prem to carry on as before. The salary provided Prem with his few needs. Moreover, he was convinced that Robert would return.

  Another man might have neglected the house and grounds, but not Prem Bahadur. He had a genuine regard for the absent owner. Prem was much older—now almost sixty and none too strong, suffering from pleurisy and other chest troubles—but he remembered Robert as both a boy and a young man. They had been together on numerous hunting and fishing trips in the mountains. They had slept out under the stars, bathed in icy mountain streams, and eaten from the same cooking pot. Once, when crossing a small river, they had been swept downstream by a flash flood, a wall of water that came thundering down the gorges without any warning during the rainy season. Together they had struggled back to safety. Back in the hill station, Astley told everyone that Prem had saved his life; while Prem was equally insistent that he owed his life to Robert.

  This year the monsoon had begun early and ended late. It dragged on through most of September, and Prem Bahadur’s cough grew worse and his breathing more difficult.

  He lay on his charpai on the veranda, staring out at the garden, which was beginning to get out of hand, a tangle of dahlias, snake-lilies and convolvulus. The sun finally came out. The wind shifted from the south-west to the north-west, and swept the clouds away.

  Prem Bahadur had taken his charpai into the garden, and was lying in the sun, puffing at his small hookah, when he saw Robert Astley at the gate.

  He tried to get up but his legs would not oblige him. The hookah slipped from his hand.

  Astley came walking down the garden path and stopped in front of the old retainer, smiling down at him. He did not look a day older than when Prem Bahadur had last seen him.

  ‘So you have come at last,’ said Prem.

  ‘I told you I’d return.’

  ‘It has been many years. But you have not changed.’

  ‘Nor have you, old chap.’

  ‘I have grown old and sick and feeble.’

  ‘You’ll be fine now. That’s why I’ve come.’

  ‘I’ll open the house,’ said Prem, and this time he found himself getting up quite easily.

  ‘It isn’t necessary’ said Astley.

  ‘But all is ready for you.’

  ‘I know. I have heard of how well you have looked after everything. Come then, let’s take a last look round. We cannot stay, you know.’

  Prem was a little mystified but he opened the front door and took Robert through the drawing rooms and up the stairs to the bedroom. Robert saw the dressing gown and the slippers, and he placed his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder.

  When they returned downstairs and emerged into the sunlight, Prem was surprised to see himself—or rather his skinny body—stretched out on the charpai. The hookah lay on the ground, where it had fallen.

  Prem looked at Astley in bewilderment.

  ‘But who is that—lying there?’

  ‘It was you. Only the husk now, the empty shell. This is the real you, standing here beside me.’

  ‘You came for me?’

  ‘I couldn’t come until you were ready. As for me, I left my shell a long time ago. But you were determined to hang on, keeping this house together. Are you ready now?’

  ‘And the house?’

  ‘Others will live in it. Nothing is lost for ever, everything begins again. But come, it’s time to go fishing …’

  Astley took Prem by the arm, and they walked through the dappled sunlight under the deodars and finally left that place for another.