Lost Horizon (21 page)

It seemed an extraordinary statement, and for a time Conway was speechless after it. Eventually the High Lama continued: “You are surprised? But surely, my friend, we are all mortal—even at Shangri-La. And it is possible that I may still have a few moments left to me—or even, for that matter, a few years. All I announce is the simple truth that already I see the end. It is charming of you to appear so concerned, and I will not pretend that there is not a touch of wistfulness, even at my age, in contemplating death. Fortunately little is left of me that can die physically, and as for the rest, all our religions display a pleasant unanimity of optimism. I am quite content, but I must accustom myself to a strange sensation during the hours that remain—I must realize that I have time for only one thing more. Can you imagine what that is?”

Conway was silent.

“It concerns you, my son.”

“You do me a great honor.”

“I have in mind to do much more than that.”

Conway bowed slightly, but did not speak, and the High Lama, after waiting awhile, resumed: “You know, perhaps, that the frequency of these talks has been unusual here. But it is our tradition, if I may permit myself the paradox, that we are never slaves to tradition. We have no rigidities, no inexorable rules. We do as we think fit, guided a little by the example of the past, but still more by our present wisdom, and by our clairvoyance of the future. And thus it is that I am encouraged to do this final thing.”

Conway was still silent.

“I place in your hands, my son, the heritage and destiny of Shangri-La.”

At last the tension broke, and Conway felt beyond it the power of a bland and benign persuasion; the echoes swam into silence, till all that was left was his own heartbeat, pounding like a gong. And then, intercepting the rhythm, came the words:

“I have waited for you, my son, for quite a long time. I have sat in this room and seen the faces of new-comers, I have looked into their eyes and heard their voices, and always in hope that someday I might find you. My colleagues have grown old and wise, but you who are still young in years are as wise already. My friend, it is not an arduous task that I bequeath, for our order knows only silken bonds. To be gentle and patient, to care for the riches of the mind, to preside in wisdom and secrecy while the storm rages without—it will all be very pleasantly simple for you, and you will doubtless find great happiness.”

Again Conway sought to reply, but could not, till at length a vivid lightning-flash paled the shadows and stirred him to exclaim: “The storm … this storm you talked of .…”

“It will be such a one, my son, as the world has not seen before. There will be no safety by arms, no help from authority, no answer in science. It will rage till every flower of culture is trampled, and all human things are leveled in a vast chaos. Such was my vision when Napoleon was still a name unknown; and I see it now, more clearly with each hour. Do you say I am mistaken?”

Conway answered: “No, I think you may be right. A similar crash came once before, and then there were the Dark Ages lasting five hundred years.”

“The parallel is not quite exact. For those Dark Ages were not really so very dark—they were full of flickering lanterns, and even if the light had gone out of Europe altogether, there were other rays, literally from China to Peru, at which it could have been rekindled. But the Dark Ages that are to come will cover the whole world in a single pall; there will be neither escape nor sanctuary, save such as are too secret to be found or too humble to be noticed. And Shangri-La may hope to be both of these. The airman bearing loads of death to the great cities will not pass our way, and if by chance he should he may not consider us worth a bomb.”

“And you think all this will come in my time?”

“I believe that you will live through the storm. And after, through the long age of desolation, you may still live, growing older and wiser and more patient. You will conserve the fragrance of our history and add to it the touch of your own mind. You will welcome the stranger, and teach him the rule of age and wisdom; and one of these strangers, it may be, will succeed you when you are yourself very old. Beyond that, my vision weakens, but I see, at a great distance, a new world stirring in the ruins, stirring clumsily but in hopefulness, seeking its lost and legendary treasures. And they will all be here, my son, hidden behind the mountains in the valley of Blue Moon, preserved as by miracle for a new Renaissance .…”

The speaking finished, and Conway saw the face before him full of a remote and drenching beauty; then the glow faded and there was nothing left but a mask, dark-shadowed, and crumbling like old wood. It was quite motionless, and the eyes were closed. He watched for a while, and presently, as part of a dream, it came to him that the High Lama was dead.

IT SEEMED NECESSARY TO
rivet the situation to some kind of actuality, lest it become too strange to be believed in; and with instinctive mechanism of hand and eye, Conway glanced at his wrist-watch. It was a quarter past midnight. Suddenly, when he crossed the room to the door, it occurred to him that he did not in the least know how or whence to summon help. The Tibetans, he knew, had all been sent away for the night, and he had no idea where to find Chang or any one else. He stood uncertainly on the threshold of the dark corridor; through a window he could see that the sky was clear, though the mountains still blazed in lightning like a silver fresco. And then, in the midst of the still encompassing dream, he felt himself master of Shangri-La. These were his beloved things, all around him, the things of that inner mind in which he lived increasingly, away from the fret of the world. His eyes strayed into the shadows and were caught by golden pin-points sparkling in rich, undulating lacquers; and the scent of tuberose, so faint that it expired on the very brink of sensation, lured him from room to room. At last he stumbled into the courtyards and by the fringe of the pool; a full moon sailed behind Karakal. It was twenty minutes to two.

Later, he was aware that Mallinson was near him, holding his arm and leading him away in a great hurry. He did not gather what it was all about, but he could hear that the boy was chattering excitedly.

T
HEY REACHED THE BALCONIED
room where they had meals, Mallinson still clutching his arm and half dragging him along. “Come on, Conway, we’ve till dawn to pack what we can and get away. Great news, man—I wonder what old Barnard and Miss Brinklow will think in the morning when they find us gone … Still, its their own choice to stay, and we’ll probably get on far better without them … The porters are about five miles beyond the pass—they came yesterday with loads of books and things … tomorrow they begin the journey back … It just shows how these fellows here intended to let us down—they never told us—we should have been stranded here for God knows how much longer .… I say, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”

Conway had sunk into a chair, and was leaning forward with elbows on the table. He passed his hand across his eyes. “Ill? No. I don’t think so. Just—rather—tired.”

“Probably the storm. Where were you all the while? I’d been waiting for you for hours.”

“I—I was visiting the High Lama.”

“Oh,
him
! Well,
that’s
for the last time, anyhow, thank God.”

“Yes, Mallinson, for the last time.”

Something in Conway’s voice, and still more in his succeeding silence, roused the youth to irascibility. “Well, I wish you wouldn’t sound so deuced leisurely about it—we’ve got to get a considerable move on, you know.”

Conway stiffened for the effort of emerging into keener consciousness, “I’m sorry,” he said. Partly to test his nerve and the reality of his sensations he lit a cigarette. He found that both hands and lips were unsteady “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow … you say the porters …”

“Yes, the porters, man—do pull yourself together.”

“You’re thinking of going out to them?”

“
Thinking
of it? I’m damn well certain—they’re only just over the ridge. And we’ve got to start immediately.”

“
Immediately
?”

“Yes, yes—why not?”

Conway made a second attempt to transfer himself from one world into the other. He said at length, having partly succeeded: “I suppose you realize that it mayn’t be quite as simple as it sounds?”

Mallinson was lacing a pair of knee-high Tibetan mountain-boots as he answered jerkily: “I realize everything, but it’s something we’ve got to do, and we shall do it, with luck, if we don’t delay.”

“I don’t see how—”

“Oh, Lord, Conway, must you fight shy of everything? Haven’t you any guts left in you at all?”

The appeal, half passionate and half derisive, helped Conway to collect himself. “Whether I have or haven’t isn’t the point, but if you want me to explain myself, I will. It’s a question of a few rather important details. Suppose you
do
get beyond the pass and find the porters there, how do you know they’ll take you with them? What inducement can you offer? Hasn’t it struck you that they mayn’t be quite so willing as you’d like them to be? You can’t just present yourself and demand to be escorted. It all needs arrangements, negotiations beforehand—”

“Or anything else to cause a delay,” exclaimed Mallinson bitterly. “God, what a fellow you are! Fortunately I haven’t you to rely on for arranging things. Because they
have
been arranged—the porters have been paid in advance, and they’ve agreed to take us. And here are clothes and equipment for the journey, all ready. So your last excuse disappears. Come on, let’s
do
something.”

“But—I don’t understand .…”

“I don’t suppose you do, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Who’s been making all these plans?”

Mallinson answered brusquely: “Lo-Tsen, if you’re really keen to know. She’s with the porters now. She’s waiting.”

“
Waiting
?”

“Yes. She’s coming with us. I assume you’ve no objection?”

AT THE MENTION OF
Lo-Tsen the two worlds touched and fused suddenly in Conway’s mind. He cried sharply almost contemptuously: “That’s nonsense. It’s impossible.”

Mallinson was equally on edge. “Why is it impossible?”

“Because … well, it is. There are all sorts of reasons. Take my word for it; it won’t do. It’s incredible enough that she should be out there now—I’m astonished at what you say has happened—but the idea of her going any further is just preposterous.”

“I don’t see that it’s preposterous at all. It’s as natural for her to want to leave here as for me.”

“But she doesn’t want to leave. That’s where you make the mistake.”

Mallinson smiled tensely. “You think you know a good deal more about her than I do, I dare say,” he remarked. “But perhaps you don’t, for all that.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are other ways of getting to understand people without learning heaps of languages.”

“For Heaven’s sake, what
are
you driving at?” Then Conway added more quietly: “This is absurd. We mustn’t wrangle. Tell me, Mallinson, what’s it all about? I still don’t understand.”

“Then why are you making such an almighty fuss?”

“Tell me the truth,
please
tell me the truth.”

‘Well, it’s simple enough. A kid of her age, shut up here with a lot of queer old men—naturally she’ll get away if she’s given a chance. She hasn’t had one up to now.”

“Don’t you think you may be imagining her position in the light of your own? As I’ve always told you, she’s perfectly happy.”

“Then why did she say she’d come?”

“She said that? How could she? She doesn’t speak English.”

“I asked her—in Tibetan—Miss Brinklow worked out the words. It wasn’t a very fluent conversation, but it was quite enough to—to lead to an understanding.” Mallinson flushed a little. “Damn it, Conway, don’t stare at me like that—any one would think I’d been poaching on
your
preserves.”

Conway answered: “No one would think so at all, I hope, but the remark tells me more than you were perhaps intending me to know. I can only say that I’m very sorry.”

“And why the devil should you be?”

Conway let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He felt tired, bothered, and full of deep conflicting tenderness that he would rather not have had aroused. He said gently: “I wish we weren’t always at such cross-purposes. Lo-Tsen is very charming, I know, but why should we quarrel about it?”

“
Charming
?” Mallinson echoed the word with scorn. “She’s a good bit more than that. You mustn’t think everybody’s as cold-blooded about these things as you are yourself. Admiring her as if she were an exhibit in a museum may be your idea of what she deserves, but mine’s more practical, and when I see some one I like in a rotten position I try and
do
something.”

“But surely there’s such a thing as being too impetuous? Where do you think she’ll go to if she does leave?”

“I suppose she must have friends in China or somewhere. Anyhow, she’ll be better off than here.”

“How can you possibly be so sure of that?”

“Well, I’ll see that she’s looked after myself, if nobody else will. After all, if you’re rescuing people from something quite hellish, you don’t usually stop to enquire if they’ve anywhere else to go to.”

“And you think Shangri-La is hellish?”

“Definitely, I do. There’s something dark and evil about it. The whole business has been like that from the beginning—the way we were brought here, without reason at all, by some madman—and the way we’ve been detained since, on one excuse or another. But the most frightful thing of all—to me—is the effect it’s had on you.”

“On
me
?”

“Yes, on you. You’ve just mooned about as if nothing mattered and you were content to stay here for ever. Why, you even admitted you liked the place .… Conway, what
has
happened to you? Can’t you manage to be your real self again? We got on so well together at Baskul—you were absolutely different in those days.”

“My
dear
boy!”

Conway reached his hand towards Mallinson’s, and the answering grip was hot and eagerly affectionate. Mallinson went on: “I don’t suppose you realize it, but I’ve been terribly alone these last few weeks. Nobody seemed to be caring a damn about the only thing that was really important—Barnard and Miss Brinklow had reasons of a kind, but it was pretty awful when I found
you
against me.”