A WAYSIDE COMEDY
Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the misery of man is great upon him. --Eccles. viii. 6.
Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima intoa prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are nowlying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Governmentof India may be moved to scatter the European population to the fourwinds.
Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rocktipped circle of the Dosehrihills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die andthe hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists fromthe jhils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nipeverything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view inKashima a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running upto the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills.
There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigershave been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and thesnipe only come once a year. Narkarra one hundred and forty-three milesby road is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes toNarkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stayswithin the circle of the Dosehri hills.
All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but allKashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain.
Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. Theyare the English population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen,who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the mostimportant of all.
You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weakenin a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. Whena man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk offalling into evil ways. This risk is multiplied by every addition to thepopulation up to twelve the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequentrestraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky.
There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was acharming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed everyone. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is soperverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Hadshe been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible toKashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the colourof a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who hadseen those eyes could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she wasto look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was 'notbad-looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.' And yet hergravity was natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely wentthrough life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected whilethe men fell down and worshipped.
She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; butMajor Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop into afternoon tea at least three times a week. 'When there are only twowomen in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,'says Major Vansuythen.
Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-awayplaces where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had discoveredthat Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and you darenot blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the OtherPlace, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had noconcern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He wasa hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. Theyhad all Kashima and each other for their very, very own; and Kashimawas the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from hiswanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him 'oldfellow,' and the three would dine together. Kashima was happy then whenthe judgment of God seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railwaythat ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen toKashima, and with him came his wife.
The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island.When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore tomake him welcome. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close tothe Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony wasreckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rightsand privileges. When the Vansuythens settled down they gave a tinyhouse-warming to all Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house,according to the immemorial usage of the Station.
Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the NarkarraRoad was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pasturesof Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from theDosehri hills and covered everything.
At the end of the Rains Boulte's manner towards his wife changed andbecame demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years,and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hateof a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, inthe teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover,she had her own trouble to fight with her watch to keep over her ownproperty, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hillsand many other things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs.Boulte that her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in theold days when Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of theallegiance.
'The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,' Mrs. Boulte said to herself;and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of theover-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fortunate asLove because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs.Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was notcertain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took stepsin any direction. That is why she behaved as she did.
Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against thedoor-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte wasputting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilisationeven in Kashima.
'Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, 'do you care for me?'
'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. 'Can you ask it?'
'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. 'Do you care for me?'
Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. 'Do you wantan honest answer?'
'Ye-es, I've asked for it.'
Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, verydistinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. WhenSamson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not tobe compared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman's homestead abouther own ears. There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte,the singularly cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte'sheart, because her own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn outwith the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There wasno plan or purpose in her speaking. The sentences made themselves; andBoulte listened, leaning against the door-post with his hands in hispockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through hernose before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight infront of him at the Dosehri hills.
'Is that all?' he said. 'Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.'
'What are you going to do?' said the woman, between her sobs.
'Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell, or send you Home, orapply for leave to get a divorce? It's two days' treck into Narkarra.' Helaughed again and went on: 'I'll tell you what you can do. You can askKurrell to dinner tomorrow no, on Thursday, that will allow you time topack and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won't follow.'
He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat tillthe moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking.She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the housedown; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand herhusband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulnessstruck her, and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying, 'I havegone mad and told everything. My husband says that I am free to elopewith you. Get a dek for Thursday, and we will fly after dinne
r.' Therewas a cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her.So she sat still in her own house and thought.
At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn andhaggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening woreon she muttered some expression of sorrow, something approaching tocontrition. Boulte came out of a brown study and said, 'Oh, that! Iwasn't thinking about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to theelopement?'
'I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. 'Good God, is that all?'
But Boulte was not listening and her sentence ended in a gulp.
The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did notappear, and the new lift that she, in the five minutes' madness of theprevious evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemedto be no nearer.
Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in theverandah, and went out. The morning wore through, and at mid-day thetension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finishedher crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone.Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since talkingopens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in hercompany. She was the only other woman in the Station.
In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop inupon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, andwalked across to the Vansuythens' house to borrow last week's Queen. Thetwo compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossedthrough the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back.As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah thatcloaked the drawing-room door, her husband's voice, saying,
'But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn'tcare for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then ifVansuythen hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll havenothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's Kurrell.'
'What?' said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical little laugh. 'Kurrell!Oh, it can't be! You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhapsyou you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can'tbe as wrong as you say.'
Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, andwas desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue.
'There must be some mistake,' she insisted, 'and it can be all put rightagain.'
Boulte laughed grimly.
'It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken theleast the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! Hesaid he had not. He swore he had not,' said Mrs. Vansuythen.
The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of alittle thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stoodup with a gasp.
'What was that you said?' asked Mrs. Boulte. 'Never mind that man. Whatdid Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?'
Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by thetrouble of her questioner.
'He said I can't remember exactly what he said but I understood himto say that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strangequestion?'
'Will you tell me what he said?' repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger willfly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was onlyan ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of desperation: 'Well, hesaid that the never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was notthe least reason why he should have, and and that was all.'
'You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly.
Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fellforward fainting.
'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the conversation had beenunbroken. 'You can see for yourself. She cares for him.' The light beganto break into his dull mind, and he went on, 'And what was he sayingto you?'
But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassionedprotestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte.
'Oh, you brute!' she cried. 'Are all men like this? Help me to get herinto my room and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you bequiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell.Lift her up carefully, and now go! Go away!'
Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bedroom, and departedbefore the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent andburning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythenwould do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, whocaught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if shediscovered that the man she loved had forsworn her.
In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along theroad and pulled up with a cheery 'Good-mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs.Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. Whatwill Mrs. Boulte say?'
Boulte raised his head and said slowly, 'Oh, you liar!' Kurrell's facechanged. 'What's that?' he asked quickly.
'Nothing much,' said Boulte. 'Has my wife told you that you two are freeto go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explainthe situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, Kurrell old manhaven't you?'
Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence aboutbeing willing to give 'satisfaction.' But his interest in the woman wasdead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her forher amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken offthe thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with Boulte'svoice recalled him.
'I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'mpretty sure you'd get none from killing me.'
Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs,Boulte added,
'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the woman,now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, haven't you?'
Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him.
'What do you mean?' he said.
Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: 'My wife cameover to Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been tellingMrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, asusual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try tospeak the truth for once in a way.'
Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by anotherquestion: 'Go on. What happened?'
'Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. 'But, look here, what had you beensaying to Mrs. Vansuythen?'
Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc ofhis plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whoseeyes he was humiliated and shown dishonourable.
'Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I saidpretty much what you've said, unless I'm a good deal mistaken.'
'I spoke the truth,' said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell.'Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.'
'No! I suppose not. You're only her husband, y'know. And what did Mrs.Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet?'
Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question.
'I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied; 'and it doesn't concernyou.'
'But it does! I tell you it does' began Kurrell shamelessly.
The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips. Kurrellwas silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed long andloudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound the mirthlessmirth of these men on the long white line of the Narkarra Road. Therewere no strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivitywithin the Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad.The laughter ended abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak.
'Well, what are you going to do?'
Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. 'Nothing,' said he quietly;'what's the use? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let the old lifego on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't go o
n callingyou names for ever. Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much better. Wecan't get out of this place. What is there to do?'
Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. Theinjured husband took up the wondrous tale.
'Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't care whatyou do.'
He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrelldid not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat inhis saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside.
The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was drivinghome Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead.
'Stop, please,' said Mrs. Boulte, 'I want to speak to Ted.'
Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting herhand upon the splashboard of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke.
'I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.'
There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man's eyes werefixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw thelook.
'Speak to him!' she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. 'Oh,speak to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him.Tell him you hate him!'
She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, wentforward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and droppedthe reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations.
'I've nothing to do with it,' she began coldly; but Mrs. Boulte's sobsovercame her, and she addressed herself to the man. 'I don't know whatI am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I thinkyou've you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terriblyagainst the table.'
'It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs. Boulte feebly. 'Thatdoesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for him.Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?'
'Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were fond ofher once upon a time,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen.
'Well!' said Kurrell brutally. 'It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte hadbetter be fond of her own husband first.'
'Stop!' said Mrs. Vansuythen. 'Hear me first. I don't care I don't wantto know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know thatI hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll never, never speakto you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you man!'
'I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattledon, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrathagainst Mrs. Boulte.
He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house,and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte's presence,learned for the second time her opinion of himself and his actions.
In the evenings it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platformon the Narkarra Road, to drink tea and discuss the trivialities ofthe day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at thegathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; andthe cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remarkably reasonablesuggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upondriving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population.
'Sitting in the twilight!' said he, with great indignation, to theBoultes. 'That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You mustcome out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.'
So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion overguilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to thebanjo; and the Major embraced the company in one expansive grin. As hegrinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked atall Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never knowanything. He was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage wasthe Dosehri hills.
'You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,' said the Majortruthfully. 'Pass me that banjo.'
And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashimawent to dinner.
That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima the life that Mrs.Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight.
Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists uponkeeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break hervow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessitypreserve the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably tokeep alight the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, asit awakens the same passions in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hatesMrs. Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curiousfashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen and here the wife's eyes seefar more clearly than the husband's detests Ted. And Ted that gallantcaptain and honourable man knows now that it is possible to hate a womanonce loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever with blows.Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of herways.
Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boultehas put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing.
'You're a blackguard,' he says to Kurrell, 'and I've lost anyself-respect I may ever have had; but when you're with me, I canfeel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emmamiserable.'
Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they areaway for three days together, and then the Major insists upon hiswife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen hasrepeatedly declared that she prefers her husband's company to any in theworld. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly seemto be speaking the truth.
But of course, as the Major says, 'in a little Station we must all befriendly.'
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