Authors: The Garden of Eden
His attention was directed entirely to Joseph.
"I come from my work unclean," he said. "Joseph, take the stranger
within and wait."
Joseph led back into the patio to a plain wooden table beside which
Connor, at the gesture of invitation, sat down. Here Joseph left him
hurriedly, and the gambler looked about. The arcade was lightened by a
flagging of crystalline white stone, and the ceiling was inlaid with the
same material. But the arches and the wall of the building were of
common dobe, massive, but roughly built.
Beyond the fountain nodded like a ghost in the patio, and now and then,
when the lantern was swayed by the wind, the pool glinted and was black
again. The silence was beginning to make him feel more than ever like an
unwelcome guest when another old Negro came, and Connor noted with
growing wonder the third of these ancients. Each of them must have been
in youth a fine specimen of manhood. Even in white-headed age they
retained some of that noble countenance which remains to those who have
once been strong. This fellow bore a tray upon his arm, and in the free
hand carried a large yellow cloth of a coarse weave.
He placed on the table a wooden trencher with a great loaf of white
bread, a cone of clear honey, and an earthen pitcher of milk. Next he
put a wooden bowl on a chair beside Connor, and when the latter
obediently extended his hands, the old man poured warm water over them
and dried them with a napkin.
There was a ceremony about this that fitted perfectly with the
surroundings, and Connor became thoughtful. He was to tempt the master
with the wealth of the world, but what could he give the man to replace
his Homeric comfort?
In the midst of these reflections soft steps approached him, and he saw
the brown-faced David coming in a shapeless blouse and trousers of rough
cloth, with moccasins on his feet. Rising to meet his host, he was
surprised to find that David had no advantage in height and a small one
in breadth of shoulder; in the blacksmith shop he had seemed a giant.
The brown man stopped beside the table. He seemed to be around thirty,
but because of the unwrinkled forehead Connor decided that he was
probably five years older.
"I am David," he said, without offering his hand.
"I," said the gambler, "am Benjamin."
There was a flash that might have been either pleasure or suspicion in
the face of David.
"Joseph has told me what has passed between you," he said.
"I hope he's broken no law by letting me come in."
"My will is the law; in disregarding me he has broken a law."
He made a sign above his shoulder that brought Joseph hurrying out of
the gloom, his keen little eyes fastened upon the face of the master
with intolerable anxiety. There was another sign from David, and Joseph,
without a glance at Connor, snatched the ivory head out of his pocket,
thrust it upon the table, and stood back, watching the brown man with
fascination.
"You see," went on David, "that he returns to you the price which you
paid him. Therefore you have no longer a right to remain in the Garden
of Eden."
Connor flushed. "If this were a price," he answered, clinging as closely
as he could to language as simple and direct as that of David, "it could
be returned to me. But it is not a price. It is a gift, and gifts cannot
be returned."
He held out the ape-head, and when Joseph could see nothing save the
face of David, he pushed the trinket back toward the huge man.
"Then," said the brown man, "the fault which was small before is now
grown large."
He looked calmly upon Joseph, and the giant quailed. By the table hung a
gong on which the master tapped; one of the ancient servants appeared
instantly.
"Go to my room," said David, "and bring me the largest nugget from the
chest."
The old man disappeared, and while they waited for his return the little
bright eyes of Joseph went to and fro on the face of the master; but
David was staring into the darkness of the patio. The servant brought a
nugget of gold, as large as the doubled fist of a child, and the master
rolled it across the table to Connor.
A tenseness about his mouth told the gambler that much was staked on
this acceptance. He turned the nugget in his hand, noting the
discoloration of the ore from which it had been taken.
"It is a fine specimen," he said.
"You will see," said David, "both its size and weight."
And Connor knew; it was an exchange for the ivory head. He laid the
nugget carelessly back upon the table, thankful that the gift had been
offered with such suspicious bluntness.
"It is a fine specimen," he repeated, "but I am not collecting."
There was a heavy cloud on the face of David as he took up the nugget
and passed it into the hand of the waiting servant; but his glance was
for Joseph, not Connor.
Joseph burst into speech for the first time, and the words tumbled out.
"I do not want it. I shall not keep it. See, David; I give it up to
him!" He made a gesture with both hands as though he would push away the
ape-head forever.
The master looked earnestly at Connor.
"You hear?"
The latter shrugged his shoulders, saying: "I've never taken back a
gift, and I can't begin now."
Connor's heart was beating rapidly, from the excitement of the strange
interview and the sense of his narrow escape from banishment. Because he
had made the gift to Joseph he had an inalienable right, it seemed, to
expect some return from Joseph's master—even permission to stay in the
valley, if he insisted.
There was another of those uncomfortable pauses, with the master looking
sternly into the night.
"Zacharias," he said.
The servant stepped beside him.
"Bring the whip—and the cup."
The eyes of Zacharias rolled once toward Joseph and then he was gone,
running; he returned almost instantly with a seven foot blacksnake,
oiled until it glistened. He put it in the hand of David, but only when
Joseph stepped back, shuddering, and then turned and kneeled before
David, the significance of that whip came home to Connor, sickening him.
The whites of Joseph's eyes rolled at him and Connor stepped between
Joseph and the whip.
"Do you mean this?" he gasped. "Do you mean to say that you are going to
flog that poor fellow because he took a gift from me?"
"From you it was a gift," answered the master, perfectly calm, "but to
him it was a price. And to me it is a great trouble."
"God!" murmured Connor.
"Do you call on him?" asked the brown man severely. "He is only here in
so far as I am the agent of his justice. Yet I trust it is not more His
will than it is the will of David. Also, the heart of Joseph is stubborn
and must be humbled. Tears are the sign of contrition, and the whip
shall not cease to fall until Joseph weeps."
His glance pushed Connor back; the gambler saw the lash whirled, and he
turned his back sharply before it fell. Even so, the impact of the lash
on flesh cut into Connor, for he had only to take back the gift to end
the flogging. He set his teeth. Could he give up his only hold on David
and the Eden Grays? By the whizzing of the lash he knew that it was laid
on with the full strength of that muscular arm. Now a horrible murmur
from the throat of Joseph forced him to turn against his will.
The face of David was filled, not with anger, but with cruel disdain;
under his flying lash the welts leaped up on the back of Joseph, but he,
with his eyes shut and his head strained far back, endured. Only through
his teeth, each time he drew breath, came that stifled moan, and he
shuddered at each impact of the whip. Now his eyes opened, and through
the mist of pain a brutal hatred glimmered at Connor. That flare of rage
seemed to sap the last of his strength, for now his face convulsed,
tears flooded down, and his head dropped. Instantly the hand of David
paused.
Something had snapped in Connor at the same time that the head of Joseph
fell, and while he wiped the wet from his face he only vaguely saw
Joseph hurry down the corridor, with Zacharias carrying the whip behind.
But the master? There was neither cruelty nor anger in his face as he
turned to the table and filled with milk the wooden cup which Zacharias
had brought.
"This is my prayer," he said quietly, "that in the justice of David
there may never be the poison of David's wrath." 79
He drained the cup, broke a morsel of bread from the loaf and ate it.
Next he filled the second cup and handed it to the gambler.
"Drink."
Automatically Connor obeyed.
"Eat."
In turn he tasted the bread.
"And now," said the master, in the deep, calm voice, "you have drunk
with David in his house, and he has broken bread with you. Hereafter may
there be peace and good will between us. You have given a free gift to
one of my people, and he who gives clothes to David's people keeps David
from the shame of nakedness; and he who puts bread in the mouths of
David's servants feeds David himself. Stay with me, therefore, Benjamin,
until you find in the Garden the thing you desire, then take it and go
your way. But until that time, what is David's is Benjamin's; your will
be my will, and my way be your way."
He paused.
"And now, Benjamin, you are weary?"
"Very tired."
"Follow me."
It seemed well to Connor to remove himself from the eye of the master as
soon as possible. Not that the host showed signs of anger, but just as
one looks at a clear sky and forebodes hard weather because of misty
horizons, so the gambler guessed the frown behind David's eyes. He was
glad to turn into the door which was opened for him. But even though he
guessed the danger, Connor could not refrain from tempting Providence
with a speech of double meaning.
"You are very kind," he said. "Good night, David."
"May God keep you until the morning, Benjamin."
From the house of David, Joseph skulked down the terraces until he came
to the two long buildings and entered the smaller of these. He crossed a
patio, smaller than the court of David's house; but there, too, was the
fountain in the center and the cool flooring of turf. Across this, and
running under the dimly lighted arcade, Joseph reached a door which he
tore open, slammed behind him again, and with his great head fallen upon
his chest, stared at a little withered Negro who sat on a stool opposite
the door. It was rather a low bench of wood than a stool; for it stood
not more than six inches above the level of the floor. His shoes off,
and his bare feet tucked under his legs, he sat tailorwise and peered up
at the giant. The sudden opening of the door had set his loose blouse
fluttering about the old man's skeleton body. The sleeves fell back from
bony forearms with puckered skin. He was less a man than a receptacle of
time. His temples sank in like the temples of a very old horse; his
toothless mouth was crushed together by the pressure of the long bony
jaw, below which the skin hung in a flap. But the fire still glimmered
in the hollows of his eyes. A cheerful spirit lived in the grasshopper
body. He was knitting with a pair of slender needles, never looking at
his work, nor during the interview with Joseph did he once slacken his
pace. The needles clicked with such swift precision that the work grew
perceptibly, flowing slowly under his hands.
Meanwhile this death's head looked at the giant so steadily that Joseph
seemed to regret his unceremonious entrance. He stood back against the
door, fumbling its knob for a moment, but then his rage mastered him
once more, and he burst into the tale of Connor's coming and the ivory
head. He brought his story to an end by depositing the trinket before
the ancient man and then stood back, his face still working, and waited
with every show of confident curiosity.
As for the antique, his knitting needles continued to fly, but to view
the little carving more closely he craned his skinny neck. At that
moment, with his fallen features, his fleshless nose, he was a grinning
mummy head. He remained gloating over the little image so long that
Joseph stirred uneasily; but finally the grotesque lifted his head. It
at once fell far back, the neck muscles apparently unable to support its
weight. He looked more at the ceiling than at Joseph. His speech was a
writhing of the lips and the voice a hollow murmur.
"This," he said, "is the face of a great suhman. It is the face of the
great suhman, Haneemar. It was many years ago that I knew him. It was a
time so long ago that I do not know how to tell you. It was before your
birth and the birth of your father. It was when I lived in a green
country where the air is thick and sweet and the sun burns. There I knew
Haneemar. He is a strong suhman. You see, his eyes are green; that is
because he has the strength of the great snake that ties its tail around
a branch and hangs down with its head as high as the breast of a man.
Those snakes kill an antelope and eat it at a mouthful. Their eyes are
green and so are the eyes of Haneemar. And you see that Haneemar has
golden teeth. That is because he has eaten wisdom. He knows the meat of
all things like a nut he can crack between his teeth. He is as strong as
the snake which eats monkeys, and he is as wise as the monkeys that run
from the snake and throw sticks from the tops of the trees. That is
Haneemar.
"There is no luck for the man who carries the face of Haneemar with him.
That is why David used the whip. He knew Haneemar. Also, in the other
days I remember that when a child was sick in the village they tied a
goat in the forest and Haneemar came and ate the goat. If he ate the
goat like a lion and left tooth marks on the bones then the child got
well and lived. If he ate the goat like a panther and left the guts the
child died. But if the goat was not eaten for one day then Haneemar came
and ate the child instead. I remember this. There will be no luck for
you while you carry Haneemar."