That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

At last I reached home, so thoroughly exhausted that I felt and knew that I must rest and sleep or die. I ate some food without tasting it, and then yielding, I slept, for nature could endure no more. Ah! what would become of us if we could not sleep! What a hell of anguish and despair would we be in without it?

Yet I awoke as if from some terrible dream, of demons, fiends, with horrible forms and faces and some accursed men wrangling and fighting over a beautiful innocent childlike girl, with none to help her, neither God above, nor angels, nor women, or men. I awoke so terrified that I could not realize my own self. I felt that I was absent, gone away and had to come back to myself. It was some minutes of time before I recovered from that fearful state, and then I became calm, for I began to reason about the folly of wasting my strength when I might need it so much. I compelled myself by my will to be quiet, and partook of breakfast.

The next thing was to find out the station of the commissioner. I thought first of Mr. Jasper. No, that would not do. I did not want him, now my best friend, to know my secret, my fears or my sorrows. We often prefer to hide such things from our best friends. I went to the magistrate, a stranger to me. I asked him as calmly as I could, the address of Mr. Smith, now commissioner somewhere, formerly magistrate and collector in our station, that I had some important business with him, and hadn’t I? He at once gave me the name of the place. I thanked him and left.

I took the first train for Jalalpur, the headquarters of the commissioner, where I arrived the next morning. Another fearful night. I cannot describe it, as the very remembrance of it now makes my old heart ache. I thought of those of whom I had read, going to the guillotine, the awful journey, and the dread of its end. What would be at the end of my journey? I shuddered at the thought of it, and felt as if I was going to my doom, to a hell of some kind, and something which I could not resist, compelled me to go on, go on.

The station was at length reached, and reason took possession of me, and I thought I heard a voice saying, “Be a man, Charles, be a man.” Ah! Mr. Percy, would to God you were here now to help me! The thought of his words braced me up. I had a bath at the station rooms, the colder the better, I thought, and then a breakfast by force of my will, and then out on my search.

If ever a criminal went limp to the scaffold I could sympathize with him that morning. Going along the road I met a government chuprassi, as shown by his clothes and badge, and I made inquiries of him, one of which was, if he knew of a young woman, an Eurasian, under the protection of the Commissioner Sahib? Protection! God forgive me for that lie! But how else could I ask? He looked me over, again and again, and hesitated. I waited. He then said, “Sahib, I am one of the Commissioner Sahib’s servants. If he knew I told you anything about this woman he would send me to Jehannam before the sun went down.” I replied that I had some news for her, that he should have no fear, and need only tell me the direction to her place. Before telling, he exacted a promise that I would never mention him in any way, or his head would have to say salaam to his shoulders.

I went on and came to the place. How much it reminded me of that small wretched court where my little mama once was. I hurried in through the narrow door or gate, as I did not wish to be seen by any one. There she sat on the veranda of a small house with a little boy at her knees. She was very much disturbed at my appearance. I saw at the first glance our mother’s large lustrous eyes. Why do we always speak of the eyes of a person? Is it because they are the windows of the soul through which we look as through windows into a house? I now saw the well remembered features of the face. I could not be mistaken. It was she, the long lost sister.

Though I recognized her, would she know me, as she was so young when we parted? That thought troubled me.

I did a great deal of thinking in that moment of silence. How fast we think at times!

I bowed and said, “Good morning. My name is Japhet, Charles Japhet. Are you Miss Strangway?” “Yes,” she replied. “Then you remember Mr. and Mrs. Strangway, of Wazirabad?” I asked. “Oh! yes, surely I do,” she quickly answered, with animation. “They adopted me, I was as their daughter, their only child, and how they loved me! O, if they had only lived, I would not have become what I am now.”