The Goose Girl and Other Stories (42 page)

The courtiers were all impressed by this evidence of a noble temper, and Amoret immediately cried, ‘Father, let there be no hesitation or pretence about this. We love each other, and we were made for each other!'

‘That's the way to speak!' said the King. ‘There's nothing like honesty, and we'll have a wedding after all. I like weddings.'

The Queen, a tolerant and kindly woman, was made so happy by Amoret's return that she hardly cared whom her daughter married, if the match were dictated by love; and thereupon the King, in great spirits, declared that Perigot should wed her that night—'If it's quite convenient for you, my dear?' he added.

‘Quite convenient,' said Amoret, ‘and, indeed, just what I wish myself.'

Preparations for a feast were speedily made, and with much ceremony the marriage took place. At a late hour Perigot and his bride retired to their chamber.

For an hour or two Perigot had been feeling his clothes uncommonly tight about his chest and hips, but he imagined the discomfort was due to somewhat excessive eating and drinking. When he undressed, however, he discovered to his horror that the nymph's curse had
taken effect, and he had become, for all practical purposes, a woman.

The shock almost unnerved him, but with a great effort he retained his self-control. His predicament was appalling. Not only was he madly in love with Amoret, but Amoret was madly in love with him. She approached him with endearing words, and when Perigot offered her a slight and distant embrace, which was all he dared to offer for fear of revealing his shameful secret, she accepted it with really pitiful disappointment. He stood for a long time looking out of the window, while Amoret sat on the edge of her bed and wondered why Perigot had turned so cold or if this was all that marriage meant. She could not believe that its mystery cloaked precisely nothing.

After an agonised vigil of the dark sky, Perigot remembered his pipe. He took it from the chimney-piece where he had laid it, and played a gentle phrase or two.

‘You must be tired, my dear,' he said. ‘Let me play you to sleep.'

Amoret turned her face from him, and wept quietly into her pillow. In a little while, however, Perigot's sweet and mournful lullaby soothed her brain, and drove consciousness away, and presently she slept. Perigot lay awake till morning, so bitter were all his thoughts, and before the sun was up he dressed himself and went out, and left Amoret still dreaming.

The day was embarrassing to them both, for in Gargaphie weddings occasioned a certain jocularity that often made ordinary brides and bridegrooms feel uncomfortable. But no wedded couple had ever been in the curious plight of Amoret and Perigot, and their distress at the customary witticisms was so marked as to make even the wits doubtful of their taste. And the day's embarrassments naturally increased as darkness fell, for Amoret was full of doubt and more affectionate than ever, and Perigot was doubly miserable. That night it took him at least an hour, and he needed every bit of his skill upon the pipe, to play his bride asleep.

This wretched state of affairs continued for several days, until the Queen, seeing how unhappy and even ill her daughter looked, talked seriously to her for a long time, and at last elicited some part of the facts.

‘But my poor dear!' she said in amazement.

‘I assure you that what I say is true,' sobbed Amoret. ‘Every night he plays his pipe until I fall asleep. Sometimes I wonder if he is a man at all.'

‘The King must be told immediately,' said the Queen with decision, and straightaway went to look for her husband, in spite of Amoret's
protests, who still loved Perigot dearly and feared that her father would do him harm.

The King, though normally a genial man, lost his temper completely when he heard what the Queen had to say.

‘I suspected something of the sort!' he roared. ‘Did you hear his voice last night? Squeaking like a girl! The insolent impostor! I'll wring his neck with my own hands, I‘ll drop him over the battlements, I'll hound him out of Gargaphie!'

‘There must be no scandal,' said the Queen, quietly but firmly. ‘Not for Perigot's sake, but for Amoret's. The girl has suffered enough without being made the subject of national gossip. I admit it would be a good thing to get rid of Perigot, but it must be done discreetly. I'm sure that you can think of some clever plan to remove him quietly and without fear of unpleasant comment.'

‘There's something in what you say,' admitted the King, ‘and as for plans, my head is full of them. It always is, and that's why Gargaphie is a happy and prosperous country. Now what about sending Perigot off to retrieve the golden apples that my great-grandfather lost? He'd never come back from that errand alive.'

‘You'll never persuade him to start on it,' objected the Queen.

‘Nonsense,' said the King. ‘All that's needed is a little tact and diplomacy. Just you see.'

As soon as the Queen had gone he sent his personal herald to look for Perigot, and when the young man appeared, greeted him in a serious and friendly way.

‘Perigot,' he said, ‘there is a stain on the escutcheon of my house which I think you are the very man to erase. In my great-grandfather's time we had, among our family treasures, three golden apples that were said to confer upon their owners health, wealth, and happiness. Whether or not that was so, they were at least intrinsically valuable, and as objects of art, I believe, incomparable. Unhappily, in an affair that did credit to neither side, they were stolen by the Cloud King and taken by him to his favourite castle, which, as probably you are aware, is seven days' march to the north of Gargaphie. On several occasions enterprising young men have endeavoured to retrieve these apples, but every one of them, I am sorry to say, has perished at the hands, or in the teeth, of a curious monster, half-human and half-dog, that the Cloud King retains as a kind of seneschal or warder. You, however, who kill dragons with such ease, would probably make short work of the Hound-man, and if you can bring back those apples I shall seriously consider making you my heir. I don't want to press you, of course . . .'

‘There's no need to,' said Perigot, ‘for I'll go very willingly. When can I start?'

The King was a little astonished by his eagerness to undertake so perilous an expedition, but as he did not want to give Perigot an opportunity to change his mind, he said, as though thinking about it very carefully, ‘Well, there's a full moon tonight, and if you're really in a hurry you could start at once. I'll give you a guide for the first part of your journey, and after that anyone will tell you your way.'

So Perigot said good-bye to Amoret and set out on his desperate enterprise. His hope was partly to forget in danger the embarrassment of his married life, and partly to give healing time a chance to restore him to his normal shape. For the curse, he thought, might be a passing or impermanent one.

For seven days he marched through wild and desolate country, where the clouds hung ever closer on towering black mountains, and the crying of eagles came hoarsely through the mist. It was a cold and friendless land, and no sign of his returning manhood, except his intrepid spirit, came to comfort him. On the eighth day he reached the Cloud King's castle, and over it, to his surprise, the sky was clear. The castle was empty and deserted except for the great grey Hound-man lying at the gate.

When Perigot appeared the Hound-man rose and growled, and the brindled hair on its neck bristled terribly. Perigot took out his pipe and began to play the first tune that came into his mind. The Hound-man lifted his head and howled most dismally. Perigot played something else, and the Hound-man bayed like a pack of hunting-dogs. Clearly music would have no effect on him. So Perigot, putting away his pipe, drew his moon-made sickle and warily advanced.

Showing great fangs like icicles, the Hound-man leapt to kill him, but Perigot neatly evaded its rush and cut off its right arm. Foaming at the mouth the brute again attacked him, but this time Perigot with great skill lopped off both its legs, and the Hound-man fell to the ground and lay dying. Its eyes began to glaze, but the wickedness in its heart still lived, and out of its great throat came a growling voice that said, ‘The curse of Shepherd Alken be on you!'

‘What did you say?' demanded Perigot excitedly.

‘The curse of Shepherd Alken on you!' repeated the Hound-man. ‘If you are a man become a woman, if you are a woman become a man!' And died in that instant.

Perigot was so excited that he almost forgot his errand, but just as he was turning back to Gargaphie he remembered that he had come to look for some golden apples, and breaking into the castle speedily
found them in the Cloud King's bedroom. He put them into a satchel he had brought for the purpose, and then, wasting no more time, he began to run southwards down the path he had lately climbed so grimly. He made such speed—for his clothes no longer felt tight about his chest—that he reached Gargaphie on the evening of the fourth day, just at the time when everybody was getting ready for bed.

The King was astounded to see him, and despite his pleasure in regaining the golden apples that his great-grandfather had lost, found it difficult to infuse his welcome with any cordiality. But Perigot paid little attention to the King. Amoret, he was told, had taken her candle a few minutes earlier and already retired to her chamber.

She, poor girl, was delighted by his return, for she loved him though he had deceived her, and she had feared he was dead. But after they had embraced each other once or twice she remembered her former disappointment, and a little bitterly she said, ‘Where is your pipe, Perigot? Aren't you going to play me to sleep?'

‘That for my pipe!' said Perigot, and threw it out of the window.

‘Perigot!' she said.

‘Amoret!' he answered, in a deep manly voice that made her heart flutter strangely.

The following morning it was Amoret who rose first, and left Perigot sleeping. At her chamber door the King and Queen were waiting for her.

‘Well, my dear,' said the King, ‘I'm afraid that my attempt to get rid of your so-called husband has failed, well-thought-out though it was. But don't worry. I've plenty more plans in my head, and when he's out of the way we'll get you a proper man.'

‘A proper man!' said Amoret, laughing happily. ‘Oh, my dear father and my very dear mother, he's the most wonderful man in the whole wide world. I wouldn't change him for all the husbands in Gargaphie.'

Apathan's Hatred is like a dung fire. It may smoulder unnoticed for a long time, and then leap suddenly into flame that devours both fire and what it touches. It is said, moreover, on the Prophet's authority, that God loves sneezing and hates yawning; for when a man yawns, Satan laughs at him.

It was foolish therefore, and perhaps doubly foolish, of Sikander Shah to yawn so openly at Shamsi Mia Syed's request. But he was tired, for he had heard the request so many times that night, and he had no intention of yielding.

‘Give me another week,' said Shamsi Mia Syed, ‘and by God, I will pay you the money in full. One week only, and I will have the whole sum, with old interest and new interest, and perhaps a present of some kind as well.'

But Sikander Shah put back his head and yawned widely, so that his mouth looked like a black hole above the hairy darkness of his beard. The yellow light of two brass lamps swung gently to and fro, as they swayed in the soft wind, and threw alternately pallor and inky shadows on the faces of the disputants. There were five of them, four Pathans and a Punjabi, sitting outside a tea-seller's hut on the Mahim Road that leads northward out of Bombay. It was late; nearly midnight. But Sikander Shah and the Punjabi, Gulab Singh, were watchmen over two half-built houses near by, and the others were nightbirds by choice and habit.

The wind washed through the palm trees, with a sound like the falling of little waves on soft sand, and from far away came the steady rhythm of drums beaten for a wedding feast. The road through the trees was hidden in darkness, but the feathery tops of the palms were visible against a faintly starlit sky. Here and there the lower darkness was blurred with yellow moons where tea-sellers' stalls and a toddy shop still catered for a few late customers.

‘Not another day beyond tomorrow,' said Sikander, recovering from his yawn. ‘Either I get eighty-four rupees by tomorrow night, or word goes to my brother in Peshawar, and the girl you know of. . .'

‘What about her?'

‘She will be sent where she can redeem the debt, and perhaps even make up for the gift you promised me.'

Shamsi Mia Syed snarled like a dog. His cousin, Daud Khan, said hoarsely, ‘Give him a week's grace, and be done with this talk.' He was younger than the others, a sulky-looking man with fat cheeks. He wore a new light-blue pagri and a heavily embroidered waistcoat that he had stolen, by daylight, in a crowded bazaar.

‘Why shouldn't he pay me tomorrow?' retorted Sikander. ‘He has the money, and more than the money, and you all know it.'

‘That's a lie,' shouted Syed. ‘I've no money!'

‘Then you've given it to the Kashmiri girl, the harlot who lives . . .'

‘What does it matter to you where she lives?'

‘Ho, ho!' laughed Gulab Singh, the Punjabi. ‘A harlot here and a virgin waiting in Peshawar!
Hath sukha Pathan bukha!'

The proverb means a Pathan is so greedy that he will be hungry again as soon as he has washed his hands after meat.

‘If a Hindki can't hurt you he'll make a bad smell,' sneered Daud Khan, glaring at the Punjabi and calling him by the name he would like least.

Gulab Singh's face darkened as his slow wits searched for a proper reply. But before he could find one, Mahomed Khan, who had sat silent through most of the discussion, said roughly they had argued long enough, and there was no sense in looking for new quarrels now.