Rudyard Kipling's Tales of Horror and Fantasy (78 page)

I said, “We talk too much about Gods. Let us eat and be happy, and tomorrow I will take you to the Children of the Night, and each man will find a Magic Knife.”

‘I was glad to smell our sheep again; to see the broad sky from edge to edge, and to hear the sea. I slept beneath the stars in my cloak. The men talked among themselves.

‘I led them, the next day, to the Trees, taking with me meat, wool, and curdled milk, as I had promised. We found the Magic Knives laid out on the grass, as the Children of the Night had promised. They watched us from among the Trees. Their Priestess called to me and said, “How is it with your people?” I said, “Their hearts are changed. I cannot see their hearts as I used to.” She said, “That is because you have only one eye. Come to me and I will be both your eyes.” But I said, “I must show my people how to use their knives against The Beast, as you showed me how to use my knife.” I said this because the Magic Knife does not balance like the flint. She said, “What you have done, you have done for the sake of a woman, and not for the sake of your people.” I asked of her, “Then why did the God accept my right eye, and why are you so angry?” She answered, “Because any man can lie to a God, but no man can lie to a woman. And I am not angry with you. I am only very sorrowful for you. Wait a little, and you will see out of your one eye why I am sorry.” So she hid herself.

‘I went back with my people, each one carrying his Knife, and making it sing in the air –
tssee-sssse.
The Flint never sings. It mutters –
ump-ump.
The Beast heard. The Beast saw.
He
knew! Everywhere he ran away from us. We all laughed. As we walked over the grass my Mother's brother – the Chief on the Men's Side – he took off his Chiefs necklace of yellow sea-stones.'

‘How? Eh? Oh, I remember! Amber,' said Puck.

‘And would have put them on my neck. I said, “No, I am content. What does my one eye matter if my other eye sees fat sheep and fat children running about safely?' My Mother's brother said to them, “I told you he would never take such things.” Then they began to sing a song in the Old Tongue –
The Song of Tyr.
I sang with them, but my Mother's brothersaid, “This is
your
song, O Buyer of the Knife. Let
us
sing it, Tyr.”

‘Even then I did not understand, till I saw that – that no man stepped on my shadow; and I knew that they thought me to be a God, like the God Tyr, who gave his right hand to conquer a Great Beast.'

‘By the Fire in the Belly of the Flint was that so?' Puck rapped out.

‘By my Knife and the Naked Chalk, so it was! They made way for my shadow as though it had been a Priestess walking to the Barrows of the Dead. I was afraid. I said to myself, “My Mother and my Maiden will know I am not Tyr.” But
still
I was afraid, with the fear of a man who falls into a steep flint-pit while he runs, and feels that it will be hard to climb out.

‘When we came to the Dew-ponds all our people were there. The men showed their knives and told their tale. The sheepguards also had seen The Beast flying from us. The Beast went west across the river in packs – howling! He knew the Knife had come to the Naked Chalk at last – at last!
He
knew! So my work was done. I looked for my Maiden among the Priestesses. She looked at me, but she did not smile. She made the sign to me that our Priestesses must make when they sacrifice to the Old Dead in the Barrows. I would have spoken, but my Mother's brother made himself my Mouth, as though I had been one of the Old Dead in the Barrows for whom our Priests speak to the people on Midsummer Mornings.'

‘I remember. Well I remember those Midsummer Mornings!' said Puck.

‘Then I went away angrily to my Mother's house. She would have knelt before me. Then I was more angry, but she said, “Only a God would have spoken to me thus, a Priestess. A man would have feared the punishment of the Gods.” I looked at her and I laughed. I could not stop my unhappy laughing. They called me from the door by the name of Tyr himself. A young man with whom I had watched my first flocks, and chipped my first arrow, and fought my first Beast, called me by that name in the Old Tongue. He asked my leave to take myMaiden. His eyes were lowered, his hands were on his forehead. He was full of the fear of a God, but of
me,
a man, he had no fear when he asked. I did not kill him. I said, “Call the maiden.” She came also without fear – this very one that had waited for me, that had talked with me, by our Dew-ponds. Being a Priestess, she lifted her eyes to me. As I look on a hill or a cloud, so she looked at me. She spoke in the Old Tongue which Priestesses use when they make prayers to the Old Dead in the Barrows. She asked leave that she might light the fire in my companion's house – and that I should bless their children. I did not kill her. I heard my own voice, little and cold, say, “Let it be as you desire,” and they went away hand in hand. My heart grew little and cold; a wind shouted in my ears; my eye darkened. I said to my Mother, “Can a God die?” I heard her say, “What is it? What is it, my son?” and I fell into darkness full of hammer-noise. I was not.'

‘Oh, poor – poor God!' said Puck. ‘And your wise Mother?'

‘
She
knew. As soon as I dropped she knew. When my spirit came back I heard her whisper in my ear, “Whether you live or die, or are made different, I am your Mother.” That was good – better even than the water she gave me and the going away of the sickness. Though I was ashamed to have fallen down, yet I was very glad. She was glad too. Neither of us wished to lose the other. There is only the one Mother for the one son. I heaped the fire for her, and barred the doors, and sat at her feet as before I went away, and she combed my hair, and sang.

‘I said at last, “What is to be done to the people who say that IamTyr?”

‘She said, “He who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a God. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die. You cannot drive them off.”

‘I said, “This is a heavier sheep than I can lift.” She said, “In time it will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any maiden anywhere. Be wise – be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you except the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God.”'

‘Oh, poor God!' said Puck. ‘But those are not altogether bad things.'

‘I know they are not; but I would sell them all – all – all for one small child of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.'

He wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood up.

‘And yet, what else could I have done?' he said. ‘The sheep are the people.'

‘It is a very old tale,' Puck answered. ‘I have heard the like of it not only on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees – under Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.'

The afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton Pit. The children heard the sheep-bells and Young Jim's busy bark above them, and they scrambled up the slope to the level.

‘We let you have your sleep out,' said Mr Dudeney, as the flock scattered before them. ‘It's making for tea-time now.'

‘Look what I've found,' said Dan, and held up a little blue flint arrow-head as fresh as though it had been chipped that very day.

‘Oh,' said Mr Dudeney, ‘the closeter you be to the turf the more you're apt to see things. I've found 'em often. Some says the fairies made 'em, but I says they was made by folks like ourselves – only a goodish time back. They're lucky to keep.Now, you couldn't ever have slept – not to any profit – among your father's trees same as you've laid but on Naked Chalk – could you?'

‘One doesn't want to sleep in the woods,' said Una.

‘Then what's the good of 'em?' said Mr Dudeney. ‘Might as well set in the barn all day. Fetch 'em 'long, Jim boy!'

The Downs, that looked so bare and hot when they came, were full of delicious little shadow-dimples; the smell of the thyme and the salt mixed together on the south-west drift from the still sea; their eyes dazzled with the low sun, and the long grass under it looked golden. The sheep knew where their fold was, so Young Jim came back to his master, and theyall four strolled home, the scabious-heads swishing about their ankles, and their shadows streaking behind them like the shadows of giants.

IN THE SAME BOAT

‘A throbbing vein,' said Dr Gilbert soothingly, ‘is the mother of delusion.'

‘Then how do you account for my knowing when the thing is due?' Conroy's voice rose almost to a break.

‘Of course, but you should have consulted a doctor before using – palliatives.'

‘It was driving me mad. And now I can't give them up.'

‘Not so bad as that! One doesn't form fatal habits at twenty-five. Think again. Were you ever frightened as a child?'

‘I don't remember. It began when I was a boy.'

‘With or without the spasm? By the way, do you mind describing the spasm again?'

‘Well,' said Conroy, twisting in the chair, ‘I'm no musician, but suppose you were a violin-string – vibrating – and some one put his finger on you? As if a finger were put on the naked soul! Awful!'

‘So's indigestion – so's nightmare – while it lasts.'

‘But the horror afterwards knocks me out for days. And the waiting for it… and then this drug habit! It can't go on!' He shook as he spoke, and the chair creaked.

‘My dear fellow,' said the doctor, ‘when you're older you'll know what burdens the best of us carry. A fox to every Spartan.'

‘That doesn't help
me.
I can't! I can't!' cried Conroy, and burst into tears.

‘Don't apologise,' said Gilbert, when the paroxysm ended. ‘I'm used to people coming a little – unstuck in this room.'

‘It's those tabloids!' Conroy stamped his foot feebly as heblew his nose. ‘They've knocked me out. I used to be fit once. Oh, I've tried exercise and everything. But – if one sits down for a minute when it's due – even at four in the morning it runs up behind one.'

‘Ye-es. Many things come in the quiet of the morning. You always know when the visitation is due?'

‘What would I give not to be sure!' he sobbed.

‘We'll put that aside for the moment. I'm thinking of a case where what we'll call anaemia of the brain was masked (I don't say cured) by vibration. He couldn't sleep, or thought he couldn't, but a steamer voyage and the thump of the screw—'

‘A steamer? After what I've told you!' Conroy almost shrieked. ‘I'd sooner …'

‘Of course
not
a steamer in your case, but a long railway journey the next time you think it will trouble you. It sounds absurd, but—'

‘I'd try anything. I nearly have,' Conroy sighed.

‘Nonsense! I've given you a tonic that will clear
that
notion from your head. Give the train a chance, and don't begin the journey by bucking yourself up with tabloids. Take them along, but hold them in reserve – in reserve.'

‘D'you think I've self-control enough, after what you've heard?' said Conroy.

Dr Gilbert smiled. ‘Yes. After what I've seen,' he glanced round the room, ‘I have no hesitation in saying you have quite as much self-control as many other people. I'll write you later about your journey. Meantime, the tonic,' and he gave some general directions before Conroy left.

An hour later Dr Gilbert hurried to the links, where the others of his regular week-end game awaited him. It was a rigid round, played as usual at the trot, for the tension of the week lay as heavy on the two King's Counsels and Sir John Chartres as on Gilbert. The lawyers were old enemies of the Admiralty Court, and Sir John of the frosty eyebrows and Abernethy manner was bracketed with, but before, Rutherford Gilbert among nerve-specialists. At the Club-house afterwards the lawyers renewed theirsquabble over a tangled collision case, and the doctors as naturally compared professional matters.

‘Lies – all lies,' said Sir John, when Gilbert had told him Conroy's trouble. ‘
Post hoc, propter hoc.
The man or woman who drugs is
ipso facto
a liar. You've no imagination.'

‘'Pity you haven't a little – occasionally.

‘I have believed a certain type of patient in my time. It's always the same. For reasons not given in the consulting-room they take to the drug. Certain symptoms follow. They will swear to you, and believe it, that they took the drug to mask the symptoms. What does your man use? Najdolene? I thought so. I had practically the duplicate of your case last Thursday. Same old Najdolene – same old lie.'

‘Tell me the symptoms, and I'll draw my own inferences, Johnnie.'

‘Symptoms! The girl was rank poisoned with Najdolene. Ramping, stamping possession. Gad, I thought she'd have the chandelier down.'

‘Mine came unstuck too, and he has the physique of a bull,' said Gilbert. ‘What delusions had yours?'

‘Faces – faces with mildew on them. In any other walk of life we'd call it the Horrors. She told me, of course, she took the drugs to mask the faces.
Post hoc, propter hoc
again. All liars!'

‘What's that?' said the senior KC quickly. ‘Sounds professional.'

‘Go away! Not for you, Sandy.' Sir John turned a shoulder against him and walked with Gilbert in the chill evening.

‘To Conroy in his chambers came, one week later, this letter: