And from his bedroom windows he watched the sun dip into gold and crimson5 behind the swelling7 Libyan sands. This side of the pyramids he saw the Nile meander8 among palm groves9 and tilled fields. Across his balcony railings the Egyptian stars trooped down beside his very bed, shaping old constellations10 for his dreams; while, to the south, he looked out upon the vast untamable Body of the sands that carpeted the world for thousands of miles towards Upper Egypt, Nubia, and the dread11 Sahara itself. He wondered again why people thought it necessary to go so far afield to know the Desert. Here, within half an hour of Cairo, it lay breathing solemnly at his very doors.
For little Helouan, caught thus between the shoulders of the Libyan and Arabian Deserts, is utterly12 sand-haunted. The Desert lies all round it like a sea. Henriot felt he never could escape from it, as he moved about the island whose coasts are washed with sand. Down each broad and shining street the two end houses framed a vista4 of its dim immensity — glimpses of shimmering13 blue, or flame-touched purple. There were stretches of deep sea-green as well, far off upon its bosom14. The streets were open channels of approach, and the eye ran down them as along the tube of a telescope laid to catch incredible distance out of space. Through them the Desert reached in with long, thin feelers towards the village. Its Being flooded into Helouan, and over it. Past walls and houses, churches and hotels, the sea of Desert pressed in silently with its myriad15 soft feet of sand. It poured in everywhere, through crack and slit16 and crannie. These were reminders17 of possession and ownership. And every passing wind that lifted eddies18 of dust at the street corners were messages from the quiet, powerful Thing that permitted Helouan to lie and dream so peacefully in the sunshine. Mere19 artificial oasis20, its existence was temporary, held on lease, just for ninety-nine centuries or so.
This sea idea became insistent21. For, in certain lights, and especially in the brief, bewildering dusk, the Desert rose — swaying towards the small white houses. The waves of it ran for fifty miles without a break. It was too deep for foam22 or surface agitation23, yet it knew the swell6 of tides. And underneath24 flowed resolute25 currents, linking distance to the centre. These many deserts were really one. A storm, just retreated, had tossed Helouan upon the shore and left it there to dry; but any morning he would wake to find it had been carried off again into the depths. Some fragment, at least, would disappear. The grim Mokattam Hills were rollers that ever threatened to topple down and submerge the sandy bar that men called Helouan.
Being soundless, and devoid26 of perfume, the Desert’s message reached him through two senses only — sight and touch; chiefly, of course, the former. Its invasion was concentrated through the eyes. And vision, thus uncorrected, went what pace it pleased. The Desert played with him. Sand stole into his being — through the eyes.
And so obsessing27 was this majesty28 of its close presence, that Henriot sometimes wondered how people dared their little social activities within its very sight and hearing; how they played golf and tennis upon reclaimed29 edges of its face, picnicked so blithely30 hard upon its frontiers, and danced at night while this stern, unfathomable Thing lay breathing just beyond the trumpery31 walls that kept it out. The challenge of their shallow admiration32 seemed presumptuous33, almost provocative34. Their pursuit of pleasure suggested insolent35 indifference36. They ran fool-hardy hazards, he felt; for there was no worship in their vulgar hearts. With a mental shudder37, sometimes he watched the cheap tourist horde38 go laughing, chattering39 past within view of its ancient, half-closed eyes. It was like defying deity40.
For, to his stirred imagination the sublimity41 of the Desert dwarfed42 humanity. These people had been wiser to choose another place for the flaunting43 of their tawdry insignificance44. Any minute this Wilderness45, “huddled in grey annihilation,” might awake and notice them . . .!
In his own hotel were several “smart,” so-called “Society” people who emphasised the protest in him to the point of definite contempt. Overdressed, the latest worldly novel under their arms, they strutted46 the narrow pavements of their tiny world, immensely pleased with themselves. Their vacuous47 minds expressed themselves in the slang of their exclusive circle — value being the element excluded. The pettiness of their outlook hardly distressed48 him — he was too familiar with it at home — but their essential vulgarity, their innate49 ugliness, seemed more than usually offensive in the grandeur50 of its present setting. Into the mighty51 sands they took the latest London scandal, gabbling it over even among the Tombs and Temples. And “it was to laugh,” the pains they spent wondering whom they might condescend52 to know, never dreaming that they themselves were not worth knowing. Against the background of the noble Desert their titles seemed the cap and bells of clowns.
And Henriot, knowing some of them personally, could not always escape their insipid53 company. Yet he was the gainer. They little guessed how their commonness heightened contrast, set mercilessly thus beside the strange, eternal beauty of the sand.
Occasionally the protest in his soul betrayed itself in words, which of course they did not understand. “He is so clever, isn’t he?” And then, having relieved his feelings, he would comfort himself characteristically:
“The Desert has not noticed them. The Sand is not aware of their existence. How should the sea take note of rubbish that lies above its tide-line?”
For Henriot drew near to its great shifting altars in an attitude of worship. The wilderness made him kneel in heart. Its shining reaches led to the oldest Temple in the world, and every journey that he made was like a sacrament. For him the Desert was a consecrated54 place. It was sacred.
And his tactful hosts, knowing his peculiarities55, left their house open to him when he cared to come — they lived upon the northern edge of the oasis — and he was as free as though he were absolutely alone. He blessed them; he rejoiced that he had come. Little Helouan accepted him. The Desert knew that he was there.
From his corner of the big dining-room he could see the other guests, but his roving eye always returned to the figure of a solitary56 man who sat at an adjoining table, and whose personality stirred his interest. While affecting to look elsewhere, he studied him as closely as might be. There was something about the stranger that touched his curiosity — a certain air of expectation that he wore. But it was more than that: it was anticipation57, apprehension58 in it somewhere. The man was nervous, uneasy. His restless way of suddenly looking about him proved it. Henriot tried every one else in the room as well; but, though his thought settled on others too, he always came back to the figure of this solitary being opposite, who ate his dinner as if afraid of being seen, and glanced up sometimes as if fearful of being watched. Henriot’s curiosity, before he knew it, became suspicion. There was mystery here. The table, he noticed, was laid for two.
“Is he an actor, a priest of some strange religion, an enquiry agent, or just — a crank?” was the thought that first occurred to him. And the question suggested itself without amusement. The impression of subterfuge59 and caution he conveyed left his observer unsatisfied.
The face was clean shaven, dark, and strong; thick hair, straight yet bushy, was slightly unkempt; it was streaked60 with grey; and an unexpected mobility61 when he smiled ran over the features that he seemed to hold rigid62 by deliberate effort. The man was cut to no quite common measure. Henriot jumped to an intuitive conclusion: “He’s not here for pleasure or merely sight-seeing. Something serious has brought him out to Egypt.” For the face combined too ill-assorted qualities: an obstinate63 tenacity64 that might even mean brutality65, and was certainly repulsive66, yet, with it, an undecipherable dreaminess betrayed by lines of the mouth, but above all in the very light blue eyes, so rarely raised. Those eyes, he felt, had looked upon unusual things; “dreaminess” was not an adequate description; “searching” conveyed it better. The true source of the queer impression remained elusive67. And hence, perhaps, the incongruous marriage in the face — mobility laid upon a matter-of-fact foundation underneath. The face showed conflict.
And Henriot, watching him, felt decidedly intrigued68. “I’d like to know that man, and all about him.” His name, he learned later, was Richard Vance; from Birmingham; a business man. But it was not the Birmingham he wished to know; it was the — other: cause of the elusive, dreamy searching. Though facing one another at so short a distance, their eyes, however, did not meet. And this, Henriot well knew, was a sure sign that he himself was also under observation. Richard Vance, from Birmingham, was equally taking careful note of Felix Henriot, from London.
Thus, he could wait his time. They would come together later. An opportunity would certainly present itself. The first links in a curious chain had already caught; soon the chain would tighten69, pull as though by chance, and bring their lives into one and the same circle. Wondering in particular for what kind of a companion the second cover was laid, Henriot felt certain that their eventual70 coming together was inevitable71. He possessed72 this kind of divination73 from first impressions, and not uncommonly74 it proved correct.
Following instinct, therefore, he took no steps towards acquaintance, and for several days, owing to the fact that he dined frequently with his hosts, he saw nothing more of Richard Vance, the business man from Birmingham. Then, one night, coming home late from his friend’s house, he had passed along the great corridor, and was actually a step or so into his bedroom, when a drawling voice sounded close behind him. It was an unpleasant sound. It was very near him too —
“I beg your pardon, but have you, by any chance, such a thing as a compass you could lend me?”
The voice was so close that he started. Vance stood within touching75 distance of his body. He had stolen up like a ghostly Arab, must have followed him, too, some little distance, for further down the passage the light of an open door — he had passed it on his way — showed where he came from.
“Eh? I beg your pardon? A— compass, did you say?” He felt disconcerted for a moment. How short the man was, now that he saw him standing76. Broad and powerful too. Henriot looked down upon his thick head of hair. The personality and voice repelled77 him. Possibly his face, caught unawares, betrayed this.
“Forgive my startling you,” said the other apologetically, while the softer expression danced in for a moment and disorganised the rigid set of the face. “The soft carpet, you know. I’m afraid you didn’t hear my tread. I wondered”— he smiled again slightly at the nature of the request —“if — by any chance — you had a pocket compass you could lend me?”
“Ah, a compass, yes! Please don’t apologise. I believe I have one — if you’ll wait a moment. Come in, won’t you? I’ll have a look.”
The other thanked him but waited in the passage. Henriot, it so happened, had a compass, and produced it after a moment’s search.
“I am greatly indebted to you — if I may return it in the morning. You will forgive my disturbing you at such an hour. My own is broken, and I wanted — er — to find the true north.”
Henriot stammered78 some reply, and the man was gone. It was all over in a minute. He locked his door and sat down in his chair to think. The little incident had upset him, though for the life of him he could not imagine why. It ought by rights to have been almost ludicrous, yet instead it was the exact reverse — half threatening. Why should not a man want a compass? But, again, why should he? And at midnight? The voice, the eyes, the near presence — what did they bring that set his nerves thus asking unusual questions? This strange impression that something grave was happening, something unearthly — how was it born exactly? The man’s proximity79 came like a shock. It had made him start. He brought — thus the idea came unbidden to his mind — something with him that galvanised him quite absurdly, as fear does, or delight, or great wonder. There was a music in his voice too — a certain — well, he could only call it lilt, that reminded him of plainsong, intoning, chanting. Drawling was not the word at all.
He tried to dismiss it as imagination, but it would not be dismissed. The disturbance80 in himself was caused by something not imaginary, but real. And then, for the first time, he discovered that the man had brought a faint, elusive suggestion of perfume with him, an aromatic81 odour, that made him think of priests and churches. The ghost of it still lingered in the air. Ah, here then was the origin of the notion that his voice had chanted: it was surely the suggestion of incense82. But incense, intoning, a compass to find the true north — at midnight in a Desert hotel!
A touch of uneasiness ran through the curiosity and excitement that he felt.
And he undressed for bed. “Confound my old imagination,” he thought, “what tricks it plays me! It’ll keep me awake!”
But the questions, once started in his mind, continued. He must find explanation of one kind or another before he could lie down and sleep, and he found it at length in-the stars. The man was an astronomer83 of sorts; possibly an astrologer into the bargain! Why not? The stars were wonderful above Helouan. Was there not an observatory84 on the Mokattam Hills, too, where tourists could use the telescopes on privileged days? He had it at last. He even stole out on to his balcony to see if the stranger perhaps was looking through some wonderful apparatus85 at the heavens. Their rooms were on the same side. But the shuttered windows revealed no stooping figure with eyes glued to a telescope. The stars blinked in their many thousands down upon the silent desert. The night held neither sound nor movement. There was a cool breeze blowing across the Nile from the Lybian Sands. It nipped; and he stepped back quickly into the room again. Drawing the mosquito curtains carefully about the bed, he put the light out and turned over to sleep.
And sleep came quickly, contrary to his expectations, though it was a light and surface sleep. That last glimpse of the darkened Desert lying beneath the Egyptian stars had touched him with some hand of awful power that ousted86 the first, lesser87 excitement. It calmed and soothed88 him in one sense, yet in another, a sense he could not understand, it caught him in a net of deep, deep feelings whose mesh89, while infinitely90 delicate, was utterly stupendous. His nerves this deeper emotion left alone: it reached instead to something infinite in him that mere nerves could neither deal with nor interpret. The soul awoke and whispered in him while his body slept.
And the little, foolish dreams that ran to and fro across this veil of surface sleep brought oddly tangled91 pictures of things quite tiny and at the same time of others that were mighty beyond words. With these two counters Nightmare played. They interwove. There was the figure of this dark-faced man with the compass, measuring the sky to find the true north, and there were hints of giant Presences that hovered92 just outside some curious outline that he traced upon the ground, copied in some nightmare fashion from the heavens. The excitement caused by his visitor’s singular request mingled93 with the profounder sensations his final look at the stars and Desert stirred. The two were somehow inter-related.
Some hours later, before this surface sleep passed into genuine slumber94, Henriot woke — with an appalling95 feeling that the Desert had come creeping into his room and now stared down upon him where he lay in bed. The wind was crying audibly about the walls outside. A faint, sharp tapping came against the window panes96.
He sprang instantly out of bed, not yet awake enough to feel actual alarm, yet with the nightmare touch still close enough to cause a sort of feverish97, loose bewilderment. He switched the lights on. A moment later he knew the meaning of that curious tapping, for the rising wind was flinging tiny specks98 of sand against the glass. The idea that they had summoned him belonged, of course, to dream.
He opened the window, and stepped out on to the balcony. The stone was very cold under his bare feet. There was a wash of wind all over him. He saw the sheet of glimmering99, pale desert near and far; and something stung his skin below the eyes.
“The sand,” he whispered, “again the sand; always the sand. Waking or sleeping, the sand is everywhere — nothing but sand, sand, Sand. . . . ”
He rubbed his eyes. It was like talking in his sleep, talking to Someone who had questioned him just before he woke. But was he really properly awake? It seemed next day that he had dreamed it. Something enormous, with rustling100 skirts of sand, had just retreated far into the Desert. Sand went with it — flowing, trailing, smothering101 the world. The wind died down.
And Henriot went back to sleep, caught instantly away into unconsciousness; covered, blinded, swept over by this spreading thing of reddish brown with the great, grey face, whose Being was colossal102 yet quite tiny, and whose fingers, wings and eyes were countless103 as the stars.
But all night long it watched and waited, rising to peer above the little balcony, and sometimes entering the room and piling up beside his very pillow. He dreamed of Sand.
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1
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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8
meander
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| n.河流的曲折，漫步，迂回旅行；v.缓慢而弯曲地流动，漫谈 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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obsessing
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| v.时刻困扰( obsess的现在分词 )；缠住；使痴迷；使迷恋 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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40
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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42
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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45
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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46
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vacuous
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| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
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48
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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49
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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50
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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51
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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52
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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53
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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54
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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55
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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56
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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57
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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58
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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59
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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60
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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61
mobility
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| n.可动性，变动性，情感不定 | |
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62
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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63
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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astronomer
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| n.天文学家 | |
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observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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ousted
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| 驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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100
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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101
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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103
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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