It was a state affair. King received his august visitor in the “parlour,” where he spent a good deal of time these days. Tsuda, as he entered, sniffed the air, and his eyes glittered subtly.
As for Cha-cha-kamui, he was shaking all over from sheer excitement. He had never been in the immediate presence of a kami before. He was a great chief, and had brought his people down here inside a whale; he was close to the gods, but was not himself a god. Thus the ordeal was considerable, and he was glad to squat as quickly as possible.
The longer the old chief stayed, however, the more his nervousness fell away from him—especially after King had brought out some of the excellent brandy that had come all the way from San Francisco. He smacked his lips over it in touching appreciation. It was a great deal better than Tsuda’s saké. Tsuda would have to look to his laurels!
Cha-cha-kamui gazed at King, his old eyes lit with affectionate devotion. He wrinkled his eyelids until he could hardly see, and lifted up the corners of his mouth with such vigour that he lifted his cheeks right along with them. He fawned. He massaged his aged hands, and made his scalp wiggle back and forth. It was a spectacle!
And then, obedient to a private signal from Tsuda, the old man came to the real business of the session. He launched out fervently upon a long and very confidential speech, which Tsuda, feigning some surprise and displaying touches of modest delicacy here and there, translated into English of his usual colloquial and even slangy sort: English that was sly and shrewd and not a little waggish.
As for the speech itself—well, it was all about Cha-cha-kamui’s wives; and since the Great Wife must naturally go right on enjoying the high prestige of a position bestowed for life, and since she couldn’t be expected to retain in full vigour the charms of her now far distant youth, there was nothing to prevent a little harmless alliance on the side; and what Cha-cha-kamui had above all come to tell the White Kami was that he wanted the White Kami to have his Small Wife for his very own. The theme rose to heights of eloquence; it became an oration; he had never in all his life tasted anything half so fine as the brandy from San Francisco. He wanted the White Kami to take his Small Wife; he wanted to show his homage—and could mortal man give more?
The speech amazed King greatly. It was, in truth, an amazing speech. King hardly knew how to take it at first, and looked at Tsuda in a complex, searching way. But presently he laughed, with a laugh that had a sort of catch or rattle in it; and he thanked the royal octogenarian and replied much as he had once replied to Tsuda respecting another issue: “You’re very kind. Perhaps I’ll avail myself of your generosity one of these days—who knows?”
Yes—who knew? He had been used to a life of movement and diversion, and Hagen’s Island was a little remote. He felt broken and reckless. Often he longed to fall back into old voluptuous ways. Yes, who knew? He had fallen so far; let all the old passions rush and confound his soul. Besides, ever since the day Stella had pleaded with him so earnestly, and he had crumpled and wept and murmured: “God help me!” King had had a feeling that he was no longer master. He had shown her a weakness which put him, however intangibly, in her power. Often a muddy desire came upon him to reassert his manhood and resume full moral sway. The very episode which at the time had seemed drawing them closer together had in reality plunged them farther apart.
He argued weakly and gropingly. His soul snarled for opium.