The Substance of a Dream

by F. W. Bain

XIX

And at the sight of her, my heart leaped into my mouth, for she resembled the very last link that joined me to the Queen, in a feminine form. But at the very moment that I saw her, she saw me also; and she turned away, pretending not to see me, and went round the corner into another street. And instantly, I leaped after her like a deer, and caught her, almost running to escape me. And then, seeing that there was absolutely no help for it, she stopped, and stood looking at me with defiance, like an animal at bay.

And presently I said: Dost thou not know me, that thou runnest so fast to get away? And she said: I never saw thee: I was only in a hurry. And I said: Now, from bad, it is worse; thou art lying. And why, instead of running away, art thou not rather hastening to meet me? Hast thou no message for me from the Queen? And she said: No: none. And I exclaimed: What! none? Did not my message come to thee? And she said, reluctantly: It came. Then I said: Then the Queen must know that I am here. And why has she never sent? And Chaturiká said: Is it for me to give orders to the Queen? How can I know why she does not want thy presence? If she did, she would send. I am not the mistress, but only the maid: is Chaturiká the equal of Táráwalí?

And as she spoke, the tears rose into my eyes, for I remembered the words of Táráwalí, as she stood up in the boat. And I took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes. And I said slowly: Thou knowest only too well, for if thou art not her equal, thou art at least her familiar. And now, then, cheat me not: since the matter is to me one of life or death. Am I thy enemy, or art thou mine? Was it not only the other day that thou didst kiss me of thy own accord, as I have sat, these last two days, hoping against hope for thee to come and do again? And what have I done, to bring about such change? I liked thee better, far better, laughing: thou wert so joyous, and so pretty, and like the ecstasy in my own heart, in a woman's form. Aye! as I looked at thee, it made my heart echo, to hear thee laugh, since we were both of us devotees of one and the same deity, Táráwalí, thy Queen and mine. And now, something has come about, I know not how, to spoil it all.

And as I spoke, all unconsciously I gripped the hand that I held of hers in mine, and it may be, that my hand whispered to her own what my voice alone strove in vain to say. For as I gazed at her in anguish, with tears in my eyes, strange! all at once I saw her face change, and her lip quiver, and tears stealing, as if against her will, into her eyes too. And she tried to laugh, without succeeding: and all at once, she squeezed my hand that held her own, with force. And she said, in a voice that trembled as it spoke, half laughing and half weeping: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away. And suddenly she snatched her hand away from mine, and turned as if to go.

And I took her by the shoulder as she stood with her face averted, and I said: See, Chaturiká, my life is in thy hands. Come, do me this last favour, and I will never trouble thee any more. Wilt thou go straight to the Queen, and say I met thee in the street, and somehow or other, by hook or crook, contrive, that she shall send for me again, and very soon, for otherwise I cannot live much longer? Wilt thou? Wilt thou? And she hung her head, and said in a voice so low that I could hardly hear it: I will try. And I said: Go then, for I will delay thee no longer. And yet, listen! Come to me often, as thou art passing by, for the very sight of thee is life.

And without speaking, she rolled her head up in her veil, and went away very quickly. And I stood, looking after her as she went: saying to myself: There goes my last hope. And lucky for me it was that I caught her: for without her, I would by this have driven my own sword home into my heart.

XX

And I went home feeling like a man saved from the very mouth of death, saying to myself: Now then, happen what will! for at least I have secured the key of the door leading to Táráwalí, in the form of her maid. And now, it may be, I shall see her very soon. For beyond a doubt, there has been some blunder, or perhaps she was occupied with business of moment, that left her no leisure for affairs like mine. And all my fears may have been in vain. And at least, I can wait with hope, and not as I did before, in horrible despair, cut off from every means of communication. And I sat with a heart almost at peace, prepared to wait till the coming of Chaturiká on the following day. But it turned out contrary to my expectation. For I had been waiting for little more than a single hour, when there came a knock at the door. And when I opened, there stood Chaturiká again. And she said rapidly: The Queen will await thee in the garden to-night at sunset.

And I exclaimed, with a shout of joy: Ha! sunset! It is as I thought. Well I knew there was some mistake, and that she could not fail. And beyond a doubt, she had forgotten the time, remembering only when reminded by thee. Victory to thee, O Chaturiká! for to thee alone I owe the sunset, and now I will give thee for it almost anything thou canst ask. And Chaturiká said: Give me nothing. And she stood in silence, looking at me with strange eyes, in which, as it seemed, pity and curiosity seemed to be mingled with compunction and some element that I could not understand. And suddenly she came to me, and laid her hand upon my arm. And she whispered very quickly, as if she was half afraid of what she said: Do not go. And then, she turned and vanished from the room, as if to escape before I had time to ask for explanation.