exploring the tragic depths of the human condition.”
She slumped to her knees before him, face in hands.
“When he sat at, at the God’s feet and told Him—told us—of the white mountains floating in water—how cold he was—a white fire; and he so poorly dressed, so helpless and so brave——”
“And you wanted to warm him.”
She nodded miserably, without speaking.
“And little by little—you wanted to make love with him.”
His voice was so detached that the strangeness, the impossibility of their conversation was taken away. He spoke again, mildly.
“How did you justify yourself to yourself?”
“I pretended to myself that he was my brother.”
“Knowing all the time that he was—a stranger, as in his fantasies of white men.”
Her voice came, muffled through her palms.
“My brother by the God is only eleven years old. And the fact that the Liar was—what you said— can I tell you?”
“Be brave.”
“It put a keener edge on my love.”
“Poor child! Poor twisted soul!”
“What will happen to me? What can happen to me? I have shattered the laws of nature.”
“At least, you are being honest.”
She moved towards his knees and put out her hands to embrace them, face up.
“But then—when we did make love——”
There were no knees to embrace. They were a yard away, having removed themselves with the speed of a man avoiding a snake. The Head Man his hands clenched against his chest was staring at her past his shoulder.
“You—you and he—you—the——”
She sat back on her knees, arms wide. She stared at him and cried out.
“But you said you knew everything!”
He went quickly to the parapet and looked at nothing. For a while he said absurd, childish things.
“Well. Oh dear. Well, well, well. Tut, tut. Bless me!”
At last he stopped muttering, turned and came towards her—yet not directly towards her. He cleared his throat.
“And all this, this—stood between you and your lawful desire for your father.”
She said nothing. He spoke again, his voice raised and indignant.
“Can you wonder that the river’s still rising?”
But Pretty Flower was standing up. Her voice rose like the Head Man’s.
“What do you want? You’re supposed to be doing your practice!”
The Head Man followed her eyes.
“Have you been listening, Prince?”
“You’ve been spying,” cried Pretty Flower. “You nasty little boy! What have you got all those things on for?”
“I like them,” said the Prince, trembling and tinkling. “I didn’t hear anything much. Only what he said about the river rising.”
“Oh go away!”
“I won’t stay,” said, the Prince quickly. “I was only wondering, as a matter of fact actually, if either of you had a piece of rope——”
“Rope? What for?”
“I just wanted it.”
“You’ve been outside the gate again. Look at your sandals!”
“I just thought——”
“Go away and tell those women to clean you.”
The Prince, still trembling, turned to go; but the Head Man spoke with sudden authority.
“Wait!”
Bowing slightly to Pretty Flower, as if asking for permission he went to the Prince and took him by the arm.
“Be pleased to squat down, Prince. Here. Excellent. We want rope and we’ve been outside. You were attached to him, weren’t you? I begin to understand. And the jewels—of course!”
“I just wanted——”
Pretty Flower was looking from one to the other.
“What is all this?”
The Head Man turned to her.
“This touches directly on our conversation. There is—but you would not know precisely where—a pit. When you say ‘Take him to the pit——’”
“I know,” said Pretty Flower impatiently. “What has it to do with me?”
“Some of the terrible causes of our danger cannot be undone. But one at least, can. The God is angry with His Liar and makes the waters rise, in part, because the Liar refused the gift of eternal life.”
Pretty Flower jerked half out of her chair. Her hands
She slumped to her knees before him, face in hands.
“When he sat at, at the God’s feet and told Him—told us—of the white mountains floating in water—how cold he was—a white fire; and he so poorly dressed, so helpless and so brave——”
“And you wanted to warm him.”
She nodded miserably, without speaking.
“And little by little—you wanted to make love with him.”
His voice was so detached that the strangeness, the impossibility of their conversation was taken away. He spoke again, mildly.
“How did you justify yourself to yourself?”
“I pretended to myself that he was my brother.”
“Knowing all the time that he was—a stranger, as in his fantasies of white men.”
Her voice came, muffled through her palms.
“My brother by the God is only eleven years old. And the fact that the Liar was—what you said— can I tell you?”
“Be brave.”
“It put a keener edge on my love.”
“Poor child! Poor twisted soul!”
“What will happen to me? What can happen to me? I have shattered the laws of nature.”
“At least, you are being honest.”
She moved towards his knees and put out her hands to embrace them, face up.
“But then—when we did make love——”
There were no knees to embrace. They were a yard away, having removed themselves with the speed of a man avoiding a snake. The Head Man his hands clenched against his chest was staring at her past his shoulder.
“You—you and he—you—the——”
She sat back on her knees, arms wide. She stared at him and cried out.
“But you said you knew everything!”
He went quickly to the parapet and looked at nothing. For a while he said absurd, childish things.
“Well. Oh dear. Well, well, well. Tut, tut. Bless me!”
At last he stopped muttering, turned and came towards her—yet not directly towards her. He cleared his throat.
“And all this, this—stood between you and your lawful desire for your father.”
She said nothing. He spoke again, his voice raised and indignant.
“Can you wonder that the river’s still rising?”
But Pretty Flower was standing up. Her voice rose like the Head Man’s.
“What do you want? You’re supposed to be doing your practice!”
The Head Man followed her eyes.
“Have you been listening, Prince?”
“You’ve been spying,” cried Pretty Flower. “You nasty little boy! What have you got all those things on for?”
“I like them,” said the Prince, trembling and tinkling. “I didn’t hear anything much. Only what he said about the river rising.”
“Oh go away!”
“I won’t stay,” said, the Prince quickly. “I was only wondering, as a matter of fact actually, if either of you had a piece of rope——”
“Rope? What for?”
“I just wanted it.”
“You’ve been outside the gate again. Look at your sandals!”
“I just thought——”
“Go away and tell those women to clean you.”
The Prince, still trembling, turned to go; but the Head Man spoke with sudden authority.
“Wait!”
Bowing slightly to Pretty Flower, as if asking for permission he went to the Prince and took him by the arm.
“Be pleased to squat down, Prince. Here. Excellent. We want rope and we’ve been outside. You were attached to him, weren’t you? I begin to understand. And the jewels—of course!”
“I just wanted——”
Pretty Flower was looking from one to the other.
“What is all this?”
The Head Man turned to her.
“This touches directly on our conversation. There is—but you would not know precisely where—a pit. When you say ‘Take him to the pit——’”
“I know,” said Pretty Flower impatiently. “What has it to do with me?”
“Some of the terrible causes of our danger cannot be undone. But one at least, can. The God is angry with His Liar and makes the waters rise, in part, because the Liar refused the gift of eternal life.”
Pretty Flower jerked half out of her chair. Her hands
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