THE TREMBLING OF A LEAF
By Somerset Maugham
V
Pool
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WHEN I was introduced to Lawson by Chaplin, the owner of
the Hotel Metropole at Apia, I paid no particular attention to him. We
were sitting in the lounge over an early cocktail and I was listening
with amusement to the gossip of the island.
Chaplin entertained me. He was by profession a mining engineer and perhaps
it was characteristic of him that he had settled in a place where his
professional attainments were of no possible value. It was, however, generally
reported that he was an extremely clever mining engineer. He was a small
man, neither fat nor thin, with black hair, scanty on the crown,
turning grey, and a small, untidy moustache; his face, partly from the
sun and partly from liquor, was very red. He was but a figurehead, for
the hotel, though so grandly named but a frame building of two storeys,
was managed by his wife, a tall, gaunt Australian of five and forty,
with an imposing presence and a determined air. The little man, excitable
and often tipsy, was terrified of her, and the stranger soon heard
of domestic quarrels in which she used her fist and her foot in order
to keep him in subjection. She had been known after a night of
drunkenness to confine him for twenty-four hours to his own room, and
then he could be seen, afraid to leave his prison, talking somewhat pathetically
from his verandah to people in the street below.
He was a character, and his reminiscences of a varied life, whether
true or not, made him worth listening to, so that when Lawson strolled
in I was inclined to resent the interruption. Although not midday, it
was clear that he had had enough to drink, and it was without enthusiasm
that I yielded to his persistence and accepted his offer of another
cocktail. I knew already that Chaplins head was weak. The next round
which in common politeness I should be forced to order would be enough
to make him lively, and then Mrs Chaplin would give me black looks.
Nor was there anything attractive in Lawsons appearance. He was
a little thin man, with a long, sallow face and a narrow, weak
chin, a prominent nose, large and bony, and great shaggy black
eyebrows. They gave him a peculiar look. His eyes, very large and very
dark, were magnificent. He was jolly, but his jollity did not seem to
me sincere; it was on the surface, a mask which he wore to deceive the
world, and I suspected that it concealed a mean nature. He was plainly
anxious to be thought a good sport and he was hail-fellow-well-met;
but, I do not know why, I felt that he was cunning and shifty. He talked
a great deal in a raucous voice, and he and Chaplin capped one
anothers stories of beanos which had become legendary, stories of
wet nights at the English Club, of shooting expeditions where
an incredible amount of whisky had been consumed, and of jaunts to Sydney
of which their pride was that they could remember nothing from the time
they landed till the time they sailed. A pair of drunken swine. But even
in their intoxication, for by now after four cocktails each, neither
was sober, there was a great difference between Chaplin, rough and vulgar,
and Lawson: Lawson might be drunk, but he was certainly a gentleman.
At last he got out of his chair, a little unsteadily.
Well, Ill be getting along home, he said. See
you before dinner.
Missus all right? said Chaplin.
Yes.
He went out. There was a peculiar note in the monosyllable of
his answer which made me look up.
Good chap, said Chaplin flatly, as Lawson went out of the
door into the sunshine. One of the best. Pity he drinks.
This from Chaplin was an observation not without humour.
And when hes drunk he wants to fight people.
Is he often drunk?
Dead drunk, three or four days a week. Its the island done
it, and Ethel.
Whos Ethel?
Ethels his wife. Married a half-caste. Old Brevalds
daughter. Took her away from here. Only thing to do. But she couldnt
stand it, and now theyre back again. Hell hang himself one
of these days, if he dont drink himself to death before. Good chap.
Nasty when hes drunk.
Chaplin belched loudly.
Ill go and put my head under the shower. I oughtnt
to have had that last cocktail. Its always the last one that does
you in.
He looked uncertainly at the staircase as he made up his mind to go to
the cubby hole in which was the shower, and then with unnatural seriousness
got up.
Pay you to cultivate Lawson, he said. A well read chap.
Youd be surprised when hes sober. Clever too. Worth talking
to.
Chaplin had told me the whole story in these few speeches.
When I came in towards evening from a ride along the seashore Lawson
was again in the hotel. He was heavily sunk in one of the cane chairs
in the lounge and he looked at me with glassy eyes. It was plain that
he had been drinking all the afternoon. He was torpid, and the
look on his face was sullen and vindictive. His glance rested
on me for a moment, but I could see that he did not recognise me. Two
or three other men were sitting there, shaking dice, and they took no
notice of him. His condition was evidently too usual to attract attention.
I sat down and began to play.
Youre a damned sociable lot, said Lawson suddenly.
He got out of his chair and waddled with bent knees towards the door.
I do not know whether the spectacle was more ridiculous than revolting.
When he had gone one of the men sniggered.
Lawsons fairly soused to-day, he said.
If I couldnt carry my liquor better than that, said
another, Id climb on the waggon and stay there.
Who would have thought that this wretched object was in his way a romantic
figure or that his life had in it those elements of pity and terror which
the theorist tells us are necessary to achieve the effect of tragedy?
I did not see him again for two or three days.
I was sitting one evening on the first floor of the hotel on a verandah
that overlooked the street when Lawson came up and sank into a chair beside
me. He was quite sober. He made a casual remark and then, when I had replied
somewhat indifferently, added with a laugh which had in it an apologetic
tone:
I was devilish soused the other day.
I did not answer. There was really nothing to say. I pulled away at my
pipe in the vain hope of keeping the mosquitoes away, and looked at the
natives going home from their work. They walked with long steps, slowly,
with care and dignity, and the soft patter of their naked feet
was strange to hear. Their dark hair, curling or straight, was often white
with lime, and then they had a look of extraordinary distinction. They
were tall and finely built. Then a gang of Solomon Islanders, indentured
labourers, passed by, singing; they were shorter and slighter than the
Samoans, coal black with great heads of fuzzy hair dyed red. Now and then
a white man drove past in his buggy or rode into the hotel yard. In the
lagoon two or three schooners reflected their grace in the tranquil
water.
I dont know what there is to do in a place like this except
to get soused, said Lawson at last.
Dont you like Samoa? I asked casually, for something
to say.
Its pretty, isnt it?
The word he chose seemed so inadequate to describe the unimaginable beauty
of the island, that I smiled, and smiling I turned to look at him. I was
startled by the expression in those fine sombre eyes of his, an
expression of intolerable anguish; they betrayed a tragic depth
of emotion of which I should never have thought him capable. But the expression
passed away and he smiled. His smile was simple and a little naove. It
changed his face so that I wavered in my first feeling of aversion
from him.
I was all over the place when I first came out, he said.
He was silent for a moment.
I went away for good about three years ago, but I came back.
He hesitated. My wife wanted to come back. She was born here, you
know.
Oh, yes.
He was silent again, and then hazarded a remark about Robert Louis Stevenson.
He asked me if I had been up to Vailima. For some reason he was making
an effort to be agreeable to me. He began to talk of Stevensons
books, and presently the conversation drifted to London.
I suppose Covent Gardens still going strong, he said.
I think I miss the opera as much as anything here. Have you seen
Tristan and Isolde?
He asked me the question as though the answer were really important to
him, and when I said, a little casually I daresay, that I had, he seemed
pleased. He began to speak of Wagner, not as a musician, but as the plain
man who received from him an emotional satisfaction that he could not
analyse.
I suppose Bayreuth was the place to go really, he said. I
never had the money, worse luck. But of course one might do worse than
Covent Garden, all the lights and the women dressed up to the nines, and
the music. The first act of the Walk|res all right, isnt
it? And the end of Tristan. Golly!
His eyes were flashing now and his face was lit up so that he hardly
seemed the same man. There was a flush on his sallow, thin cheeks,
and I forgot that his voice was harsh and unpleasant. There was even a
certain charm about him.
By George, Id like to be in London to-night. Do you know
the Pall Mall restaurant? I used to go there a lot. Piccadilly
Circus with the shops all lit up, and the crowd. I think its stunning
to stand there and watch the buses and taxis streaming along as though
theyd never stop. And I like the Strand too. What are those lines
about God and Charing Cross?
I was taken aback.
Thompsons , d'you mean? I asked.
I quoted them.
And when so
sad, thou canst not sadder,
Cry, and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacobs
ladder
Pitched between Heaven and Charing
Cross.
He gave a faint sigh.
Ive read The Hound of Heaven. Its a bit of all
right.
Its generally thought so, I murmured.
You dont meet anybody here whos read anything. They
think its swank.
There was a wistful look on his face, and I thought I divined
the feeling that made him come to me. I was a link with the world he regretted
and a life that he would know no more. Because not so very long before
I had been in the London which he loved, he looked upon me with awe and
envy. He had not spoken for five minutes perhaps when he broke out with
words that startled me by their intensity.
I'm fed up, he said. I'm fed up.
Then why dont you clear out? I asked.
His face grew sullen.
My lungs are a bit dicky. I couldnt stand an English winter
now.
At that moment another man joined us on the verandah and Lawson
sank into a moody silence.
Its about time for a drain, said the new-comer. Wholl
have a drop of Scotch with me? Lawson?
Lawson seemed to arise from a distant world. He got up.
Lets go down to the bar, he said.
When he left me I remained with a more kindly feeling towards him than
I should have expected. He puzzled and interested me. And a few days later
I met his wife. I knew they had been married for five or six years, and
I was surprised to see that she was still extremely young. When he married
her she could not have been more than sixteen. She was adorably pretty.
She was no darker than a Spaniard, small and very beautifully made, with
tiny hands and feet, and a slight, lithe figure. Her features were
lovely; but I think what struck me most was the delicacy of her appearance;
the half-caste as a rule have a certain coarseness, they seem a
little roughly formed, but she had an exquisite daintiness which
took your breath away. There was something extremely civilised about her,
so that it surprised you to see her in those surroundings, and you thought
of those famous beauties who had set all the world talking at the Court
of the Emperor Napoleon III. Though she wore but a muslin frock and a
straw hat she wore them with an elegance that suggested the woman of fashion.
She must have been ravishing when Lawson first saw her.
He had but lately come out from England to manage the local branch of
an English bank, and, reaching Samoa at the beginning of the dry season,
he had taken a room at the hotel. He quickly made the acquaintance of
all and sundry. The life of the island is pleasant and easy. He enjoyed
the long idle talks in the lounge of the hotel and the gay evenings at
the English Club when a group of fellows would play pool. He liked Apia
straggling along the edge of the lagoon, with its stores and bungalows,
and its native village. Then there were week-ends when he would ride over
to the house of one planter or another and spend a couple of nights on
the hills. He had never before known freedom or leisure. And he was intoxicated
by the sunshine. When he rode through the bush his head reeled a little
at the beauty that surrounded him. The country was indescribably fertile.
In parts the forest was still virgin, a tangle of strange trees, luxuriant
undergrowth, and vine; it gave an impression that was mysterious and troubling.
But the spot that entranced him was a pool a mile or two away from Apia
to which in the evenings he often went to bathe. There was a little river
that bubbled over the rocks in a swift stream, and then, after forming
the deep pool, ran on, shallow and crystalline, past a ford made by great
stones where the natives came sometimes to bathe or to wash their clothes.
The coconut trees, with their frivolous elegance, grew thickly
on the banks, all clad with trailing plants, and they were reflected in
the green water. It was just such a scene as you might see in Devonshire
among the hills, and yet with a difference, for it had a tropical richness,
a passion, a scented languor which seemed to melt the heart. The
water was fresh, but not cold; and it was delicious after the heat of
the day. To bathe there refreshed not only the body but the soul.
At the hour when Lawson went, there was not a soul and he lingered for
a long time, now floating idly in the water, now drying himself in the
evening sun, enjoying the solitude and the friendly silence. He did not
regret London then, nor the life that he had abandoned, for life as it
was seemed complete and exquisite.
It was here that he first saw Ethel.
Occupied till late by letters which had to be finished for the monthly
sailing of the boat next day, he rode down one evening to the pool when
the light was almost failing. He tied up his horse and sauntered
to the bank. A girl was sitting there. She glanced round as he came and
noiselessly slid into the water. She vanished like a naiad startled by
the approach of a mortal. He was surprised and amused. He wondered where
she had hidden herself. He swam downstream and presently saw her sitting
on a rock. She looked at him with uncurious eyes. He called out a greeting
in Samoan.
Talofa.
She answered him, suddenly smiling, and then let herself into the water
again. She swam easily and her hair spread out behind her. He watched
her cross the pool and climb out on the bank. Like all the natives she
bathed in a Mother Hubbard, and the water had made it cling to her slight
body. She wrung out her hair, and as she stood there, unconcerned, she
looked more than ever like a wild creature of the water or the woods.
He saw now that she was half-caste. He swam towards her and, getting
out, addressed her in English.
Youre having a late swim.
She shook back her hair and then let it spread over her shoulders in
luxuriant curls.
I like it when I'm alone, she said.
So do I.
She laughed with the childlike frankness of the native. She slipped
a dry Mother Hubbard over her head and, letting down the wet one, stepped
out of it. She wrung it out and was ready to go. She paused a moment irresolutely
and then sauntered off. The night fell suddenly.
Lawson went back to the hotel and, describing her to the men who were
in the lounge shaking dice for drinks, soon discovered who she was. Her
father was a Norwegian called Brevald who was often to be seen in the
bar of the Hotel Metropole drinking rum and water. He was a little old
man, knotted and gnarled like an ancient tree, who had come out
to the islands forty years before as mate of a sailing vessel. He had
been a blacksmith, a trader, a planter, and at one time fairly well-to-do;
but, ruined by the great hurricane of the nineties, he had now nothing
to live on but a small plantation of coconut trees. He had had four native
wives and, as he told you with a cracked chuckle, more children than he
could count. But some had died and some had gone out into the world, so
that now the only one left at home was Ethel.
Shes a peach, said Nelson, the supercargo of the Moana.
Ive given her the glad eye once or twice, but I guess theres
nothing doing.
Old Brevalds not that sort of a fool, sonny, put in
another, a man called Miller. He wants a son-in-law whos prepared
to keep him in comfort for the rest of his life.
It was distasteful to Lawson that they should speak of the girl in that
fashion. He made a remark about the departing mail and so distracted their
attention. But next evening he went again to the pool. Ethel was there;
and the mystery of the sunset, the deep silence of the water, the lithe
grace of the coconut trees, added to her beauty, giving it a profundity,
a magic, which stirred the heart to unknown emotions. For some reason
that time he had the whim not to speak to her. She took no notice
of him. She did not even glance in his direction. She swam about the green
pool. She dived, she rested on the bank, as though she were quite alone:
he had a queer feeling that he was invisible. Scraps of poetry, half forgotten,
floated across his memory, and vague recollections of the Greece he had
negligently studied in his school days. When she had changed her wet clothes
for dry ones and sauntered away he found a scarlet hibiscus where
she had been. It was a flower that she had worn in her hair when she came
to bathe and, having taken it out on getting into the water, had forgotten
or not cared to put in again. He took it in his hands and looked at it
with a singular emotion. He had an instinct to keep it, but his
sentimentality irritated him, and he flung it away. It gave him quite
a little pang to see it float down the stream.
He wondered what strangeness it was in her nature that urged her to go
down to this hidden pool when there was no likelihood that anyone should
be there. The natives of the islands are devoted to the water. They bathe,
somewhere or other, every day, once always, and often twice; but they
bathe in bands, laughing and joyous, a whole family together; and you
often saw a group of girls, dappled by the sun shining through the trees,
with the half-castes among them, splashing about the shallows of the stream.
It looked as though there were in this pool some secret which attracted
Ethel against her will.
Now the night had fallen, mysterious and silent, and he let himself down
in the water softly, in order to make no sound, and swam lazily in the
warm darkness. The water seemed fragrant still from her slender body.
He rode back to the town under the starry sky. He felt at peace with the
world.
Now he went every evening to the pool and every evening he saw Ethel.
Presently he overcame her timidity. She became playful and friendly. They
sat together on the rocks above the pool, where the water ran fast, and
they lay side by side on the ledge that overlooked it, watching the gathering
dusk envelop it with mystery. It was inevitable that their meetings should
become knownin the South Seas everyone seems to know everyones
businessand he was subjected to much rude chaff by the men
at the hotel. He smiled and let them talk. It was not even worth while
to deny their coarse suggestions. His feelings were absolutely pure. He
loved Ethel as a poet might love the moon. He thought of her not as a
woman but as something not of this earth. She was the spirit of the pool.
One day at the hotel, passing through the bar, he saw that old Brevald,
as ever in his shabby blue overalls, was standing there. Because he was
Ethels father he had a desire to speak to him, so he went in, nodded
and, ordering his own drink, casually turned and invited the old man to
have one with him. They chatted for a few minutes of local affairs, and
Lawson was uneasily conscious that the Norwegian was scrutinising
him with sly blue eyes. His manner was not agreeable. It was sycophantic,
and yet behind the cringing air of an old man who had been worsted in
his struggle with fate was a shadow of old truculence. Lawson remembered
that he had once been captain of a schooner engaged in the slave trade,
a blackbirder they call it in the Pacific, and he had a large hernia
in the chest which was the result of a wound received in a scrap with
Solomon Islanders. The bell rang for luncheon.
Well, I must be off, said Lawson.
Why dont you come along to my place one time? said
Brevald, in his wheezy voice. Its not very grand, but youll
be welcome. You know Ethel.
Ill come with pleasure.
Sunday afternoons the best time.
Brevalds bungalow, shabby and bedraggled, stood among the
coconut trees of the plantation, a little away from the main road that
ran up to Vailima. Immediately around it grew huge plantains. With their
tattered leaves they had the tragic beauty of a lovely woman in rags.
Everything was slovenly and neglected. Little black pigs, thin
and high-backed, rooted about, and chickens clucked noisily as they picked
at the refuse scattered here and there. Three or four natives were lounging
about the verandah. When Lawson asked for Brevald the old mans
cracked voice called out to him, and he found him in the sitting-room
smoking an old briar pipe.
Sit down and make yerself at home, he said. Ethels
just titivating.
She came in. She wore a blouse and skirt and her hair was done in the
European fashion. Although she had not the wild, timid grace of the girl
who came down every evening to the pool, she seemed now more usual and
consequently more approachable. She shook hands with Lawson. It was the
first time he had touched her hand.
I hope youll have a cup of tea with us, she said.
He knew she had been at a mission school, and he was amused, and at the
same time touched, by the company manners she was putting on for his benefit.
Tea was already set out on the table and in a minute old Brevalds
fourth wife brought in the tea-pot. She was a handsome native, no longer
very young, and she spoke but a few words of English. She smiled and smiled.
Tea was rather a solemn meal, with a great deal of bread and butter and
a variety of very sweet cakes, and the conversation was formal. Then a
wrinkled old woman came in softly.
Thats Ethels granny, said old Brevald, noisily
spitting on the floor.
She sat on the edge of a chair, uncomfortably, so that you saw it was
unusual for her and she would have been more at ease on the ground, and
remained silently staring at Lawson with fixed, shining eyes. In the kitchen
behind the bungalow someone began to play the concertina and two or three
voices were raised in a hymn. But they sang for the pleasure of the sounds
rather than from piety.
When Lawson walked back to the hotel he was strangely happy. He was touched
by the higgledy-piggledy way in which those people lived; and in the smiling
good-nature of Mrs Brevald, in the little Norwegians fantastic career,
and in the shining mysterious eyes of the old grandmother, he found something
unusual and fascinating. It was a more natural life than any he had known,
it was nearer to the friendly, fertile earth; civilisation repelled him
at that moment, and by mere contact with these creatures of a more primitive
nature he felt a greater freedom.
He saw himself rid of the hotel which already was beginning to irk
him, settled in a little bungalow of his own, trim and white, in front
of the sea so that he had before his eyes always the multicoloured variety
of the lagoon. He loved the beautiful island. London and England meant
nothing to him any more, he was content to spend the rest of his days
in that forgotten spot, rich in the best of the worlds goods, love
and happiness. He made up his mind that whatever the obstacles nothing
should prevent him from marrying Ethel.
But there were no obstacles. He was always welcome at the Brevalds' house.
The old man was ingratiating and Mrs Brevald smiled without ceasing.
He had brief glimpses of natives who seemed somehow to belong to the establishment,
and once he found a tall youth in a lava-lava, his body tattooed,
his hair white with lime, sitting with Brevald, and was told he was Mrs
Brevalds brothers son; but for the most part they kept out
of his way. Ethel was delightful with him. The light in her eyes when
she saw him filled him with ecstasy. She was charming and naove.
He listened enraptured when she told him of the mission school at which
she was educated, and of the sisters. He went with her to the cinema which
was given once a fortnight and danced with her at the dance which followed
it. They came from all parts of the island for this, since gaieties are
few in Upolu; and you saw there all the society of the place, the white
ladies keeping a good deal to themselves, the half-castes very elegant
in American clothes, the natives, strings of dark girls in white Mother
Hubbards and young men in unaccustomed ducks and white shoes. It was all
very smart and gay. Ethel was pleased to show her friends the white admirer
who did not leave her side. The rumour was soon spread that he meant to
marry her and her friends looked at her with envy. It was a great thing
for a half-caste to get a white man to marry her, even the less
regular relation was better than nothing, but one could never tell what
it would lead to; and Lawsons position as manager of the bank made
him one of the catches of the island. If he had not been so absorbed in
Ethel he would have noticed that many eyes were fixed on him curiously,
and he would have seen the glances of the white ladies and noticed how
they put their heads together and gossiped.
Afterwards, when the men who lived at the hotel were having a whisky
before turning in, Nelson burst out with:
Say, they say Lawsons going to marry that girl.
Hes a damned fool then, said Miller.
Miller was a German-American who had changed his name from M|ller, a
big man, fat and bald-headed, with a round, clean-shaven face. He wore
large gold-rimmed spectacles, which gave him a benign look, and
his ducks were always clean and white. He was a heavy drinker, invariably
ready to stay up all night with the boys, but he never got
drunk; he was jolly and affable, but very shrewd. Nothing
interfered with his business; he represented a firm in San Francisco,
jobbers of the goods sold in the islands, calico, machinery and what not;
and his good-fellowship was part of his stock-in-trade.
He dont know what hes up against, said Nelson.
Someone ought to put him wise.
If youll take my advice you wont interfere in what
dont concern you, said Miller. When a mans made
up his mind to make a fool of himself, theres nothing like letting
him.
I'm all for having a good time with the girls out here, but when
it comes to marrying themthis child aint taking any, Ill
tell the world.
Chaplin was there, and now he had his say.
Ive seen a lot of fellows do it, and its no good.
You ought to have a talk with him, Chaplin, said Nelson.
You know him better than anyone else does.
My advice to Chaplin is to leave it alone, said Miller.
Even in those days Lawson was not popular and really no one took enough
interest in him to bother. Mrs Chaplin talked it over with two or three
of the white ladies, but they contented themselves with saying that it
was a pity; and when he told her definitely that he was going to be married
it seemed too late to do anything.
For a year Lawson was happy. He took a bungalow at the point of the bay
round which Apia is built, on the borders of a native village. It nestled
charmingly among the coconut trees and faced the passionate blue of the
Pacific. Ethel was lovely as she went about the little house, lithe
and graceful like some young animal of the woods, and she was gay. They
laughed a great deal. They talked nonsense. Sometimes one or two of the
men at the hotel would come over and spend the evening, and often on a
Sunday they would go for a day to some planter who had married a native;
now and then one or other of the half-caste traders who had a store
in Apia would give a party and they went to it. The half-castes treated
Lawson quite differently now. His marriage had made him one of themselves
and they called him Bertie. They put their arms through his and smacked
him on the back. He liked to see Ethel at these gatherings. Her eyes shone
and she laughed. It did him good to see her radiant happiness. Sometimes
Ethels relations would come to the bungalow, old Brevald of course,
and her mother, but cousins too, vague native women in Mother Hubbards
and men and boys in lava-lavas, with their hair dyed red and their
bodies elaborately tattooed. He would find them sitting there when he
got back from the bank. He laughed indulgently.
Dont let them eat us out of hearth and home,
he said.
Theyre my own family. I cant help doing something for
them when they ask me.
He knew that when a white man marries a native or a half-caste
he must expect her relations to look upon him as a gold mine. He took
Ethels face in his hands and kissed her red lips. Perhaps he could
not expect her to understand that the salary which had amply sufficed
for a bachelor must be managed with some care when it had to support a
wife and a house. Then Ethel was delivered of a son.
It was when Lawson first held the child in his arms that a sudden pang
shot through his heart. He had not expected it to be so dark. After all
it had but a fourth part of native blood, and there was no reason really
why it should not look just like an English baby; but, huddled together
in his arms, sallow, its head covered already with black hair,
with huge black eyes, it might have been a native child. Since his marriage
he had been ignored by the white ladies of the colony. When he came across
men in whose houses he had been accustomed to dine as a bachelor, they
were a little self-conscious with him; and they sought to cover their
embarrassment by an exaggerated cordiality.
Mrs Lawson well? they would say. Youre a lucky
fellow. Damned pretty girl.
But if they were with their wives and met him and Ethel they would feel
it awkward when their wives gave Ethel a patronising nod. Lawson had laughed.
Theyre as dull as ditchwater, the whole gang of them,
he said. Its not going to disturb my nights rest if
they dont ask me to their dirty parties.
But now it irked him a little.
The little dark baby screwed up its face. That was his son. He thought
of the half-caste children in Apia. They had an unhealthy look,
sallow and pale, and they were odiously precocious. He had
seen them on the boat going to school in New Zealand, and a school had
to be chosen which took children with native blood in them; they were
huddled together, brazen and yet timid, with traits which set them
apart strangely from white people. They spoke the native language among
themselves. And when they grew up the men accepted smaller salaries because
of their native blood; girls might marry a white man, but boys had no
chance; they must marry a half-caste like themselves or a native.
Lawson made up his mind passionately that he would take his son away from
the humiliation of such a life. At whatever cost he must get back to Europe.
And when he went in to see Ethel, frail and lovely in her bed,
surrounded by native women, his determination was strengthened. If he
took her away among his own people she would belong more completely to
him. He loved her so passionately, he wanted her to be one soul and one
body with him; and he was conscious that here, with those deep roots attaching
her to the native life, she would always keep something from him.
He went to work quietly, urged by an obscure instinct of secrecy,
and wrote to a cousin who was partner in a shipping firm in Aberdeen,
saying that his health (on account of which like so many more he had come
out to the islands) was so much better, there seemed no reason why he
should not return to Europe. He asked him to use what influence he could
to get him a job, no matter how poorly paid, on Deeside, where the climate
was particularly suitable to such as suffered from diseases of the lungs.
It takes five or six weeks for letters to get from Aberdeen to Samoa,
and several had to be exchanged. He had plenty of time to prepare Ethel.
She was as delighted as a child. He was amused to see how she boasted
to her friends that she was going to England; it was a step up for her;
she would be quite English there; and she was excited at the interest
the approaching departure gave her. When at length a cable came offering
him a post in a bank in Kincardineshire she was beside herself with joy.
When, their long journey over, they were settled in the little Scots
town with its granite houses Lawson realised how much it meant to him
to live once more among his own people. He looked back on the three years
he had spent in Apia as exile, and returned to the life that seemed the
only normal one with a sigh of relief. It was good to play golf once more,
and to fishto fish properly, that was poor fun in the Pacific when
you just threw in your line and pulled out one big sluggish fish after
another from the crowded seaand it was good to see a paper every
day with that days news, and to meet men and women of your own sort,
people you could talk to; and it was good to eat meat that was not frozen
and to drink milk that was not canned. They were thrown upon their own
resources much more than in the Pacific, and he was glad to have Ethel
exclusively to himself. After two years of marriage he loved her more
devotedly than ever, he could hardly bear her out of his sight, and the
need in him grew urgent for a more intimate communion between them.
But it was strange that after the first excitement of arrival she seemed
to take less interest in the new life than he had expected. She did not
accustom herself to her surroundings. She was a little lethargic. As the
fine autumn darkened into winter she complained of the cold. She lay half
the morning in bed and the rest of the day on a sofa, reading novels sometimes,
but more often doing nothing. She looked pinched.
Never mind, darling, he said. Youll get used
to it very soon. And wait till the summer comes. It can be almost as hot
as in Apia.
He felt better and stronger than he had done for years.
The carelessness with which she managed her house had not mattered in
Samoa, but here it was out of place. When anyone came he did not want
the place to look untidy; and, laughing, chaffing Ethel a little, he set
about putting things in order. Ethel watched him indolently. She
spent long hours playing with her son. She talked to him in the baby language
of her own country. To distract her, Lawson bestirred himself to make
friends among the neighbours, and now and then they went to little parties
where the ladies sang drawing-room ballads and the men beamed in
silent good nature. Ethel was shy. She seemed to sit apart. Sometimes
Lawson, seized with a sudden anxiety, would ask her if she was happy.
Yes, I'm quite happy, she answered.
But her eyes were veiled by some thought he could not guess. She seemed
to withdraw into herself so that he was conscious that he knew no more
of her than when he had first seen her bathing in the pool. He had an
uneasy feeling that she was concealing something from him, and because
he adored her it tortured him.
You dont regret Apia, do you? he asked her once.
Oh, noI think its very nice here.
An obscure misgiving drove him to make disparaging remarks
about the island and the people there. She smiled and did not answer.
Very rarely she received a bundle of letters from Samoa and then she went
about for a day or two with a set, pale face.
Nothing would induce me ever to go back there, he
said once. Its no place for a white man.
But he grew conscious that sometimes, when he was away, Ethel cried.
In Apia she had been talkative, chatting volubly about all the
little details of their common life, the gossip of the place; but now
she gradually became silent, and, though he increased his efforts to amuse
her, she remained listless. It seemed to him that her recollections
of the old life were drawing her away from him, and he was madly jealous
of the island and of the sea, of Brevald, and all the dark-skinned people
whom he remembered now with horror. When she spoke of Samoa he was bitter
and satirical. One evening late in the spring when the birch trees were
bursting into leaf, coming home from a round of golf, he found her not
as usual lying on the sofa, but at the window, standing. She had evidently
been waiting for his return. She addressed him the moment he came into
the room. To his amazement she spoke in Samoan.
I cant stand it. I cant live here any more. I hate
it. I hate it.
For Gods sake speak in a civilised language, he said
irritably.
She went up to him and clasped her arms around his body awkwardly, with
a gesture that had in it something barbaric.
Lets go away from here. Lets go back to Samoa. If you
make me stay here I shall die. I want to go home.
Her passion broke suddenly and she burst into tears. His anger vanished
and he drew her down on his knees. He explained to her that it was impossible
for him to throw up his job, which after all meant his bread and butter.
His place in Apia was long since filled. He had nothing to go back to
there. He tried to put it to her reasonably, the inconveniences of life
there, the humiliation to which they must be exposed, and the bitterness
it must cause their son.
Scotlands wonderful for education and that sort of thing.
Schools are good and cheap, and he can go to the University at Aberdeen.
Ill make a real Scot of him.
They had called him Andrew. Lawson wanted him to become a doctor. He
would marry a white woman.
I'm not ashamed of being half native, Ethel said sullenly.
Of course not, darling. Theres nothing to be ashamed of.
With her soft cheek against his he felt incredibly weak.
You dont know how much I love you, he said. Id
give anything in the world to be able to tell you what Ive got in
my heart.
He sought her lips.
The summer came. The highland valley was green and fragrant, and the
hills were gay with the heather. One sunny day followed another in that
sheltered spot, and the shade of the birch trees was grateful after the
glare of the high road. Ethel spoke no more of Samoa and Lawson grew less
nervous. He thought that she was resigned to her surroundings, and he
felt that his love for her was so passionate that it could leave no room
in her heart for any longing. One day the local doctor stopped him in
the street.
I say, Lawson, your missus ought to be careful how she bathes in
our highland streams. Its not like the Pacific, you know.
Lawson was surprised, and had not the presence of mind to conceal the
fact.
I didnt know she was bathing.
The doctor laughed.
A good many people have seen her. It makes them talk a bit, you
know, because it seems a rum place to choose, the pool up above the bridge,
and bathing isnt allowed there, but theres no harm in that.
I dont know how she can stand the water.
Lawson knew the pool the doctor spoke of, and suddenly it occurred to
him that in a way it was just like that pool at Upolu where Ethel had
been in the habit of bathing every evening. A clear highland stream ran
down a sinuous course, rocky, splashing gaily, and then
formed a deep, smooth pool, with a little sandy beach. Trees overshadowed
it thickly, not coconut trees, but beeches, and the sun played fitfully
through the leaves on the sparkling water. It gave him a shock. With his
imagination he saw Ethel go there every day and undress on the bank and
slip into the water, cold, colder than that of the pool she loved at home,
and for a moment regain the feeling of the past. He saw her once more
as the strange, wild spirit of the stream, and it seemed to him fantastically
that the running water called her. That afternoon he went along to the
river. He made his way cautiously among the trees and the grassy path
deadened the sound of his steps. Presently he came to a spot from which
he could see the pool. Ethel was sitting on the bank, looking down at
the water. She sat quite still. It seemed as though the water drew her
irresistibly. He wondered what strange thoughts wandered through her head.
At last she got up, and for a minute or two she was hidden from his gaze;
then he saw her again, wearing a Mother Hubbard, and with her little bare
feet she stepped delicately over the mossy bank. She came to the waters
edge, and softly, without a splash, let herself down. She swam about quietly,
and there was something not quite of a human being in the way she swam.
He did not know why it affected him so queerly. He waited till she clambered
out. She stood for a moment with the wet folds of her dress clinging to
her body, so that its shape was outlined, and then, passing her hands
slowly over her breasts, gave a little sigh of delight. Then she disappeared.
Lawson turned away and walked back to the village. He had a bitter pain
in his heart, for he knew that she was still a stranger to him and his
hungry love was destined ever to remain unsatisfied.
He did not make any mention of what he had seen. He ignored the incident
completely, but he looked at her curiously, trying to divine what
was in her mind. He redoubled the tenderness with which he used her. He
sought to make her forget the deep longing of her soul by the passion
of his love.
Then one day, when he came home, he was astonished to find her not in
the house.
Wheres Mrs Lawson? he asked the maid.
She went into Aberdeen, Sir, with the baby, the maid answered,
a little surprised at the question. She said she would not be back
till the last train.
Oh, all right.
He was vexed that Ethel had said nothing to him about the excursion,
but he was not disturbed, since of late she had been in now and again
to Aberdeen, and he was glad that she should look at the shops and perhaps
visit a cinema. He went to meet the last train, but when she did not come
he grew suddenly frightened. He went up to the bedroom and saw at once
that her toilet things were no longer in their place. He opened the wardrobe
and the drawers. They were half empty. She had bolted.
He was seized with a passion of anger. It was too late that night to
telephone to Aberdeen and make enquiries, but he knew already all that
his enquiries might have taught him. With fiendish cunning she had chosen
a time when they were making up their periodical accounts at the bank
and there was no chance that he could follow her. He was imprisoned by
his work. He took up a paper and saw that there was a boat sailing for
Australia next morning. She must be now well on the way to London. He
could not prevent the sobs that were wrung painfully from him.
Ive done everything in the world for her, he cried,
and she had the heart to treat me like this. How cruel, how monstrously
cruel!
After two days of misery he received a letter from her. It was written
in her school-girl hand. She had always written with difficulty:
Dear Bertie:
I couldnt stand it any more.
I'm going back home. Good-bye.
Ethel.
She did not say a single word of regret. She did not even ask him to
come too. Lawson was prostrated. He found out where the ship made
its first stop and, though he knew very well she would not come, sent
a cable beseeching her to return. He waited with pitiful anxiety.
He wanted her to send him just one word of love; she did not even answer.
He passed through one violent phase after another. At one moment he told
himself that he was well rid of her, and at the next that he would force
her to return by withholding money. He was lonely and wretched. He wanted
his boy and he wanted her. He knew that, whatever he pretended to himself,
there was only one thing to do and that was to follow her. He could never
live without her now. All his plans for the future were like a house of
cards and he scattered them with angry impatience. He did not care whether
he threw away his chances for the future, for nothing in the world mattered
but that he should get Ethel back again. As soon as he could he went into
Aberdeen and told the manager of his bank that he meant to leave at once.
The manager remonstrated. The short notice was inconvenient. Lawson
would not listen to reason. He was determined to be free before the next
boat sailed; and it was not until he was on board of her, having sold
everything he possessed, that in some measure he regained his calm. Till
then to those who had come in contact with him he seemed hardly sane.
His last action in England was to cable to Ethel at Apia that he was joining
her.
He sent another cable from Sydney, and when at last with the dawn his
boat crossed the bar at Apia and he saw once more the white houses straggling
along the bay he felt an immense relief. The doctor came on board and
the agent. They were both old acquaintances and he felt kindly towards
their familiar faces. He had a drink or two with them for old times' sake,
and also because he was desperately nervous. He was not sure if Ethel
would be glad to see him. When he got into the launch and approached the
wharf he scanned anxiously the little crowd that waited. She was not there
and his heart sank, but then he saw Brevald, in his old blue clothes,
and his heart warmed towards him.
Wheres Ethel? he said, as he jumped on shore.
Shes down at the bungalow. Shes living with us.
Lawson was dismayed, but he put on a jovial air.
Well, have you got room for me? I daresay itll take a week
or two to fix ourselves up.
Oh, yes, I guess we can make room for you.
After passing through the custom-house they went to the hotel and there
Lawson was greeted by several of his old friends. There were a good many
rounds of drinks before it seemed possible to get away and when they did
go out at last to Brevalds house they were both rather gay. He clasped
Ethel in his arms. He had forgotten all his bitter thoughts in the joy
of beholding her once more. His mother-in-law was pleased to see him,
and so was the old, wrinkled beldame, her mother; natives and half-castes
came in, and they all sat round, beaming on him. Brevald had a bottle
of whisky and everyone who came was given a nip. Lawson sat with his little
dark-skinned boy on his knees, they had taken his English clothes off
him and he was stark, with Ethel by his side in a Mother Hubbard.
He felt like a returning prodigal. In the afternoon he went down
to the hotel again and when he got back he was more than gay, he was drunk.
Ethel and her mother knew that white men got drunk now and then, it was
what you expected of them, and they laughed good-naturedly as they helped
him to bed.
But in a day or two he set about looking for a job. He knew that he could
not hope for such a position as that which he had thrown away to go to
England; but with his training he could not fail to be useful to one of
the trading firms, and perhaps in the end he would not lose by the change.
After all, you cant make money in a bank, he said.
Trades the thing.
He had hopes that he would soon make himself so indispensable
that he would get someone to take him into partnership, and there was
no reason why in a few years he should not be a rich man.
As soon as I'm fixed up well find ourselves a shack,
he told Ethel. We cant go on living here.
Brevalds bungalow was so small that they were all piled on one
another, and there was no chance of ever being alone. There was neither
peace nor privacy.
Well, theres no hurry. We shall be all right here till we
find just what we want.
It took him a week to get settled and then he entered the firm of a man
called Bain. But when he talked to Ethel about moving she said she wanted
to stay where she was till her baby was born, for she was expecting another
child. Lawson tried to argue with her.
If you dont like it, she said, go and live at
the hotel.
He grew suddenly pale.
Ethel, how can you suggest that!
She shrugged her shoulders.
Whats the good of having a house of our own when we can live
here.
He yielded.
When Lawson, after his work, went back to the bungalow he found it crowded
with natives. They lay about smoking, sleeping, drinking kava;
and they talked incessantly. The place was grubby and untidy. His
child crawled about, playing with native children, and it heard nothing
spoken but Samoan. He fell into the habit of dropping into the hotel on
his way home to have a few cocktails, for he could only face the evening
and the crowd of friendly natives when he was fortified with liquor.
And all the time, though he loved her more passionately than ever, he
felt that Ethel was slipping away from him. When the baby was born he
suggested that they should get into a house of their own, but Ethel refused.
Her stay in Scotland seemed to have thrown her back on her own people,
now that she was once more among them, with a passionate zest, and she
turned to her native ways with abandon. Lawson began to drink more. Every
Saturday night he went to the English Club and got blind drunk.
He had the peculiarity that as he grew drunk he grew quarrelsome
and once he had a violent dispute with Bain, his employer. Bain dismissed
him, and he had to look out for another job. He was idle for two or three
weeks and during these, sooner than sit in the bungalow, he lounged about
in the hotel or at the English Club, and drank. It was more out of pity
than anything else that Miller, the German-American, took him into his
office; but he was a business man, and though Lawsons financial
skill made him valuable, the circumstances were such that he could hardly
refuse a smaller salary than he had had before, and Miller did not hesitate
to offer it to him. Ethel and Brevald blamed him for taking it, since
Pedersen, the half-caste, offered him more. But he resented bitterly
the thought of being under the orders of a half-caste. When Ethel
nagged him he burst out furiously:
Ill see myself dead before I work for a nigger.
You may have to, she said.
And in six months he found himself forced to this final humiliation.
The passion for liquor had been gaining on him, he was often heavy with
drink, and he did his work badly. Miller warned him once or twice and
Lawson was not the man to accept remonstrance easily. One day in
the midst of an altercation he put on his hat and walked out. But
by now his reputation was well known and he could find no one to engage
him. For a while he idled, and then he had an attack of delirium
tremens. When he recovered, shameful and weak, he could no longer
resist the constant pressure and he went to Pedersen and asked him for
a job. Pedersen was glad to have a white man in his store and Lawsons
skill at figures made him useful.
From that time his degeneration was rapid. The white people gave
him the cold shoulder. They were only prevented from cutting him completely
by disdainful pity and by a certain dread of his angry violence when he
was drunk. He became extremely susceptible and was always on the
lookout for affront.
He lived entirely among the natives and half-castes, but he had no longer
the prestige of the white man. They felt his loathing for them
and they resented his attitude of superiority. He was one of themselves
now and they did not see why he should put on airs. Brevald, who had been
ingratiating and obsequious, now treated him with contempt.
Ethel had made a bad bargain. There were disgraceful scenes and once or
twice the two men came to blows. When there was a quarrel Ethel took the
part of her family. They found he was better drunk than sober, for when
he was drunk he would lie on the bed or on the floor, sleeping heavily.
Then he became aware that something was being hidden from him.
When he got back to the bungalow for the wretched, half native supper
which was his evening meal, often Ethel was not in. If he asked where
she was Brevald told him she had gone to spend the evening with one or
other of her friends. Once he followed her to the house Brevald had mentioned
and found she was not there. On her return he asked her where she had
been and she told him her father had made a mistake; she had been to so-and-sos.
But he knew that she was lying. She was in her best clothes; her eyes
were shining, and she looked lovely.
Dont try any monkey tricks on me, my girl, he said,
or Ill break every bone in your body.
You drunken beast, she said, scornfully.
He fancied that Mrs Brevald and the old grandmother looked at him maliciously
and he ascribed Brevalds good-humour with him, so unusual
those days, to his satisfaction at having something up his sleeve against
his son-in-law. And then, his suspicions aroused, he imagined that the
white men gave him curious glances. When he came into the lounge of the
hotel the sudden silence which fell upon the company convinced him that
he had been the subject of the conversation. Something was going on and
everyone knew it but himself. He was seized with furious jealousy. He
believed that Ethel was carrying on with one of the white men, and he
looked at one after the other with scrutinising eyes; but there
was nothing to give him even a hint. He was helpless. Because he could
find no one on whom definitely to fix his suspicions, he went about like
a raving maniac, looking for someone on whom to vent his wrath.
Chance caused him in the end to hit upon the man who of all others least
deserved to suffer from his violence. One afternoon, when he was sitting
in the hotel by himself, moodily, Chaplin came in and sat down beside
him. Perhaps Chaplin was the only man on the island who had any sympathy
for him. They ordered drinks and chatted a few minutes about the races
that were shortly to be run. Then Chaplain said:
I guess we shall all have to fork out money for new dresses.
Lawson sniggered. Since Mrs Chaplin held the purse-strings if she wanted
a new frock for the occasion she would certainly not ask her husband for
the money.
How is your missus? asked Chaplin, desiring to be friendly.
What the hells that got to do with you? said Lawson,
knitting his dark brows.
I was only asking a civil question.
Well, keep your civil questions to yourself.
Chaplin was not a patient man; his long residence in the tropics, the
whisky bottle, and his domestic affairs had given him a temper hardly
more under control than Lawsons.
Look here, my boy, when youre in my hotel you behave like
a gentleman or youll find yourself in the street before you can
say knife.
Lawsons lowering face grew dark and red.
Let me just tell you once for all and you can pass it on to the
others, he said, panting with rage. If any of you fellows
come messing round with my wife hed better look out.
Who do you think wants to mess around with your wife?
I'm not such a fool as you think. I can see a stone wall in front
of me as well as most men, and I warn you straight, thats all. I'm
not going to put up with any hanky-panky, not on your life.
Look here, youd better clear out of here, and come back when
youre sober.
I shall clear out when I choose and not a minute before,
said Lawson.
It was an unfortunate boast, for Chaplin in the course of his experience
as a hotel-keeper had acquired a peculiar skill in dealing with gentlemen
whose room he preferred to their company, and the words were hardly out
of Lawsons mouth before he found himself caught by the collar and
arm and hustled not without force into the street. He stumbled down the
steps into the blinding glare of the sun.
It was in consequence of this that he had his first violent scene with
Ethel. Smarting with humiliation and unwilling to go back to the hotel,
he went home that afternoon earlier than usual. He found Ethel dressing
to go out. As a rule she lay about in a Mother Hubbard, barefoot, with
a flower in her dark hair; but now, in white silk stockings and high-heeled
shoes, she was doing up a pink muslin dress which was the newest she had.
Youre making yourself very smart, he said. Where
are you going?
I'm going to the Crossleys.
Ill come with you.
Why? she asked coolly.
I dont want you to gad about by yourself all the time.
Youre not asked.
I dont care a damn about that. Youre not going without
me.
Youd better lie down till I'm ready.
She thought he was drunk and if he once settled himself on the bed would
quickly drop off to sleep. He sat down on a chair and began to smoke a
cigarette. She watched him with increasing irritation: When she was ready
he got up. It happened by an unusual chance that there was no one in the
bungalow. Brevald was working on the plantation and his wife had gone
into Apia. Ethel faced him.
I'm not going with you. Youre drunk.
Thats a lie. Youre not going without me.
She shrugged her shoulders and tried to pass him, but he caught her by
the arm and held her.
Let me go, you devil, she said, breaking into Samoan.
Why do you want to go without me? Havent I told you I'm not
going to put up with any monkey tricks?
She clenched her fist and hit him in the face. He lost all control of
himself. All his love, all his hatred, welled up in him and he was beside
himself.
Ill teach you, he shouted. Ill teach you.
He seized a riding-whip which happened to be under his hand, and struck
her with it. She screamed, and the scream maddened him so that he went
on striking her, again and again. Her shrieks rang through the bungalow
and he cursed her as he hit. Then he flung her on the bed. She lay there
sobbing with pain and terror. He threw the whip away from him and rushed
out of the room. Ethel heard him go and she stopped crying. She looked
round cautiously, then she raised herself. She was sore, but she had not
been badly hurt, and she looked at her dress to see if it was damaged.
The native women are not unused to blows. What he had done did not outrage
her. When she looked at herself in the glass and arranged her hair, her
eyes were shining. There was a strange look in them. Perhaps then she
was nearer loving him than she had ever been before.
But Lawson, driven forth blindly, stumbled through the plantation and
suddenly exhausted, weak as a child, flung himself on the ground at the
foot of a tree. He was miserable and ashamed. He thought of Ethel, and
in the yielding tenderness of his love all his bones seemed to grow soft
within him. He thought of the past, and of his hopes, and he was aghast
at what he had done. He wanted her more than ever. He wanted to take her
in his arms. He must go to her at once. He got up. He was so weak that
he staggered as he walked. He went into the house and she was sitting
in their cramped bedroom in front of her looking-glass.
Oh, Ethel, forgive me. I'm so awfully ashamed of myself. I didnt
know what I was doing.
He fell on his knees before her and timidly stroked the skirt of her
dress.
I cant bear to think of what I did. Its awful. I think
I was mad. Theres no one in the world I love as I love you. Id
do anything to save you from pain and Ive hurt you. I can never
forgive myself, but for Gods sake say you forgive me.
He heard her shrieks still. It was unendurable. She looked at him silently.
He tried to take her hands and the tears streamed from his eyes. In his
humiliation he hid his face in her lap and his frail body shook
with sobs. An expression of utter contempt came over her face. She had
the native womans disdain of a man who abased himself
before a woman. A weak creature! And for a moment she had been on the
point of thinking there was something in him. He grovelled at her feet
like a cur. She gave him a little scornful kick.
Get out, she said. I hate you.
He tried to hold her, but she pushed him aside. She stood up. She began
to take off her dress. She kicked off her shoes and slid the stockings
off her feet, then she slipped on her old Mother Hubbard.
Where are you going?
Whats that got to do with you? I'm going down to the pool.
Let me come too, he said.
He asked as though he were a child.
Cant you even leave me that?
He hid his face in his hands, crying miserably, while she, her eyes hard
and cold, stepped past him and went out.
From that time she entirely despised him; and though, herded together
in the small bungalow, Lawson and Ethel with her two children, Brevald,
his wife and her mother, and the vague relations and hangers-on who were
always in and about, they had to live cheek by jowl, Lawson, ceasing to
be of any account, was hardly noticed. He left in the morning after breakfast,
and came back only to have supper. He gave up the struggle, and when for
want of money he could not go to the English Club he spent the evening
playing hearts with old Brevald and the natives. Except when he was drunk
he was cowed and listless. Ethel treated him like a dog.
She submitted at times to his fits of wild passion, and she was frightened
by the gusts of hatred with which they were followed; but when, afterwards,
he was cringing and lachrymose she had such a contempt for him
that she could have spat in his face. Sometimes he was violent, but now
she was prepared for him, and when he hit her she kicked and scratched
and bit. They had horrible battles in which he had not always the best
of it. Very soon it was known all over Apia that they got on badly. There
was little sympathy for Lawson, and at the hotel the general surprise
was that old Brevald did not kick him out of the place.
Brevalds a pretty ugly customer, said one of the men.
I shouldnt be surprised if he put a bullet into Lawsons
carcass one of these days.
Ethel still went in the evenings to bathe in the silent pool. It seemed
to have an attraction for her that was not quite human, just that attraction
you might imagine that a mermaid who had won a soul would have for the
cool salt waves of the sea; and sometimes Lawson went also. I do not know
what urged him to go, for Ethel was obviously irritated by his presence;
perhaps it was because in that spot he hoped to regain the clean rapture
which had filled his heart when first he saw her; perhaps only, with the
madness of those who love them that love them not, from the feeling that
his obstinacy could force love. One day he strolled down there
with a feeling that was rare with him now. He felt suddenly at peace with
the world. The evening was drawing in and the dusk seemed to cling to
the leaves of the coconut trees like a little thin cloud. A faint breeze
stirred them noiselessly. A crescent moon hung just over their tops. He
made his way to the bank. He saw Ethel in the water floating on her back.
Her hair streamed out all round her, and she was holding in her hand a
large hibiscus. He stopped a moment to admire her; she was like Ophelia.
Hulloa, Ethel, he cried joyfully.
She made a sudden movement and dropped the red flower. It floated idly
away. She swam a stroke or two till she knew there was ground within her
depth and then stood up.
Go away, she said. Go away.
He laughed.
Dont be selfish. Theres plenty of room for both of
us.
Why cant you leave me alone? I want to be by myself.
Hang it all, I want to bathe, he answered, good-humouredly.
Go down to the bridge. I dont want you here.
I'm sorry for that, he said, smiling still.
He was not in the least angry, and he hardly noticed that she was in
a passion. He began to take off his coat.
Go away, she shrieked. I wont have you here.
Cant you even leave me this? Go away.
Dont be silly, darling.
She bent down and picked up a sharp stone and flung it quickly at him.
He had no time to duck. It hit him on the temple. With a cry he put his
hand to his head and when he took it away it was wet with blood. Ethel
stood still, panting with rage. He turned very pale, and without a word,
taking up his coat, went away. Ethel let herself fall back into the water
and the stream carried her slowly down to the ford.
The stone had made a jagged wound and for some days Lawson went about
with a bandaged head. He had invented a likely story to account for the
accident when the fellows at the club asked him about it, but he had no
occasion to use it. No one referred to the matter. He saw them cast surreptitious
glances at his head, but not a word was said. The silence could only mean
that they knew how he came by his wound. He was certain now that Ethel
had a lover, and they all knew who it was. But there was not the smallest
indication to guide him. He never saw Ethel with anyone; no one showed
a wish to be with her, or treated him in a manner that seemed strange.
Wild rage seized him, and having no one to vent it on he drank more and
more heavily. A little while before I came to the island he had had another
attack of delirium tremens.
I met Ethel at the house of a man called Caster, who lived two or three
miles from Apia with a native wife. I had been playing tennis with him
and when we were tired he suggested a cup of tea. We went into the house
and in the untidy living-room found Ethel chatting with Mrs Caster.
Hulloa, Ethel, he said, I didnt know you were
here.
I could not help looking at her with curiosity. I tried to see what there
was in her to have excited in Lawson such a devastating passion. But who
can explain these things? It was true that she was lovely; she reminded
one of the red hibiscus, the common flower of the hedgerow in Samoa, with
its grace and its languor and its passion; but what surprised me
most, taking into consideration the story I knew even then a good deal
of, was her freshness and simplicity. She was quiet and a little shy.
There was nothing coarse or loud about her; she had not the exuberance
common to the half-caste; and it was almost impossible to believe
that she could be the virago that the horrible scenes between husband
and wife, which were now common knowledge, indicated. In her pretty pink
frock and high-heeled shoes she looked quite European. You could hardly
have guessed at that dark background of native life in which she felt
herself so much more at home. I did not imagine that she was at all intelligent,
and I should not have been surprised if a man, after living with her for
some time, had found the passion which had drawn him to her sink into
boredom. It suggested itself to me that in her elusiveness, like a thought
that presents itself to consciousness and vanishes before it can be captured
by words, lay her peculiar charm; but perhaps that was merely fancy, and
if I had known nothing about her I should have seen in her only a pretty
little half-caste like another.
She talked to me of the various things which they talk of to the stranger
in Samoa, of the journey, and whether I had slid down the water rock at
Papaseea, and if I meant to stay in a native village. She talked to me
of Scotland, and perhaps I noticed in her a tendency to enlarge on the
sumptuousness of her establishment there. She asked me naovely if I knew
Mrs This and Mrs That, with whom she had been acquainted when she lived
in the north.
Then Miller, the fat German-American, came in. He shook hands all round
very cordially and sat down, asking in his loud, cheerful voice
for a whisky and soda. He was very fat and he sweated profusely.
He took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and wiped them; you saw then that
his little eyes, benevolent behind the large round glasses, were
shrewd and cunning; the party had been somewhat dull till he came,
but he was a good story-teller and a jovial fellow. Soon he had
the two women, Ethel and my friends wife, laughing delightedly at
his sallies. He had a reputation on the island of a ladys
man, and you could see how this fat, gross fellow, old and ugly, had yet
the possibility of fascination. His humour was on a level with the understanding
of his company, an affair of vitality and assurance, and his Western
accent gave a peculiar point to what he said. At last he turned to me:
Well, if we want to get back for dinner wed better be getting.
Ill take you along in my machine if you like.
I thanked him and got up. He shook hands with the others, went out of
the room, massive and strong in his walk, and climbed into his car.
Pretty little thing, Lawsons wife, I said, as we drove
along.
Too bad the way he treats her. Knocks her about. Gets my dander
up when I hear of a man hitting a woman.
We went on a little. Then he said:
He was a darned fool to marry her. I said so at the time. If he
hadnt , hed have had the whip hand over her. Hes yaller,
thats what he is, yaller.
The year was drawing to its end and the time approached when I was to
leave Samoa. My boat was scheduled to sail for Sydney on the fourth of
January. Christmas Day had been celebrated at the hotel with suitable
ceremonies, but it was looked upon as no more than a rehearsal for New
Year, and the men who were accustomed to foregather in the lounge determined
on New Years Eve to make a night of it. There was an uproarious
dinner, after which the party sauntered down to the English Club,
a simple little frame house, to play pool. There was a great deal of talking,
laughing, and betting, but some very poor play, except on the part of
Miller, who had drunk as much as any of them, all far younger than he,
but had kept unimpaired the keenness of his eye and the sureness of his
hand. He pocketed the young mens money with humour and urbanity.
After an hour of this I grew tired and went out. I crossed the road and
came on to the beach. Three coconut trees grew there, like three moon
maidens waiting for their lovers to ride out of the sea, and I sat at
the foot of one of them, watching the lagoon and the nightly assemblage
of the stars.
I do not know where Lawson had been during the evening, but between ten
and eleven he came along to the club. He shambled down the dusty,
empty road, feeling dull and bored, and when he reached the club, before
going into the billiard-room, went into the bar to have a drink by himself.
He had a shyness now about joining the company of white men when there
were a lot of them together and needed a stiff dose of whisky to give
him confidence. He was standing with the glass in his hand when Miller
came in to him. He was in his shirt sleeves and still held his cue. He
gave the bar-tender a glance.
Get out, Jack, he said.
The bar-tender, a native in a white jacket and a red lava-lava,
without a word slid out of the small room.
Look here, Ive been wanting to have a few words with you,
Lawson, said the big American.
Well, thats one of the few things you can have free, gratis,
and for nothing on this damned island.
Miller fixed his gold spectacles more firmly on his nose and held Lawson
with his cold determined eyes.
See here, young fellow, I understand youve been knocking
Mrs Lawson about again. I'm not going to stand for that. If you dont
stop it right now Ill break every bone of your dirty little body.
Then Lawson knew what he had been trying to find out so long. It was
Miller. The appearance of the man, fat, bald-headed, with his round bare
face and double chin and the gold spectacles, his age, his benign,
shrewd look, like that of a renegade priest, and the thought
of Ethel, so slim and virginal, filled him with a sudden horror. Whatever
his faults Lawson was no coward, and without a word he hit out violently
at Miller. Miller quickly warded the blow with the hand that held the
cue, and then with a great swing of his right arm brought his fist down
on Lawsons ear. Lawson was four inches shorter than the American
and he was slightly built, frail and weakened not only by illness
and the enervating tropics, but by drink. He fell like a log and
lay half dazed at the foot of the bar. Miller took off his spectacles
and wiped them with his handkerchief.
I guess you know what to expect now. Youve had your warning
and youd better take it.
He took up his cue and went back into the billiard-room. There was so
much noise there that no one knew what had happened. Lawson picked himself
up. He put his hand to his ear, which was singing still. Then he slunk
out of the club.
I saw a man cross the road, a patch of white against the darkness of
the night, but did not know who it was. He came down to the beach, passed
me sitting at the foot of the tree, and looked down. I saw then that it
was Lawson, but since he was doubtless drunk, did not speak. He went on,
walked irresolutely two or three steps, and turned back. He came
up to me and bending down stared in my face.
I thought it was you, he said.
He sat down and took out his pipe.
It was hot and noisy in the club, I volunteered.
Why are you sitting here?
I was waiting about for the midnight mass at the Cathedral.
If you like Ill come with you.
Lawson was quite sober. We sat for a while smoking in silence. Now and
then in the lagoon was the splash of some big fish, and a little way out
towards the opening in the reef was the light of a schooner.
Youre sailing next week, arent you? he said.
Yes.
It would be jolly to go home once more. But I could never stand
it now. The cold, you know.
Its odd to think that in England now theyre shivering
round the fire, I said.
There was not even a breath of wind. The balminess of the night was like
a spell. I wore nothing but a thin shirt and a suit of ducks. I enjoyed
the exquisite languor of the night, and stretched my limbs voluptuously.
This isnt the sort of New Years Eve that persuades
one to make good resolutions for the future, I smiled.
He made no answer, but I do not know what train of thought my casual
remark had suggested in him, for presently he began to speak. He spoke
in a low voice, without any expression, but his accents were educated,
and it was a relief to hear him after the twang and the vulgar
intonations which for some time had wounded my ears.
Ive made an awful hash of things. Thats obvious, isnt
it? I'm right down at the bottom of the pit and theres no getting
out for me. Black as the pit from pole to pole.
I felt him smile as he made the quotation. And the strange thing
is that I dont see how I went wrong.
I held my breath, for to me there is nothing more awe-inspiring than
when a man discovers to you the nakedness of his soul. Then you see that
no one is so trivial or debased but that in him is a spark of something
to excite compassion.
It wouldnt be so rotten if I could see that it was all my
own fault. Its true I drink, but I shouldnt have taken to
that if things had gone differently. I wasnt really fond of liquor.
I suppose I ought not to have married Ethel. If Id kept her it would
be all right. But I did love her so.
His voice faltered.
Shes not a bad lot, you know, not really. Its just
rotten luck. We might have been as happy as lords. When she bolted I suppose
I ought to have let her go, but I couldnt do thatI was dead
stuck on her then; and there was the kid.
Are you fond of the kid? I asked.
I was. There are two, you know. But they dont mean so much
to me now. Youd take them for natives anywhere. I have to talk to
them in Samoan.
Is it too late for you to start fresh? Couldnt you make a
dash for it and leave the place?
I havent the strength. I'm done for.
Are you still in love with your wife?
Not now. Not now. He repeated the two words with a kind of
horror in his voice. I havent even got that now. I'm down
and out.
The bells of the Cathedral were ringing.
If you really want to come to the midnight mass wed better
go along, I said.
Come on.
We got up and walked along the road. The Cathedral, all white, stood
facing the sea not without impressiveness, and beside it the Protestant
chapels had the look of meeting-houses. In the road were two or three
cars, and a great number of traps, and traps were put up against the walls
at the side. People had come from all parts of the island for the service,
and through the great open doors we saw that the place was crowded. The
high altar was all ablaze with light. There were a few whites and
a good many half-castes, but the great majority were natives. All the
men wore trousers, for the Church has decided that the lava-lava
is indecent. We found chairs at the back, near the open door, and sat
down. Presently, following Lawsons eyes, I saw Ethel come in with
a party of half-castes. They were all very much dressed up, the men in
high, stiff collars and shiny boots, the women in large, gay hats. Ethel
nodded and smiled to her friends as she passed up the aisle. The service
began.
When it was over Lawson and I stood on one side for a while to watch
the crowd stream out, then he held out his hand.
Good-night, he said. I hope youll have a pleasant
journey home.
Oh, but I shall see you before I go.
He sniggered.
The question is if youll see me drunk or sober.
He turned and left me. I had a recollection of those very large black
eyes, shining wildly under the shaggy brows. I paused irresolutely.
I did not feel sleepy and I thought I would at all events go along to
the club for an hour before turning in. When I got there I found the billiard-room
empty, but half-a-dozen men were sitting round a table in the lounge,
playing poker. Miller looked up as I came in.
Sit down and take a hand, he said.
All right.
I bought some chips and began to play. Of course it is the most fascinating
game in the world and my hour lengthened out to two, and then to three.
The native bar-tender, cheery and wide-awake notwithstanding the time,
was at our elbow to supply us with drinks and from somewhere or other
he produced a ham and a loaf of bread. We played on. Most of the party
had drunk more than was good for them and the play was high and reckless.
I played modestly, neither wishing to win nor anxious to lose, but I watched
Miller with a fascinated interest. He drank glass for glass with the rest
of the company, but remained cool and level-headed. His pile of chips
increased in size and he had a neat little paper in front of him on which
he had marked various sums lent to players in distress. He beamed amiably
at the young men whose money he was taking. He kept up interminably
his stream of jest and anecdote, but he never missed a draw, he
never let an expression of the face pass him. At last the dawn crept into
the windows, gently, with a sort of deprecating shyness, as though
it had no business there, and then it was day.
Well, said Miller, I reckon weve seen the old
year out in style. Now lets have a round of jackpots and me for
my mosquito net. I'm fifty, remember, I cant keep these late hours.
The morning was beautiful and fresh when we stood on the verandah,
and the lagoon was like a sheet of multicoloured glass. Someone suggested
a dip before going to bed, but none cared to bathe in the lagoon, sticky
and treacherous to the feet. Miller had his car at the door and
he offered to take us down to the pool. We jumped in and drove along the
deserted road. When we reached the pool it seemed as though the day had
hardly risen there yet. Under the trees the water was all in shadow and
the night had the effect of lurking still. We were in great spirits. We
had no towels or any costume and in my prudence I wondered how
we were going to dry ourselves. None of us had much on and it did not
take us long to snatch off our clothes. Nelson, the little supercargo,
was stripped first.
I'm going down to the bottom, he said.
He dived and in a moment another man dived too, but shallow, and was
out of the water before him. Then Nelson came up and scrambled to the
side.
I say, get me out, he said.
Whats up?
Something was evidently the matter. His face was terrified. Two fellows
gave him their hands and he slithered up.
I say, theres a man down there.
Dont be a fool. Youre drunk.
Well, if there isnt I'm in for D. Ts. But I tell you
theres a man down there. It just scared me out of my wits.
Miller looked at him for a moment. The little man was all white. He was
actually trembling.
Come on, Caster, said Miller to the big Australian, wed
better go down and see.
He was standing up, said Nelson, all dressed. I saw
him. He tried to catch hold of me.
Hold your row, said Miller. Are you ready?
They dived in. We waited on the bank, silent. It really seemed as though
they were under water longer than any men could breathe. Then Caster came
up, and immediately after him, red in the face as though he were going
to have a fit, Miller. They were pulling something behind them. Another
man jumped in to help them, and the three together dragged their burden
to the side. They shoved it up. Then we saw that it was Lawson, with a
great stone tied up in his coat and bound to his feet.
He was set on making a good job of it, said Miller, as he
wiped the water from his shortsighted eyes.
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