Into the Green Prism

by A. Hyatt Verrill

  A sudden exclamation from Ramon startled me. I glanced at him. Never had I seen such an expression upon his face before. He was transformed. His eyes were wide, fixed, staring, yet filled with such a longing, yearning expression as I have never seen in mortal eyes. His lips were parted, his breath came in short sharp gasps, his face was flushed, and the veins in his temples throbbed visibly.

  "Kora!" he cried, stretching out his arms. "Kora! Sumak Nusta!"

  What did he see? What had called forth that cry— "Kora! Beautiful Princess"!

  Again I peered into the prism. The question was answered. The dancers had parted, had formed a double line across the plaza, and through the lane thus formed came a procession of girls led by the most beautiful woman I have ever seen or hope to see. No wonder Ramon had called her Sumak Nusta or Beautiful Princess. That she was a princess was evident, even to me. Her every movement was regal. Her robes, of some shimmering materials, gleamed and sparkled with iridescent hues as though sprinkled with diamond-dust. Her long hair, falling to her knees, was confined by a diadem of flashing gems. Over her tiny ears were oval coverings of gold. About her slender graceful neck was a collar of magnificent emeralds and golden-hued topazes. And in her right hand she carried a golden Champi, the insignia of a monarch in pre-Incan days.

  To describe her person or her face would be impossible. Her figure, partly revealed by the clinging robes, was that of a goddess. Her bare arms and her right shoulder, that was exposed, were of an indescribable golden hue. Her oval face and straight nose were flawless and might have been chiseled from old ivory; had it not been for the vivid warmth of her great lustrous eyes and her red luscious lips. Had I the descriptive ability of a great novelist, I could devote pages to describing her, to detailing her loveliness, but while I admire a beautiful woman, yet I am more accustomed to dealing with archeological subjects than with feminine attractions. I confess, though, that I was enthralled; overcome by the beauty of the microscopic princess, the more so as I had never before seen an Indian woman, who could be considered even pretty. Indeed, I must admit to an increase in my slow pulse beats, to a most unusual and novel throbbing, as I gazed at her, and I am not ashamed to admit it, for she was enough to excite the admiration, and to thrill the nerves of any man.

  Ramon was babbling, speaking incoherently in Hualla as though by the very force of his utterances he could attract the attention of the princess whom he had called Kora.

  Suddenly she halted, turned her head and glanced about, a troubled, puzzled expression in her magnificent eyes. Then she frowned slightly, passed her left hand across her brows, and turned her gaze directly towards me. I could have sworn that she was aware of our presence, that she saw us, yet I know it was impossible. Ramon uttered a sharp exclamation. A cry that was almost a moan. The princess' lips parted in a smile; slowly she turned her head and stepped forward. What followed I cannot say, for I leaped away to grasp Ramon who, staggering back, sank unconscious into my arms.

  For a moment I was seized with gripping fear, fear that the strain had been too great, that something in his brain had snapped, that my friend was dead. But to my unbounded relief, I found he still breathed, that his heart still beat. He had merely fainted. For the last half hour he had been under tremendous strain, under tremendous emotional pressure, and the sight of that vision of glorious womanhood, of the Sumak Nusta, the Beautiful Princess, had overcome him. He had been in a state of semi-hypnosis, he had been living again through the ceremonies of his ancestors, and, I wondered, as I strove to restore him to consciousness, if it were possible that, in the princess, his spirit had recognized the woman it had loved and lost in remote bygone days. No doubt, when he came to himself, he would remember nothing of what he had gone through. He had said his actions were blank when he had gone through the pantomime of making an offering to the sun-god. It would be just as well if he failed to remember anything. But I was to be greatly mistaken in my surmises. He was coming to. He opened his eyes, stood up, stared about with a puzzled expression, seemed searching his mind for memory of something.

  "Queer!" he exclaimed at last. "What happened? Where am I? I thought—but of course, I see, I understand! It is you, amigo mio, I am here at our camp. But I thought—Oh, my God, my friend, where is she? Where is my Kora, my beloved? Have I lost her? Did you see her? Oh, Madre de Dios, was it a dream?"

  He was staring about wildly, his face drawn, distressed. From the very bottom of my heart I pitied him. "No," I said trying to quiet and comfort him. "It was not a dream, my dear friend. I saw her— the woman you called Kora the Beautiful Princess. She is real, she exists, but she is one of those minute invisible people.

  "You have not lost her, for you never had her, unless perhaps, Ramon, you two existed in some former life, some former sphere."

  Ramon sprang to the prism, but the next moment turned away and sank dejectedly to the ground. "Santissima Madre!" he almost sobbed, bowing his head and covering his eyes with his hands. "Was ever, a man in such a predicament? To see the woman one loves, the woman one has loved through the ages—. All, yes, my dear friend, I know it now. Once, long ago, I lived. Once in the bygone forgotten days my soul loved Kora. To have loved through the ages, I say, to see the woman your spirit has loved, and to know that she is as unattainable as the stars? Ah, amigo mio, that is bitter, bitter sorrow, indeed!"

  Then, suddenly brightening. "But she saw me!" he cried, leaping to his feet. "My love called to her! She saw me! She heard my voice, my cry! Did you see her, amigo? Did you sec the look of joy in her eyes when she knew I was near?"

  "Yes, I saw her look towards us," I replied. "But, Ramon, my good friend, calm yourself; try and be reasonable. Greatly as I would like to help you, to reassure you, I cannot. I do not think the princess saw or heard you. That, you know, if you stop to reason, would be impossible. And do you not see that it would be far better for you both if she did not? Is it not bad enough for you to suffer without causing her suffering as well?

  "And, stop to think, Ramon—think how greatly she too would suffer if she knew that you were near and that you were still as remote, and as unattainable to her as she is to you."

  Ramon bowed his head and stretching out his hand, grasped mine. "I know," he assented in scarcely audible tones. "You are right. I hope—yes with all my heart and soul, I hope she doesn't know, for I would rather suffer any agonies than have sorrow touch Kora. But, amigo mio, I know she saw me or heard me."

  "Possibly," I said, as I considered the matter, "possibly she sensed your presence. Although I am a scientist and profess no hard and fast religion, yet I have faith in the Creator and His power to perform miracles that we poor humans cannot explain. And I believe in the soul or spirit and in its immortality. Also, I believe, as you know, that the immortal spirit must possess a body and that, in every man and every woman, is a spirit that has occupied the bodies of other men and women for infinite time. I also believe that, under certain conditions, the consciousness of the spirit's former incarnations is aroused. That, my friend, has been the case with you. Within your body is the spirit of some ancient being. It was the consciousness of that spirit aroused at sight of old familiar scenes that caused you to act as you have. That gave to your lips the ability to speak the ancient Hualla tongue, that made you recognize the ceremonies—each step, each event, in advance; that caused you to cry out when you saw the princess. And, as you confess, it was that spirit that loved her in the long ago. But, my friend, it is impossible that you or your spirit loved or knew this tiny princess herself. Even were she of normal size she could not have existed unchanged for centuries, any more than you yourself. No, no, Ramon, it is her spirit that your spirit recognized, and possibly, very probably, her soul responded to the cry of yours and caused her to turn and look towards you. But that she, with mortal eyes or ears, saw or heard you, is not possible. You must remember that, proportionately, we were as remote from her as the planets from us; that, compared to her, you are as big as our entire globe or even larger.
She could no more have seen or heard you, than you or I could hear or see a person on the other side of the world."

  "All you say is true," said Ramon. "Perhaps I should have told you more about myself before. But I feared you might scoff. Always, amigo mio, I have been somewhat this way. Always I have been aware of an inner self or something that at times reveals matters I could never have learned by any ordinary means. Always, when in the presence of the remains of my ancestors, I seem to feel as though I were amid familiar things, as if I had known them long ago. Often, by fixing my thoughts upon them I can see—as plainly as in a vision—the ruins reconstructed, and the people who once lived within them. Often I have tried thus to learn the secrets of those pre-Incan cyclopean structures. But in vain. Always I have seemed to see those titanic blocks of stone just as they are today. My strange vision cannot pierce their mysteries. But when I came here, though somehow much seemed vaguely familiar, I had no such sensations. And yet, now, since I have looked upon those microscopic Indians and have seen their temple, matters have been plainer, more vivid to me than ever before. And then Kora appeared, and over me swept a most marvelous change. No longer were there hazy visions of the past. No, I seemed bodily transported, to be a part of the scene. And though I have never heard her name, though never in my life have I even dreamed that there was such a divine creature, yet, instantly, I knew that I had known her, loved her always. God, how I suffered! Amigo mio have you ever had a nightmare in which you strain, you strive, you exert every physical and mental effort to reach something, to touch something, to grasp some object to keep yourself from some fearful fate, only to find yourself powerless, bound by some invisible, unaccountable bonds, unable to move? Such were my sensations, amigo. My spirit fought to speak, to call to her, to tell her of my love, to hold her fast, to press burning kisses upon her beloved lips. But in vain. I was bound, helpless, as in a nightmare. Can you imagine what I suffered, what agonies I endured? And now, now the awakening is almost as bad, even worse, amigo mio. I know she lives. I know she is near me—within reach of my arm—and yet as remote as the stars."

  "But you can see her, Ramon," I reminded him. "That should be some comfort; that should give you some happiness."

  But I fear I only made matters worse. I was deeply, truly sorry for my dear friend. Had he been young, possibly I would not have been quite so sympathetic. A boyish passion, a youthful love affair would not have appeared so serious. Infatuations of that sort are soon forgotten. But Ramon was no longer young. He was about my own age. He was deeply emotional and, little as I know of affairs of the heart—being a confirmed bachelor myself and never having found either time or opportunity to devote myself to women—still I had seen enough of the world, and was a sufficiently informed student of human nature and human passions, to know that it is no light matter when a man of Ramon's age and type falls madly in love. Moreover, Ramon's passion was not of recent birth or sudden inspiration. Unquestionably, I thought, he and Kora—or better, his soul and Kora's—had loved in the past, hence his present love for the Beautiful Princess was a thing of countless ages.

  So, as I have said, I fear I rather muddled matters in my desire to comfort and sympathize with him by suggesting that he could see her.

  "Do you think that makes it easier?" he flared. "Do you think a famished man finds his gnawing hunger appeased by being shown food he cannot reach? Almost I had rather shatter that prism, remove forever the possibility of looking upon her. But no, no, no!" he almost screamed. "I cannot! I must see her! And I shall find a way. I shall force nature to give way before my love! God, Inti, Kapak, cannot be so cruel as to keep us apart!"

  He sprang to the prism. I followed. But Kora and her attendant maidens had disappeared. The temple was deserted. The people had resumed their interrupted labors.

  Yet, at any moment the princess might reappear. For hours we remained, silent, gazing into that wondrous bit of crystal, until the failing light forced us to desist.

  Reluctantly, Ramon withdrew from the prism. He seemed aged, depressed, utterly forlorn. With bowed head he plodded beside me towards the camp.

  "She has gone!" he muttered. "But I shall see her again. I shall find a way to be with her. Amigo mio, this has been both the happiest and the saddest day of my life."

  CHAPTER X

  After dinner I asked Ramon if he would not spend the evening with me, for I knew that he was depressed, rather miserable, and that companionship might cheer him up a bit.

  He shook his head. "No," he said, with a rather wan smile. "Thank you just the same, amigo; but if it's the same to you, I'd rather not. I want to be alone to-night—alone with my memories and my thoughts. I know you think I need company, but not to-night, old friend. I want to be free to think, to concentrate by myself. I must find a way to be with Kora, to communicate with her. But, do you know, amigo mio, somehow I feel that she is near me in spirit, if not in person, as if, when I am by myself, she might appear to me. Perhaps it's ridiculous and, as you know, I am no spiritualist, but I have never felt this way before. So, mi amigo, I will leave you to yourself this evening."

  "That's quite all right," I assured him. "I know how it is—how one wishes to be alone at times. But if you feel a bit lonely or decide to come over for a chat, don't hesitate to do so. I have a lot of notes to write up and shall be up late."

  "Thanks," he said. "But I don't think I shall disturb you. I, too, have much to occupy my mind. Good night, old man—Hasta luego!"

  While I busied myself jotting down my notes on the remarkable occurrences of the day and the amazing things we had seen—and which were of inestimable scientific value, it began to rain. As the big drops rattled like musketry upon the thatched roof of my hut, I found my thoughts wandering to the miniature people and their village. How were they faring in this downpour, and was Kora the Beautiful Princess also listening to the patter of rain? One thought led to another, and, presently, I found myself idle, my eyes half-closed, my mind revisualizing the scenes I had witnessed.

  Again I could see the sun-drenched village, the temple, the figure of the dignified high-priest, the colorful multitude prostrate before him as the rays of the morning sun flashed like fire from his upraised golden mace; once more I visioned the rhythmic figures of the sun-dance; and once again I saw Kora the Sumak Nusta in all her glorious beauty at the head of her train of attendant girls. No wonder Ramon loved her! Even to picture her mentally set my blood a-tingle and my heart beat a trifle faster. It was all so vivid, so real and yet so dream-like that I could scarcely believe it merely imagination, and, with an effort, I roused myself and resumed my work.

  Gradually, almost unconsciously, I was aware of rains of music penetrating through the swishing roar of the rain, and I realized that Ramon was finding solace with his beloved violin. I had forgotten to mention that Ramon, like lost Peruvians, was passionately fond of music. Also he was an accomplished musician and played a number of instruments to perfection, especially the violin, and he was particularly fond of the haunting, plaintive melodies of the Incas. But when he really wanted to express himself, his favorite instrument was the Quicha flute or Quena, the old-time instrument of the Incas, and many a time I had listened to his rendering of Ollantay, Cuando la India Ilora* and other Incan songs that seemed to tear at one's very heart strings.

  But to-night the music that came floating across through the slashing rain was different, and I stopped my work and listened intently. I am no musician. I do not know one note from another, and I could not hum or whistle a tune to save my life. But I possess good ears and a most retentive memory. If I hear an air once, I never forget it. And I was sure I had I never before heard the tune that Ramon was now playing. In some ways it was reminiscent of Incan music. It held the same pathos, the same inexpressibly pathetic appeal, and yet there was a strain of joyousness, of gaiety running through it as if through sorrow of the moment there were glimpses of a brighter future.

  I wonder what it was, why Ramon had never played it before and,
had it not been raining in torrents, I should have been tempted to run across to my friend's hut to ask him about it, even at risk of disturbing him.

  Presently, however, the music ceased, dying out in a final long-drawn despairing wail, and once more I fell to writing my notes, at which, I must confess, I was making little progress.

  But I had written scarcely a page in my notebook when once more, the sounds of music mingled with the incessant noise of the descending rain.

  It was the same air, but this time the notes were mellow, sonorous, silvery sweet, almost as though some song bird were carolling the air. Ramon had abandoned the violin and was playing upon the Incan Quena. Entranced, I listened. I closed my eyes, charmed, almost hypnotized by the music that was, if anything, enhanced by the accompaniment of the rain. Never before had I been so affected by any music. It conjured up visions, visions of the past, of mighty temples and great palaces, of green fields and vast mountains, of brown-faced, gayly-clad people, of strange ceremonies, of golden images, of dancing Indians, of—I came back to full consciousness with a start. Suddenly, as if by some revelation, I had recognized the tune! It was the song the people had been singing as they had danced before the temple, while we had watched them through the prism! It was amazing, incredible!

  * When the Indian woman weeps.