by Rex Beach
XII
A NIGHT AT TABOGA
Despite his great contentment in Mrs. Cortlandt's society, Kirk foundhimself waiting with growing impatience for his active duties to begin.There was a restlessness in his mood, moreover, which his desire toescape from a situation of rather humiliating dependence could notwholly explain. Curiously enough, this feeling was somehow connectedwith the thought of Edith herself. Why this should be so, he did nottrouble to inquire. They had become the best of good friends, he toldhimself--a consummation for which he had devoutly wished--yet, for someindefinable reason, he was dissatisfied. He did not know that theirmoment of perfect, unspoiled companionship had come and gone thatevening in the Plaza.
Every relation into which sentiment enters at all has its crisis orturning-point, though it may pass unobserved. Perhaps they are happiestwho heed it least. Certainly, morbid self-analysis was the last faultof which Kirk could be accused. If he had a rule of action, it wassimply to behave naturally, and, so far, experience had justified himin the belief that behaving naturally always brought him out right inthe end.
He decided that he needed exercise, and determined to take a trampthrough the country; but on the evening before the day he had set forhis excursion his plans were upset by a note from Mrs. Cortlandt, whichthe clerk handed him. It ran:
DEAR KIRK,--Stephen has arranged an outing for all three of us, and weare counting on you for to-morrow. It will be a really, truly picnic,with all the delightful discomforts of such affairs. You are not toknow where we are going until we call for you at eight.
Faithfully and mysteriously yours, EDITH CORTLANDT.
The recipient of this kind invitation tossed it aside with a gesture ofimpatience. For the moment he experienced a kind of boyish resentmentat having his intentions thwarted that seemed out of proportion to thecause. Whether he would have felt the same if Edith's husband were notto be one of the party was a question that did not occur to him. At allevents, the emotion soon passed, and he rose the next morning feelingthat an outing with the Cortlandts would be as pleasant a diversion forthe day as any other.
Promptly at eight Edith appeared upon the hotel porch. She was alone.
"Where's Mr. Cortlandt?" he inquired.
"Oh, some men arrived last night from Bocas del Toro and telephonedthat they must see him to-day on a matter of importance."
"Then he's coming later?"
"I hardly think so. I was terribly disappointed, so he told me to gowithout him. Now, I shall have to make up to you for his absence, if Iam able."
"That's the sort of speech," Kirk laughed, "that doesn't leave a fellowany nice answer. I'm sorry he couldn't come, of course, and awfullyglad you did. Now, where is to be the scene of our revel?"
"Taboga," she said, with eyes sparkling. "You've never been there, butit's perfectly gorgeous. Please call a coach, our boat is waiting--anddon't sit on the lunch."
Kirk obeyed, and they went clattering down the deserted brick street.Edith leaned back with a sigh.
"I'm so glad to get away from that hotel for a day. You've no idea howhard it is to be forever entertaining a lot of people you care nothingabout, or being entertained by people you detest. I've smiled andsmirked and cooed until I'm sick; I want to scowl and grind my teethand roar."
"Still politics, I suppose?"
"Yes, indeed; we don't dare talk about it. If you only knew it, Kirk,you've capsized the political calculations of the Panama ConservativeParty."
"I didn't know I had ever even rocked the boat."
"It runs back to your affair with Ramen." She glanced toward the coachdriver, suggesting the need of reticence.
"Really, did that effect it?"
"Rather. At any rate, it gave an excuse for setting things in motion.There had been some doubt about the matter for a long time, and I wasonly too glad to exert my influence in the right direction, but--thisis a picnic to an enchanted island, and here we are talking politics!We mustn't be so serious. School is out, and it's vacation. I want toromp and play and get my face dirty."
Kirk readily fell in with her mood, and by the time they reached thewater-front they were laughing like two children. Down through a stonearch they went, and out upon a landing beneath the sea wall. In frontof them the placid waters of the bay were shimmering, a myriad of smallboats thronged the harbor. There were coasting steamers, launches,sail-boats, skiffs, and canoes. Along the shore above the tide-linewere rows of schooners fashioned from gigantic tree-trunks and capableof carrying many tons, all squatting upon the mud, their white sailsraised to dry like the outstretched wings of resting sea-gulls.
The landing was thronged, and, at sight of the newcomers, loiterersgathered from all sides--a pirate throng, shouting a dozen dialects andforcing Kirk to battle lustily for his luggage. Stepping into a skiff,they were rowed to a launch, and a few moments later were glidingswiftly around the long rock-rib that guards the harbor, a copper-huedbandit at the wheel, a Nubian giant at the engine, and an evil,yellow-faced desperado sprawling upon the forward deck.
Looking back, they saw the city spread out in brilliant panorama, clearand beautiful in the morning radiance. Packed and dense it lay,buttressed by the weather-stained ramparts which legend says were builtby the women while their husbands were at war, and backed by the greenheights of Ancon, against which the foreign houses nestled. Set in theforeground, like an ivory carving, was the Government Theatre, whileaway beyond it loomed the Tivoli.
Noting armed sentinels pacing the sea wall at a certain spot, Kirkcalled his companion's attention to them.
"That's Chiriqui Prison, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes. They say some of the dungeons are almost under the sea. It mustbe a terrible place."
"I've developed a morbid interest in jails," he remarked. "I'm quite anauthority on them. I think, however, I won't experiment with thisone--I don't like the view."
"Yes, it's an unhealthy spot, according to all accounts. I'm sure you'dget rheumatism, at least. By-the-way, do you notice the thickness ofthose walls? They say that a king of Spain was seen standing at hispalace window one day staring anxiously toward the west. When acourtier presumed to ask him what he was looking at, he said, 'I amsearching for those costly walls of Panama. They ought to be visibleeven from here.' They cost ten million dollars, you know, when dollarswere worth a good deal more than they are now. Look! There's Taboga."
Following her gaze, Kirk beheld a mountain of amethyst rising out ofthe bay. Behind them the shores stretched away into misty distances,while low mountains, softened by a delicate purple, rolled up from thejungle plain. Ahead of them the turquoise waters were dotted by isletswhose heights were densely overgrown, while sands of coral whitenessringed their shore lines. Here and there a fleet of fishing-boatsdrifted. Far out in the roadstead lay two cruisers, slate-gray andgrim. The waters over-side purled soothingly, the heavens beamed, thebreeze was like a gentle caress. The excursionists lost themselves insilent enjoyment.
Even before they had come to anchor a dozen boatmen were racing forthem and crying for their patronage. At the water's edge they saw atiny village nestled close against the mountains, its tiled roofsrust-red and grown to moss, its walls faded by wind and weather todelicate mauves and dove colors and greens impossible to describe. Upagainst the slope a squat 'dobe chapel sat, while just beyond reach ofthe tide was a funny little pocket-size plaza, boasting a decrepitfountain and an iron fence eaten by the salt. Backing it all was amarvellous verdure, tipped up on edge, or so it seemed, and cleared inspots for pineapples.
The launch, when it came to rest, seemed suspended in air, and beneathit lay an entrancing sea-garden. Once the engine had stopped itsclatter, a sleepy, peaceful silence settled over the harbor, unbrokenby wheel or whistle, for in Taboga no one works and there are novehicles.
"What a wonderful place!" exclaimed the young man, fervently. "Why,it's like a dream--it can't be real!" Then, as the boatmen renewedtheir begging, "I wonder which barge gentleman I had better hire."
"Take the little boy, please." Edith called to an urchin who wasmanfully struggling with a pair of oars twice his own length, whereuponthe older boatmen began to shove off with many scowls and muchgrumbling.
"Our choice has offended these genial bandits," Kirk observed as hehelped her to a seat. "When shall we tell the lad to bring us off?"
"Four o'clock," answered Mrs. Cortlandt. "I arranged with the captainto be ready at that hour, so, you see, we have the whole day ahead ofus."
Across the limpid shallows they glided, bravely propelled by theirnine-year-old oarsman, but when the bow of their skiff grated upon thebottom they were still some yards from the shore.
"Looks as if we'd have to wade," said Kirk, then called to one of thenear-by boatmen to lend the child a hand. But the fellow repliedgruffly in some unintelligible jargon.
"He says he carries HIS passengers ashore in his arms," Edithtranslated.
"Really? Competition is spirited even on this heavenly isle. Well,that's easy!" Anthony untied his low shoes, kicked them off, and rolledup his trousers.
"Permit me to help you," he said, "without embarrassing our pilot."
"Oh! I want to wade, too," the woman exclaimed, enviously, as hestepped out, "but--it's too pebbly."
She stood up and allowed him to gather her in his arms. Then for thefirst time she felt his strength as her body leaned to his. Slowly hepicked his way ashore while she reclined in his embrace, her arms abouthis neck, her smooth cheek brushing his. A faint, intoxicating perfumeshe used affected him strangely, increasing the poignant sense of hernearness; a lock of her hair caressed him. When he deposited her gentlyupon her feet he saw her face had gone white and that she was trembling.
"Did I hurt you?" he queried, quickly.
"Oh no!" she answered, but as she turned away he saw her breathe as iffor the first time since he had taken her up.
His own face was glowing as he waded back to fetch the lunch-basket andhis foot-gear. Under the circumstances he had done the only natural,the only possible thing, yet it had queerly perturbed them both. Therewas an artificial note in their voices as they mounted to the village,and unconsciously they avoided each other's glances.
A narrow, crooked street, fronted by old stone houses, opened beforethem, and the many tints they had seen from a distance became morepronounced. Even the rough flags and cobbles under foot were of a faintlichen gray, chrome yellow, or pink, as if painted at cost of infinitelabor. Out of dark, open doorways peered swarthy faces, naked bronzechildren scampered away on fat legs at their approach, and in one housewere a number of cassocked priests droning in Spanish. Everywhere wasthe same slumberous content, the same peaceful buzz of bees and birdsand soft-toned human voices.
The two visitors explored the village, even to the quaint, tawdrychapel, with its impossible blues and rusted gilt, and noon found themeager to investigate the contents of their lunch-basket. Taking arandom path up the hill, they came at last to a spring of cool water,and here they spread their meal under a mango-tree bent beneath tons offruit.
"Oh, it's intoxicating!" cried Edith, as she sank to a seat, feastingher eyes upon the scene below. "After lunch, shall we climb themountain?"
"I'm ready for anything," Kirk assured her. "Maybe we'll go swimming.That seems to be the main occupation of the inhabitants."
Up the path toward them came two timid children, one bearing apineapple half as large as himself, the other lugging an armful ofstrange fruit. Kirk bought their entire burden, and they scuttled awayin high glee.
By now the spirit of the woods was in the picnickers; the gladness ofthe day possessed them wholly, and the afternoon sped quickly. If attimes Kirk found his companion regarding him with a strangely timid,half-defiant look, he refused to connect it with the episode of theirlanding. It was a fleeting look, at most, gone almost before hesurprised it, and, for the most part, Edith showed a seemingly quitenatural gayety that helped him to forget his recent self-consciousness.
Promptly at four they came down the drunken little main street and outupon the beach. But no launch was in sight.
"Hello! Where's our boat?" exclaimed Kirk.
"The captain told me he'd be ready at four. Perhaps he has run over toTaboguilla or--" She hesitated, with a troubled frown.
"You told him to wait?"
"Distinctly." Seeing an idler in the square above she questioned him inSpanish. "This man says the launch left for Panama two hours ago." Sheturned tragic eyes upon Kirk.
"Do you think they intend to leave us?"
"I don't know. These people are liable to do any thing." Once more shequestioned the loiterer. "It is just as I suspected," she explained;"they went on a Sunday spree. He says they came ashore and bought a lotof liquor, and he heard them quarrelling later."
"That means we'll have to get another boat."
"I don't know where we shall find one."
"Neither do I, but there must be some sort of craft that plies back andforth regularly."
"Only once or twice a week, I believe, and it belongs to thesanitarium." She nodded toward some buildings perched upon a pointfarther around the bay. "Mr. Cortlandt looked it up before leaving andfound the boat doesn't run on Sundays, so he hired that launch. Perhapswe'd better wait awhile; our men may come back."
They found seats in the square and were grateful for the rest; but anhour passed and the sun was getting low, while no sign of their truantcraft appeared.
"There must be sail-boats to be had," said Kirk; but on inquiry theylearned that, although a few belonged to the island, they all happenedto be away. He suggested that they hire a man to row them across.
"It's twelve miles," Edith demurred. "Do you think it would be safe?"
He scanned the twilit sea and gave up the idea; for the afternoontrades, balmy and soothing as they were, had lifted a swell that wouldprove difficult for a skiff to navigate. Uneasily they settledthemselves for a further wait. At last, as the sun was dipping into abed of gold, Kirk broke out:
"Gee whiz! We've got to do SOMETHING. Mr. Cortlandt will be gettingworried."
"In all probability he won't know anything about it until too late tocome for us. He is dining with these people from Bocas, and may not getback to the Tivoli before midnight."
"Nice fix we're in!" remarked Anthony. "I'd like to lay hands on thatcaptain."
"We may have to stay here all night!"
"Well, at least we have a haven of refuge. They'll take us in at thehospital."
"I don't care to ask them. There's some one up there I don't wish tosee. That's why I didn't go near the place to-day."
"You know best, of course. But, see here, don't you think you'd bettergo up there--"
"Not for worlds! We must find some other way." She began to pace backand forth in the dusk. "How unfortunate it is!"
"Is it because--I'm with you?" questioned the young man, with aneffort. "Is that why you don't want to apply there?"
"No, no. Stephen's particular enemy is in charge up there. I detest theman, and the feeling is mutual, I believe." She sighed, and her glancefell. "We can't spend the night outdoors."
"Of course not, but--"
"What?"
He laughed to hide his embarrassment. "I'm wondering--what people willsay."
"Oh, you mustn't be troubled about that. It isn't your fault, you know,anyhow. Besides, people won't say anything because they won't knowanything about it--if we stay away from that sanitarium."
In the effort to put him at his ease, her own distress seemed tovanish, and Kirk immediately felt more cheerful.
"It's getting along toward dinner-time," he said, "so let's see what wecan find in the way of food. You can be sheltered in one of thesehouses, I suppose, though from the looks I'd almost prefer the nightair."
They stumbled out into the unlighted street and began their search;but, seen close at hand, the cooking arrangements of Taboga proved mostunattractive. Outside the sanitarium, it seemed, there was not a stoveon the island. Charcoal braziers set upon t
he floors or in the dirtyards served all culinary purposes, and the process of preparing mealswas conducted with an indifference that promised no savory results.About the glowing points of light wrinkled hags appeared irregularly,as if brewing some witch's broth, but they could not understand thephenomenon of Americans being hungry and signified no readiness torelieve them. In several instances Kirk and Mrs. Cortlandt were treatedwith open suspicion. But eventually they found a morepretentious-looking place, where they were taken in, and, after aninterminable wait, food was set before them--chicken, boiled with riceand cocoanut, black beans and cocoanut, fresh, warm milk, and awondrous assortment of hothouse fruits. They would have enjoyed themeal had it not been for the curious faces that blocked every aperturein the room and the many bright eyes that peered at them from eachshadow.
But in spite of their equivocal situation, Edith seemed fully to haveregained her spirits. Even the prospect of spending the night in thisplace apparently did not dismay her.
"We have created quite a sensation," she said, laughingly. "I wonder ifit makes the animals in the zoo as nervous to be stared at."
Kirk was half puzzled, half relieved by the lightness of her mood.
"If you have finished this health-food," he remarked, "we'll go back tothe plaza and wait for the launch. I'm as full of cocoanut as a shell."
They descended to the square again, stared at all the way through opendoors and followed by a subdued murmur of comment. Then they sat for along time watching the stars, half minded not to regret thecircumstance that had left them stranded together in such pleasantsurroundings.
As if in despair over their impossible predicament, Edith gave way to aspirit of reckless vivacity, and Kirk, with a man's somewhatexaggerated sympathy for a woman's sensitive feelings, loyally stroveto help her make the best of things in her own way. It was like awoman, he reflected, to follow her mood to the last extreme, and, beinga man, he was not displeased. The change in her manner was too elusivefor him to analyze. There was no real concession of her reserve--nosacrifice of the feminine privilege of prompt and complete withdrawal.If he had struck a false note, he knew that she would have turnedfrigid in an instant. But he could not help feeling that some barrierwhich had existed between them had been magically removed. Her apparentobliviousness to all that under the circumstances might have troubledher was a subtle compliment to himself, and soon he, too, forgot thatthere was anything in the world beyond their present relation to eachother.
It was on their return to the house that the climax came, leaving himstrangely shaken.
Their course took them past a tiny cantina. It was open in front, andbrightly lighted, although at this hour most of the houses were darkand the village lay wrapped in the inky shadow of the mountain behind.Within, several men were carousing--dark-haired, swarthy fellows, whoseemed to be fishermen. Drawn by the sound of argument, the strangerspaused a moment to watch them. The quarrel seemed a harmless affair,and they were about to pass on, when suddenly one of the disputantslunged at his antagonist with a knife, conjured from nowhere, and thetwo came tumbling out into the street, nearly colliding with theonlookers.
Without a sound, Mrs. Cortlandt picked up her skirts and fled into thedarkness, Kirk stumbling along behind her, both guiding themselves byinstinct rather than sight. At last she stopped out of breath, and heovertook her.
"You mustn't run through these dark alleys," he cried, sharply. "You'llbreak your neck." Half impatient at this hysterical behavior, he seizedher by the arm.
"Oh, I'm so frightened!" she breathed, and he felt her tremble. "Adrunken man frightens me--" Involuntarily she hid her face against hisbreast, then laughed nervously. "Don't mind me, please. It's the onething I can't stand. I'll be all right in a moment." She lifted herwhite face, and her eyes were luminous in the gloom. "I'm very glad youdon't drink." Her hand crept up to the lapel of his coat. "What willyou think of me?" she said, tremulously.
Before he realized what he was doing his arms had closed around her andhis lips had met hers. It may have been the romance of the night, thesolitude, the intoxicating warmth of her breath--at any rate, he losthis head and knew nothing save that she was a woman and he a man. Asfor her, she offered no resistance, made no sign beyond a startled sighas their lips came together.
But, impulsive as his action had been, it was no more sudden than hisrecoil. He released her and stepped back, crying:
"Oh, my God! I--I didn't mean that. Forgive me. PLEASE." She saidnothing, and he stammered desperately again: "You'll hate me now, ofcourse, but--I don't know what ails me. I forgotmyself--you--everything. It was unpardonable, and I ought to be shot."He started off down the blind street, his whole body cold withapprehension and self-disgust.
"Where are you going?" she called after him.
"I don't know. I can't stay here now. Oh, Mrs. Cortlandt, what can Isay?"
"Do you intend to leave me here in the middle of this--"
"No, no! Of course not. I'm rattled, that's all. I've just got acowardly desire to flee and butt my head against the nearest wall.That's what I ought to do. I don't know what possessed me. I don't knowwhat you'll think of me."
"We won't speak of it now. Try to compose yourself and find ourlodging-place."
"Why, yes, of course. I'll see that you're fixed up comfortably andthen I'll get out."
"Oh, you mustn't leave me!" she cried in a panic. "I couldn't stay inthat awful place alone." She drew a little nearer to him as ifdemanding his protection.
A wave of tenderness swept over him. She was just a girl, after all, hereflected, and if it were not for what had happened a moment before themost natural thing in the world would be to take her in his arms andcomfort her.
"I--I won't leave you--I'll stay near you," he stammered.
But as they trudged along together through the dark his chagrinreturned in full force. Mrs. Cortlandt maintained a distressingsilence, and he could not see her face. Presently he began to pleadbrokenly for forgiveness, stumbling in the effort not to offend herfurther and feeling that he was making matters worse with every word heuttered. For a long time she made no reply, but at last she said:
"Do you think I ought ever to see you again after this?"
"I suppose not," said Kirk, miserably.
"I won't believe," she went on, "that you could have taken me for thekind of woman who--"
"No, no!" he cried, in an anguish of self-reproach. "I was a fool--"
"No," she said, "I don't--I couldn't bear to think that. Perhaps I waspartly to blame--but I didn't think--I ought to have known that no mancan really be trusted. But I thought our friendship was so beautiful,and now you've spoiled it."
"Don't say that!" exclaimed Kirk. "Say you'll forgive me some time."
But instead of answering him directly she proceeded in the same strain,probing his wounded self-respect to the quick, making his offence seemblacker every moment.
Although he assured her over and over that he had simply followed theirresponsible, unaccountable impulse of a moment--that he had regardedher only as the best of friends, and respected her more than he couldsay, she showed him no mercy. The melancholy, regretful tone sheadopted was ten times worse than anger, and by the time they reachedthe inn where they had dined he was sunk in the depths ofself-abasement.
If he had been less preoccupied with his own remorse he might havereflected that Edith's attitude, especially as she did not expresslywithhold the prospect of ultimate pardon, established a closer bondbetween them than ever before. But there was no room in his mind forsuch a thought.
In reply to his knock an old woman came to the door and sleepilyadmitted them. Edith stood for a moment on the threshold, then, seeingthat he made no motion to accompany her, she said good-night, and,quietly entering, closed the door behind her.
Kirk experienced a sudden desire to escape. To remain where he wassimply prolonged his humiliation. Instinctively he felt that, if hecould only get away where he could view the matter in an every-daylight, it would cease to tr
ouble him. But evidently he could not desertEdith. He sat down upon the doorstep and gave himself up to bitterthoughts.
She was such a wonderful woman, he told himself; she had been such atrue friend to him that he had been worse than criminal to lose herrespect. And Cortlandt had been so decent to him! It was significantthat this gave him the most discomfort of all. He had betrayed a man'sfriendship, and the thought was unbearable. No punishment could be toosevere for that!
He was still sitting there cramped and stiff when the first faint flushof dawn stole over the hill-crest behind him. Then he rose to wandertoward the water-front. As the harbor assumed definite form, he behelda launch stealing in toward the village, and ten minutes later greetedStephen Cortlandt as that gentleman stepped out of the tender.
"Where's Edith?" eagerly demanded her husband.
"She's asleep. I found a place for her--"
"Not at the SANITARIUM?"
"No, no. One of these houses. Lord, I'm glad to see you! We'd begun tofeel like real castaways. I've been up all night."
"What happened?" It was plain that Mr. Cortlandt was deeply agitated.
"Our boatmen evidently got drunk and pulled out. I tried to get asail-boat, but there weren't any, and it was too rough to try crossingwith a skiff."
It took them but a moment to reach the house, and soon the three wereback at the water-front.
"What a miserable night!" Mrs. Cortlandt complained, stifling a yawn."I thought you'd never come, Stephen!"
"I didn't get back to the Tivoli until midnight, and then I had troublein finding a boat to bring me over."
"I suppose they were alarmed at the hotel?"
"I said nothing about it," he returned, quietly, at which his wife'sface flushed. Seizing the first occasion, he exclaimed, in a low voice:"God! How unfortunate--at this time. Were you mad?"
She looked at him and her eyes burned, but she said nothing.