Adela, after years of intellectualism, had resumed her morning kneel to Christianity. There seemed no harm in it, it was the shortest and easiest cut to the unseen, and she could tack16 her troubles on to it. Just as the Hindu clerks asked Lakshmi for an increase in pay, so did she implore17 Jehovah for a favourable18 verdict. God who saves the King will surely support the police. Her deity19 returned a consoling reply, but the touch of her hands on her face started prickly heat, and she seemed to swallow and expectorate the same insipid20 clot21 of air that had weighed on her lungs all the night. Also the voice of Mrs. Turton disturbed her. “Are you ready, young lady?” it pealed22 from the next room.
“Half a minute,” she murmured. The Turtons had received her after Mrs. Moore left. Their kindness was incredible, but it was her position not her character that moved them; she was the English girl who had had the terrible experience, and for whom too much could not be done. No one, except Ronny, had any idea of what passed in her mind, and he only dimly, for where there is officialism every human relationship suffers. In her sadness she said to him, “I bring you nothing but trouble; I was right on the Maidan, we had better just be friends,” but he protested, for the more she suffered the more highly he valued her. Did she love him? This question was somehow draggled up with the Marabar, it had been in her mind as she entered the fatal cave. Was she capable of loving anyone?
“Miss Quested, Adela, what d’ye call yourself, it’s half-past seven; we ought to think of starting for that Court when you feel inclined.”
“She’s saying her prayers,” came the Collector’s voice.
“Sorry, my dear; take your time. . . . Was your chhota hazri all right?”
“I can’t eat; might I have a little brandy?” she asked, deserting Jehovah.
When it was brought, she shuddered24, and said she was ready to go.
“Drink it up; not a bad notion, a peg25.”
“I don’t think it’ll really help me, Burra Sahib.”
“You sent brandy down to the Court, didn’t you, Mary?”
“I should think I did, champagne26 too.”
“I’ll thank you this evening, I’m all to pieces now,” said the girl, forming each syllable27 carefully as if her trouble would diminish if it were accurately28 defined. She was afraid of reticence29, in case something that she herself did not perceive took shape beneath it, and she had rehearsed with Mr. McBryde in an odd, mincing30 way her terrible adventure in the cave, how the man had never actually touched her but dragged her about, and so on. Her aim this morning was to announce, meticulously31, that the strain was appalling32, and she would probably break down under Mr. Amritrao’s cross-examination and disgrace her friends. “My echo has come back again badly,” she told them.
“How about aspirin33?”
“It is not a headache, it is an echo.”
Unable to dispel34 the buzzing in her ears, Major Callendar had diagnosed it as a fancy, which must not be encouraged. So the Turtons changed the subject. The cool little lick of the breeze was passing over the earth, dividing night from day; it would fail in ten minutes, but they might profit by it for their drive down into the city.
“I am sure to break down,” she repeated.
“You won’t,” said the Collector, his voice full of tenderness.
“Of course she won’t, she’s a real sport.”
“But Mrs. Turton . . .”
“Yes, my dear child?”
“If I do break down, it is of no consequence. It would matter in some trials, not in this. I put it to myself in the following way: I can really behave as I like, cry, be absurd, I am sure to get my verdict, unless Mr. Das is most frightfully unjust.”
“You’re bound to win,” he said calmly, and did not remind her that there was bound to be an appeal. The Nawab Bahadur had financed the defence, and would ruin himself sooner than let an “innocent Moslem35 perish,” and other interests, less reputable, were in the background too. The case might go up from court to court, with consequences that no official could foresee. Under his very eyes, the temper of Chandrapore was altering. As his car turned out of the compound, there was a tap of silly anger on its paint—a pebble36 thrown by a child. Some larger stones were dropped near the mosque37. In the Maidan, a squad38 of native police on motor cycles waited to escort them through the bazaars39. The Collector was irritated and muttered, “McBryde’s an old woman”; but Mrs. Turton said, “Really, after Mohurram a show of force will do no harm; it’s ridiculous to pretend they don’t hate us, do give up that farce40.” He replied in an odd, sad voice, “I don’t hate them, I don’t know why,” and he didn’t hate them; for if he did, he would have had to condemn41 his own career as a bad investment. He retained a contemptuous affection for the pawns42 he had moved about for so many years, they must be worth his pains. “After all, it’s our women who make everything more difficult out here,” was his inmost thought, as he caught sight of some obscenities upon a long blank wall, and beneath his chivalry43 to Miss Quested resentment44 lurked45, waiting its day—perhaps there is a grain of resentment in all chivalry. Some students had gathered in front of the City Magistrate46’s Court—hysterical boys whom he would have faced if alone, but he told the driver to work round to the rear of the building. The students jeered47, and Rafi (hiding behind a comrade that he might not be identified) called out the English were cowards.
They gained Ronny’s private room, where a group of their own sort had collected. None were cowardly, all nervy, for queer reports kept coming in. The Sweepers had just struck, and half the commodes of Chandrapore remained desolate48 in consequence—only half, and Sweepers from the District, who felt less strongly about the innocence49 of Dr. Aziz, would arrive in the afternoon, and break the strike, but why should the grotesque50 incident occur? And a number of Mohammedan ladies had sworn to take no food until the prisoner was acquitted51; their death would make little difference, indeed, being invisible, they seemed dead already, nevertheless it was disquieting52. A new spirit seemed abroad, a rearrangement, which no one in the stern little band of whites could explain. There was a tendency to see Fielding at the back of it: the idea that he was weak and cranky had been dropped. They abused Fielding vigorously: he had been seen driving up with the two counsels, Amritrao and Mahmoud Ali; he encouraged the Boy Scout53 movement for seditious reasons; he received letters with foreign stamps on them, and was probably a Japanese spy. This morning’s verdict would break the renegade, but he had done his country and the Empire incalculable disservice. While they denounced him, Miss Quested lay back with her hands on the arms of her chair and her eyes closed, reserving her strength. They noticed her after a time, and felt ashamed of making so much noise.
“Can we do nothing for you?” Miss Derek said.
“I don’t think so, Nancy, and I seem able to do nothing for myself.”
“But you’re strictly55 forbidden to talk like that; you’re wonderful.”
“Yes indeed,” came the reverent56 chorus.
“My old Das is all right,” said Ronny, starting a new subject in low tones.
“Not one of them’s all right,” contradicted Major Callendar.
“Das is, really.”
“You mean he’s more frightened of acquitting57 than convicting, because if he acquits58 he’ll lose his job,” said Lesley with a clever little laugh.
Ronny did mean that, but he cherished “illusions” about his own subordinates (following the finer traditions of his service here), and he liked to maintain that his old Das really did possess moral courage of the Public School brand. He pointed59 out that—from one point of view—it was good that an Indian was taking the case. Conviction was inevitable60; so better let an Indian pronounce it, there would be less fuss in the long run. Interested in the argument, he let Adela become dim in his mind.
“In fact, you disapprove61 of the appeal I forwarded to Lady Mellanby,” said Mrs. Turton with considerable heat. “Pray don’t apologize, Mr. Heaslop; I am accustomed to being in the wrong.”
“I didn’t mean that . . .”
“All right. I said don’t apologize.”
“Those swine are always on the look-out for a grievance62,” said Lesley, to propitiate63 her.
“Swine, I should think so,” the Major echoed. “And what’s more, I’ll tell you what. What’s happened is a damn good thing really, barring of course its application to present company. It’ll make them squeal64 and it’s time they did squeal. I’ve put the fear of God into them at the hospital anyhow. You should see the grandson of our so-called leading loyalist.” He tittered brutally65 as he described poor Nureddin’s present appearance.
“His beauty’s gone, five upper teeth, two lower and a nostril66. . . . Old Panna Lal brought him the looking-glass yesterday and he blubbered. . . . I laughed; I laughed, I tell you, and so would you; that used to be one of these buck67 niggers, I thought, now he’s all septic; damn him, blast his soul—er—I believe he was unspeakably immoral—er——” He subsided68, nudged in the ribs69, but added, “I wish I’d had the cutting up of my late assistant too; nothing’s too bad for these people.”
“At last some sense is being talked,” Mrs. Turton cried, much to her husband’s discomfort70.
“That’s what I say; I say there’s not such a thing as cruelty after a thing like this.”
“Exactly, and remember it afterwards, you men. You’re weak, weak, weak. Why, they ought to crawl from here to the caves on their hands and knees whenever an Englishwoman’s in sight, they oughtn’t to be spoken to, they ought to be spat at, they ought to be ground into the dust, we’ve been far too kind with our Bridge Parties and the rest.”
She paused. Profiting by her wrath72, the heat had invaded her. She subsided into a lemon squash, and continued between the sips73 to murmur23, “Weak, weak.” And the process was repeated. The issues Miss Quested had raised were so much more important than she was herself that people inevitably74 forgot her.
Presently the case was called.
Their chairs preceded them into the Court, for it was important that they should look dignified75. And when the chuprassies had made all ready, they filed into the ramshackly room with a condescending76 air, as if it was a booth at a fair. The Collector made a small official joke as he sat down, at which his entourage smiled, and the Indians, who could not hear what he said, felt that some new cruelty was afoot, otherwise the sahibs would not chuckle78.
The Court was crowded and of course very hot, and the first person Adela noticed in it was the humblest of all who were present, a person who had no bearing officially upon the trial: the man who pulled the punkah. Almost naked, and splendidly formed, he sat on a raised platform near the back, in the middle of the central gangway, and he caught her attention as she came in, and he seemed to control the proceedings79. He had the strength and beauty that sometimes come to flower in Indians of low birth. When that strange race nears the dust and is condemned80 as untouchable, then nature remembers the physical perfection that she accomplished81 elsewhere, and throws out a god—not many, but one here and there, to prove to society how little its categories impress her. This man would have been notable anywhere: among the thin-hammed, flat-chested mediocrities of Chandrapore he stood out as divine, yet he was of the city, its garbage had nourished him, he would end on its rubbish heaps. Pulling the rope towards him, relaxing it rhythmically82, sending swirls83 of air over others, receiving none himself, he seemed apart from human destinies, a male fate, a winnower84 of souls. Opposite him, also on a platform, sat the little assistant magistrate, cultivated, self-conscious, and conscientious85. The punkah wallah was none of these things: he scarcely knew that he existed and did not understand why the Court was fuller than usual, indeed he did not know that it was fuller than usual, didn’t even know he worked a fan, though he thought he pulled a rope. Something in his aloofness86 impressed the girl from middle-class England, and rebuked87 the narrowness of her sufferings. In virtue88 of what had she collected this roomful of people together? Her particular brand of opinions, and the suburban89 Jehovah who sanctified them—by what right did they claim so much importance in the world, and assume the title of civilization? Mrs. Moore—she looked round, but Mrs. Moore was far away on the sea; it was the kind of question they might have discussed on the voyage out before the old lady had turned disagreeable and queer.
While thinking of Mrs. Moore she heard sounds, which gradually grew more distinct. The epoch-making trial had started, and the Superintendent90 of Police was opening the case for the prosecution91.
Mr. McBryde was not at pains to be an interesting speaker; he left eloquence92 to the defence, who would require it. His attitude was, “Everyone knows the man’s guilty, and I am obliged to say so in public before he goes to the Andamans.” He made no moral or emotional appeal, and it was only by degrees that the studied negligence93 of his manner made itself felt, and lashed2 part of the audience to fury. Laboriously94 did he describe the genesis of the picnic. The prisoner had met Miss Quested at an entertainment given by the Principal of Government College, and had there conceived his intentions concerning her: prisoner was a man of loose life, as documents found upon him at his arrest would testify, also his fellow-assistant, Dr. Panna Lal, was in a position to throw light on his character, and Major Callendar himself would speak. Here Mr. McBryde paused. He wanted to keep the proceedings as clean as possible, but Oriental Pathology, his favourite theme, lay around him, and he could not resist it. Taking off his spectacles, as was his habit before enunciating a general truth, he looked into them sadly, and remarked that the darker races are physically95 attracted by the fairer, but not vice54 versa—not a matter for bitterness this, not a matter for abuse, but just a fact which any scientific observer will confirm.
“Even when the lady is so uglier than the gentleman?” The comment fell from nowhere, from the ceiling perhaps. It was the first interruption, and the Magistrate felt bound to censure96 it. “Turn that man out,” he said. One of the native policemen took hold of a man who had said nothing, and turned him out roughly.
Mr. McBryde resumed his spectacles and proceeded. But the comment had upset Miss Quested. Her body resented being called ugly, and trembled.
“Do you feel faint, Adela?” asked Miss Derek, who tended her with loving indignation.
“I never feel anything else, Nancy. I shall get through, but it’s awful, awful.”
This led to the first of a series of scenes. Her friends began to fuss around her, and the Major called out, “I must have better arrangements than this made for my patient; why isn’t she given a seat on the platform? She gets no air.”
Mr. Das looked annoyed and said: “I shall be happy to accommodate Miss Quested with a chair up here in view of the particular circumstances of her health.” The chuprassies passed up not one chair but several, and the entire party followed Adela on to the platform, Mr. Fielding being the only European who remained in the body of the hall.
“That’s better,” remarked Mrs. Turton, as she settled herself.
“Thoroughly desirable change for several reasons,” replied the Major.
The Magistrate knew that he ought to censure this remark, but did not dare to. Callendar saw that he was afraid, and called out authoritatively97, “Right, McBryde, go ahead now; sorry to have interrupted you.”
“Are you all right yourselves?” asked the Superintendent.
“We shall do, we shall do.”
“Go on, Mr. Das, we are not here to disturb you,” said the Collector patronizingly. Indeed, they had not so much disturbed the trial as taken charge of it.
While the prosecution continued, Miss Quested examined the hall—timidly at first, as though it would scorch98 her eyes. She observed to left and right of the punkah man many a half-known face. Beneath her were gathered all the wreckage99 of her silly attempt to see India—the people she had met at the Bridge Party, the man and his wife who hadn’t sent their carriage, the old man who would lend his car, various servants, villagers, officials, and the prisoner himself. There he sat—strong, neat little Indian with very black hair, and pliant100 hands. She viewed him without special emotion. Since they last met, she had elevated him into a principle of evil, but now he seemed to be what he had always been—a slight acquaintance. He was negligible, devoid101 of significance, dry like a bone, and though he was “guilty” no atmosphere of sin surrounded him. “I suppose he is guilty. Can I possibly have made a mistake?” she thought. For this question still occurred to her intellect, though since Mrs. Moore’s departure it had ceased to trouble her conscience.
Pleader Mahmoud Ali now arose, and asked with ponderous102 and ill-judged irony103 whether his client could be accommodated on the platform too: even Indians felt unwell sometimes, though naturally Major Callendar did not think so, being in charge of a Government Hospital. “Another example of their exquisite sense of humour,” sang Miss Derek. Ronny looked at Mr. Das to see how he would handle the difficulty, and Mr. Das became agitated105, and snubbed Pleader Mahmoud Ali severely106.
“Excuse me——” It was the turn of the eminent107 barrister from Calcutta. He was a fine-looking man, large and bony, with grey closely cropped hair. “We object to the presence of so many European ladies and gentlemen upon the platform,” he said in an Oxford108 voice. “They will have the effect of intimidating109 our witnesses. Their place is with the rest of the public in the body of the hall. We have no objection to Miss Quested remaining on the platform, since she has been unwell; we shall extend every courtesy to her throughout, despite the scientific truths revealed to us by the District Superintendent of Police; but we do object to the others.”
“Oh, cut the cackle and let’s have the verdict,” the Major growled110.
The distinguished111 visitor gazed at the Magistrate respectfully.
“I agree to that,” said Mr. Das, hiding his face desperately112 in some papers. “It was only to Miss Quested that I gave permission to sit up here. Her friends should be so excessively kind as to climb down.”
“Well done, Das, quite sound,” said Ronny with devastating113 honesty.
“Climb down, indeed, what incredible impertinence!” Mrs. Turton cried.
“Do come quietly, Mary,” murmured her husband.
“Hi! my patient can’t be left unattended.”
“Do you object to the Civil Surgeon remaining, Mr. Amritrao?”
“I should object. A platform confers authority.”
“Even when it’s one foot high; so come along all,” said the Collector, trying to laugh.
“Thank you very much, sir,” said Mr. Das, greatly relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Heaslop; thank you ladies all.”
And the party, including Miss Quested, descended114 from its rash eminence115. The news of their humiliation116 spread quickly, and people jeered outside. Their special chairs followed them. Mahmoud Ali (who was quite silly and useless with hatred117) objected even to these; by whose authority had special chairs been introduced, why had the Nawab Bahadur not been given one? etc. People began to talk all over the room, about chairs ordinary and special, strips of carpet, platforms one foot high.
But the little excursion had a good effect on Miss Quested’s nerves. She felt easier now that she had seen all the people who were in the room. It was like knowing the worst. She was sure now that she should come through “all right”—that is to say, without spiritual disgrace, and she passed the good news on to Ronny and Mrs. Turton. They were too much agitated with the defeat to British prestige to be interested. From where she sat, she could see the renegade Mr. Fielding. She had had a better view of him from the platform, and knew that an Indian child perched on his knee. He was watching the proceedings, watching her. When their eyes met, he turned his away, as if direct intercourse118 was of no interest to him.
The Magistrate was also happier. He had won the battle of the platform, and gained confidence. Intelligent and impartial119, he continued to listen to the evidence, and tried to forget that later on he should have to pronounce a verdict in accordance with it. The Superintendent trundled steadily120 forward: he had expected these outbursts of insolence—they are the natural gestures of an inferior race, and he betrayed no hatred of Aziz, merely an abysmal121 contempt.
The speech dealt at length with the “prisoner’s dupes,” as they were called—Fielding, the servant Antony, the Nawab Bahadur. This aspect of the case had always seemed dubious122 to Miss Quested, and she had asked the police not to develop it. But they were playing for a heavy sentence, and wanted to prove that the assault was premeditated. And in order to illustrate123 the strategy, they produced a plan of the Marabar Hills, showing the route that the party had taken, and the “Tank of the Dagger” where they had camped.
The Magistrate displayed interest in archæology.
An elevation124 of a specimen125 cave was produced; it was lettered “Buddhist126 Cave.”
“Not Buddhist, I think, Jain. . . .”
“In which cave is the offence alleged127, the Buddhist or the Jain?” asked Mahmoud Ali, with the air of unmasking a conspiracy128.
“All the Marabar caves are Jain.”
“Yes, sir; then in which Jain cave?”
“You will have an opportunity of putting such questions later.”
Mr. McBryde smiled faintly at their fatuity129. Indians invariably collapse130 over some such point as this. He knew that the defence had some wild hope of establishing an alibi131, that they had tried (unsuccessfully) to identify the guide, and that Fielding and Hamidullah had gone out to the Kawa Dol and paced and measured all one moonlit night. “Mr. Lesley says they’re Buddhist, and he ought to know if anyone does. But may I call attention to the shape?” And he described what had occurred there. Then he spoke71 of Miss Derek’s arrival, of the scramble132 down the gully, of the return of the two ladies to Chandrapore, and of the document Miss Quested signed on her arrival, in which mention was made of the field-glasses. And then came the culminating evidence: the discovery of the field-glasses on the prisoner. “I have nothing to add at present,” he concluded, removing his spectacles. “I will now call my witnesses. The facts will speak for themselves. The prisoner is one of those individuals who have led a double life. I dare say his degeneracy gained upon him gradually. He has been very cunning at concealing133, as is usual with the type, and pretending to be a respectable member of society, getting a Government position even. He is now entirely134 vicious and beyond redemption, I am afraid. He behaved most cruelly, most brutally, to another of his guests, another English lady. In order to get rid of her, and leave him free for his crime, he crushed her into a cave among his servants. However, that is by the way.”
But his last words brought on another storm, and suddenly a new name, Mrs. Moore, burst on the court like a whirlwind. Mahmoud Ali had been enraged135, his nerves snapped; he shrieked136 like a maniac137, and asked whether his client was charged with murder as well as rape138, and who was this second English lady.
“I don’t propose to call her.”
“You don’t because you can’t, you have smuggled139 her out of the country; she is Mrs. Moore, she would have proved his innocence, she was on our side, she was poor Indians’ friend.”
“You could have called her yourself,” cried the Magistrate. “Neither side called her, neither must quote her as evidence.”
“She was kept from us until too late—I learn too late—this is English justice, here is your British Raj. Give us back Mrs. Moore for five minutes only, and she will save my friend, she will save the name of his sons; don’t rule her out, Mr. Das; take back those words as you yourself are a father; tell me where they have put her, oh, Mrs. Moore. . . .”
“If the point is of any interest, my mother should have reached Aden,” said Ronny dryly; he ought not to have intervened, but the onslaught had startled him.
“Imprisoned by you there because she knew the truth.” He was almost out of his mind, and could be heard saying above the tumult140: “I ruin my career, no matter; we are all to be ruined one by one.”
“This is no way to defend your case,” counselled the Magistrate.
“I am not defending a case, nor are you trying one. We are both of us slaves.”
“Mr. Mahmoud Ali, I have already warned you, and unless you sit down I shall exercise my authority.”
“Do so; this trial is a farce, I am going.” And he handed his papers to Amritrao and left, calling from the door histrionically yet with intense passion, “Aziz, Aziz—farewell for ever.” The tumult increased, the invocation of Mrs. Moore continued, and people who did not know what the syllables141 meant repeated them like a charm. They became Indianized into Esmiss Esmoor, they were taken up in the street outside. In vain the Magistrate threatened and expelled. Until the magic exhausted142 itself, he was powerless.
“Unexpected,” remarked Mr. Turton.
Ronny furnished the explanation. Before she sailed, his mother had taken to talk about the Marabar in her sleep, especially in the afternoon when servants were on the verandah, and her disjointed remarks on Aziz had doubtless been sold to Mahmoud Ali for a few annas: that kind of thing never ceases in the East.
“I thought they’d try something of the sort. Ingenious.” He looked into their wide-open mouths. “They get just like over their religion,” he added calmly. “Start and can’t stop. I’m sorry for your old Das, he’s not getting much of a show.”
“Mr. Heaslop, how disgraceful dragging in your dear mother,” said Miss Derek, bending forward.
“It’s just a trick, and they happened to pull it off. Now one sees why they had Mahmoud Ali—just to make a scene on the chance. It is his speciality.” But he disliked it more than he showed. It was revolting to hear his mother travestied into Esmiss Esmoor, a Hindu goddess.
“Esmiss Esmoor
Esmiss Esmoor
Esmiss Esmoor
Esmiss Esmoor. . . .”
“Ronny——”
“Yes, old girl?”
“Isn’t it all queer.”
“I’m afraid it’s very upsetting for you.”
“Not the least. I don’t mind it.”
“Well, that’s good.”
She had spoken more naturally and healthily than usual. Bending into the middle of her friends, she said: “Don’t worry about me, I’m much better than I was; I don’t feel the least faint; I shall be all right, and thank you all, thank you, thank you for your kindness.” She had to shout her gratitude143, for the chant, Esmiss Esmoor, went on.
Suddenly it stopped. It was as if the prayer had been heard, and the relics144 exhibited. “I apologize for my colleague,” said Mr. Amritrao, rather to everyone’s surprise. “He is an intimate friend of our client, and his feelings have carried him away.”
“Mr. Mahmoud Ali will have to apologize in person,” the Magistrate said.
“Exactly, sir, he must. But we had just learnt that Mrs. Moore had important evidence which she desired to give. She was hurried out of the country by her son before she could give it; and this unhinged Mr. Mahmoud Ali—coming as it does upon an attempt to intimidate145 our only other European witness, Mr. Fielding. Mr. Mahmoud Ali would have said nothing had not Mrs. Moore been claimed as a witness by the police.” He sat down.
“An extraneous146 element is being introduced into the case,” said the Magistrate. “I must repeat that as a witness Mrs. Moore does not exist. Neither you, Mr. Amritrao, nor, Mr. McBryde, you, have any right to surmise147 what that lady would have said. She is not here, and consequently she can say nothing.”
“Well, I withdraw my reference,” said the Superintendent wearily. “I would have done so fifteen minutes ago if I had been given the chance. She is not of the least importance to me.”
“I have already withdrawn148 it for the defence.” He added with forensic149 humour: “Perhaps you can persuade the gentlemen outside to withdraw it too,” for the refrain in the street continued.
“I am afraid my powers do not extend so far,” said Das, smiling.
So peace was restored, and when Adela came to give her evidence the atmosphere was quieter than it had been since the beginning of the trial. Experts were not surprised. There is no stay in your native. He blazes up over a minor150 point, and has nothing left for the crisis. What he seeks is a grievance, and this he had found in the supposed abduction of an old lady. He would now be less aggrieved151 when Aziz was deported152.
But the crisis was still to come.
Adela had always meant to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, and she had rehearsed this as a difficult task—difficult, because her disaster in the cave was connected, though by a thread, with another part of her life, her engagement to Ronny. She had thought of love just before she went in, and had innocently asked Aziz what marriage was like, and she supposed that her question had roused evil in him. To recount this would have been incredibly painful, it was the one point she wanted to keep obscure; she was willing to give details that would have distressed153 other girls, but this story of her private failure she dared not allude154 to, and she dreaded155 being examined in public in case something came out. But as soon as she rose to reply, and heard the sound of her own voice, she feared not even that. A new and unknown sensation protected her, like magnificent armour156. She didn’t think what had happened, or even remember in the ordinary way of memory, but she returned to the Marabar Hills, and spoke from them across a sort of darkness to Mr. McBryde. The fatal day recurred157, in every detail, but now she was of it and not of it at the same time, and this double relation gave it indescribable splendour. Why had she thought the expedition “dull”? Now the sun rose again, the elephant waited, the pale masses of the rock flowed round her and presented the first cave; she entered, and a match was reflected in the polished walls—all beautiful and significant, though she had been blind to it at the time. Questions were asked, and to each she found the exact reply; yes, she had noticed the “Tank of the Dagger,” but not known its name; yes, Mrs. Moore had been tired after the first cave and sat in the shadow of a great rock, near the dried-up mud. Smoothly158 the voice in the distance proceeded, leading along the paths of truth, and the airs from the punkah behind her wafted159 her on. . . .
“. . . the prisoner and the guide took you on to the Kawa Dol, no one else being present?”
“The most wonderfully shaped of those hills. Yes.” As she spoke, she created the Kawa Dol, saw the niches160 up the curve of the stone, and felt the heat strike her face. And something caused her to add: “No one else was present to my knowledge. We appeared to be alone.”
“Very well, there is a ledge161 half-way up the hill, or broken ground rather, with caves scattered162 near the beginning of a nullah.”
“I know where you mean.”
“You went alone into one of those caves?”
“That is quite correct.”
“And the prisoner followed you.”
“Now we’ve got ’im,” from the Major.
She was silent. The court, the place of question, awaited her reply. But she could not give it until Aziz entered the place of answer.
“The prisoner followed you, didn’t he?” he repeated in the monotonous163 tones that they both used; they were employing agreed words throughout, so that this part of the proceedings held no surprises.
“May I have half a minute before I reply to that, Mr. McBryde?”
“Certainly.”
Her vision was of several caves. She saw herself in one, and she was also outside it, watching its entrance, for Aziz to pass in. She failed to locate him. It was the doubt that had often visited her, but solid and attractive, like the hills, “I am not——” Speech was more difficult than vision. “I am not quite sure.”
“I beg your pardon?” said the Superintendent of Police.
“I cannot be sure . . .”
“I didn’t catch that answer.” He looked scared, his mouth shut with a snap. “You are on that landing, or whatever we term it, and you have entered a cave. I suggest to you that the prisoner followed you.”
She shook her head.
“What do you mean, please?”
“No,” she said in a flat, unattractive voice. Slight noises began in various parts of the room, but no one yet understood what was occurring except Fielding. He saw that she was going to have a nervous breakdown164 and that his friend was saved.
“What is that, what are you saying? Speak up, please.” The Magistrate bent165 forward.
“I’m afraid I have made a mistake.”
“What nature of mistake?”
“Dr. Aziz never followed me into the cave.”
The Superintendent slammed down his papers, then picked them up and said calmly: “Now, Miss Quested, let us go on. I will read you the words of the deposition166 which you signed two hours later in my bungalow167.”
“Excuse me, Mr. McBryde, you cannot go on. I am speaking to the witness myself. And the public will be silent. If it continues to talk, I have the court cleared. Miss Quested, address your remarks to me, who am the Magistrate in charge of the case, and realize their extreme gravity. Remember you speak on oath, Miss Quested.”
“Dr. Aziz never——”
“I stop these proceedings on medical grounds,” cried the Major on a word from Turton, and all the English rose from their chairs at once, large white figures behind which the little magistrate was hidden. The Indians rose too, hundreds of things went on at once, so that afterwards each person gave a different account of the catastrophe168.
“You withdraw the charge? Answer me,” shrieked the representative of Justice.
Something that she did not understand took hold of the girl and pulled her through. Though the vision was over, and she had returned to the insipidity169 of the world, she remembered what she had learnt. Atonement and confession—they could wait. It was in hard prosaic170 tones that she said, “I withdraw everything.”
“Enough—sit down. Mr. McBryde, do you wish to continue in the face of this?”
The Superintendent gazed at his witness as if she was a broken machine, and said, “Are you mad?”
“Don’t question her, sir; you have no longer the right.”
“Give me time to consider——”
“Sahib, you will have to withdraw; this becomes a scandal,” boomed the Nawab Bahadur suddenly from the back of the court.
“He shall not,” shouted Mrs. Turton against the gathering171 tumult. “Call the other witnesses; we’re none of us safe——” Ronny tried to check her, and she gave him an irritable172 blow, then screamed insults at Adela.
The Superintendent moved to the support of his friends, saying nonchalantly to the Magistrate as he did so, “Right, I withdraw.”
Mr. Das rose, nearly dead with the strain. He had controlled the case, just controlled it. He had shown that an Indian can preside. To those who could hear him he said, “The prisoner is released without one stain on his character; the question of costs will be decided173 elsewhere.”
And then the flimsy framework of the court broke up, the shouts of derision and rage culminated174, people screamed and cursed, kissed one another, wept passionately175. Here were the English, whom their servants protected, there Aziz fainted in Hamidullah’s arms. Victory on this side, defeat on that—complete for one moment was the antithesis176. Then life returned to its complexities177, person after person struggled out of the room to their various purposes, and before long no one remained on the scene of the fantasy but the beautiful naked god. Unaware178 that anything unusual had occurred, he continued to pull the cord of his punkah, to gaze at the empty dais and the overturned special chairs, and rhythmically to agitate104 the clouds of descending77 dust.
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1
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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2
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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3
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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4
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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7
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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9
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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10
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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11
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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12
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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13
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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14
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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15
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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16
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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17
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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18
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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19
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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20
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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21
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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22
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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24
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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25
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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26
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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27
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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28
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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29
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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30
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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31
meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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32
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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33
aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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34
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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35
Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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36
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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37
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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38
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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39
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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40
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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41
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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42
pawns
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| n.（国际象棋中的）兵( pawn的名词复数 )；卒；被人利用的人；小卒v.典当，抵押( pawn的第三人称单数 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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43
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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44
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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45
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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47
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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49
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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50
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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51
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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52
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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53
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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54
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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55
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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56
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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57
acquitting
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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58
acquits
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的第三人称单数 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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59
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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60
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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61
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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62
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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63
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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64
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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65
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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66
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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67
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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68
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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69
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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70
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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71
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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72
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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73
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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75
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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76
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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77
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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78
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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79
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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80
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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81
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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82
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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83
swirls
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| n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 )；卷状物；漩涡；尘旋v.旋转，打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
winnower
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| n.扬谷（或场）者，扬谷器，风车；扇车；簸谷机 | |
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85
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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86
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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87
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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89
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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90
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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91
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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92
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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93
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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94
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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95
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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96
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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97
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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98
scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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99
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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100
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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101
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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102
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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103
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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104
agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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105
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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106
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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107
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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108
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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109
intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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110
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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111
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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112
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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113
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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114
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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115
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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116
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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117
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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118
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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119
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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120
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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121
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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123
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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124
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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125
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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126
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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127
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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128
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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129
fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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130
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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131
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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138
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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140
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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141
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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142
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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143
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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144
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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167
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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169
insipidity
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| n.枯燥无味，清淡，无精神；无生气状 | |
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170
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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171
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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172
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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173
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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174
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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176
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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177
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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