THE blinding June sky of Africa hung over the town. In the doorway1 of an Arab coffee-house a young man stood listening to the remarks exchanged by the patrons of the establishment, who lay in torpid2 heaps on the low shelf bordering the room.
The young man’s caftan was faded to a dingy3 brown, but the muslin garment covering it was clean, and so was the turban wound about his shabby fez.
Cleanliness was not the most marked characteristic of the conversation to which he lent a listless ear. It was no prurient4 curiosity that fixed5 his attention on this placid6 exchange of obscenities: he had lived too long in Morocco for obscenities not to have lost their savour. But he had never quite overcome the fascinated disgust with which he listened, nor the hope that one among the talkers would suddenly reveal some sense of a higher ideal, of what, at home, the earnest women he knew used solemnly to call a Purpose. He was sure that, some day, such a sign would come, and then —
Meanwhile, at that hour, there was nothing on earth to do in Eloued but to stand and listen —
The bazaar7 was beginning to fill up. Looking down the vaulted8 tunnel which led to the coffee-house the young man watched the thickening throng9 of shoppers and idlers. The fat merchant whose shop faced the end of the tunnel had just ridden up and rolled off his mule10, while his black boy unbarred the door of the niche11 hung with embroidered12 slippers13 where the master throned. The young man in the faded caftan, watching the merchant scramble14 up and sink into his cushions, wondered for the thousandth time what he thought about all day in his dim stifling15 kennel16, and what he did when he was away from it . . . for no length of residence in that dark land seemed to bring one nearer to finding out what the heathen thought and did when the eye of the Christian17 was off him.
Suddenly a wave of excitement ran through the crowd. Every head turned in the same direction, and even the camels bent18 their frowning faces and stretched their necks all one way, as animals do before a storm. A wild hoot19 had penetrated20 the bazaar, howling through the long white tunnels and under the reed-woven roofs like a Djinn among dishonoured21 graves. The heart of the young man began to beat.
“It sounds,” he thought, “like a motor . . . ”
But a motor at Eloued! There was one, every one knew, in the Sultan’s Palace. It had been brought there years ago by a foreign Ambassador, as a gift from his sovereign, and was variously reported to be made entirely22 of aluminium23, platinum24 or silver. But the parts had never been put together, the body had long been used for breeding silk-worms in — a not wholly successful experiment — and the acetylene lamps adorned25 the Pasha’s gardens on state occasions. As for the horn, it had been sent as a gift, with a choice panoply26 of arms, to the Ca?d of the Red Mountain; but as the india-rubber bulb had accidentally been left behind, it was certainly not the Ca?d’s visit which the present discordant27 cries announced . . .
“Hullo, you old dromedary! How’s the folks up state?” cried a ringing voice. The awestruck populace gave way, and a young man in linen28 duster and motor cap, slipping under the interwoven necks of the astonished camels, strode down the tunnel with an air of authority and clapped a hand on the dreamer in the doorway.
“Harry29 Spink!” the latter gasped30 in a startled whisper, and with an intonation31 as un-African as his friend’s. At the same instant he glanced over his shoulder, and his mild lips formed a cautious: “‘sh.”
“Who’d you take me for — Gabby Deslys?” asked the newcomer gaily32; then, seeing that this topical allusion33 hung fire: “And what the dickens are you ‘hushing’ for, anyhow? You don’t suppose, do you, that anybody in the bazaar thinks you’re a native? D’y’ ever look at your chin? Or that Adam’s apple running up and down you like a bead34 on a billiard marker’s wire? See here, Willard Bent . . . ”
The young man in the caftan blushed distressfully, not so much at the graphic35 reference to his looks as at the doubt cast on his disguise.
“I do assure you, Harry, I pick up a great deal of . . . of useful information . . . in this way . . . ”
“Oh, get out,” said Harry Spink cheerfully. “You believe all that still, do you? What’s the good of it all, anyway?”
Willard Bent passed a hand under the other’s arm and led him through the coffeehouse into an empty room at the back. They sat down on a shelf covered with matting and looked at each other earnestly.
“Don’t you believe any longer, Harry Spink?” asked Willard Bent.
“Don’t have to. I’m travelling for rubber now.”
“Oh, merciful heaven! Was that your automobile36?”
“Sure.”
There was a long silence, during which
Bent sat with bowed head gazing on the earthen floor, while the bead in his throat performed its most active gymnastics. At last he lifted his eyes and fixed them on the tight red face of his companion.
“When did your faith fail you?” he asked.
The other considered him humorously. “Why — when I got onto this job, I guess.”
Willard Bent rose and held out his hand.
“Good-bye . . . I must go . . . If I can be of any use . . . you know where to find me . . . ”
“Any use? Say, old man, what’s wrong? Are you trying to shake me?” Bent was silent, and Harry Spink continued insidiously37: “Ain’t you a mite38 hard on me? I thought the heathen was just what you was laying for.”
Bent smiled mournfully. “There’s no use trying to convert a renegade.”
“That what I am? Well — all right. But how about the others? Say — let’s order a lap of tea and have it out right here.”
Bent seemed to hesitate; but at length he rose, put back the matting that screened the inner room, and said a word to the proprietor39. Presently a scrofulous boy with gazelle eyes brought a brass40 tray bearing glasses and pipes of kif, gazed earnestly at the stranger in the linen duster, and slid back behind the matting.
“Of course,” Bent began, “a good many people know I am a Baptist missionary41” — (“No?” from Spink, incredulously) — “but in the crowd of the bazaar they don’t notice me, and I hear things . . . ”
“Golly! I should suppose you did.”
“I mean, things that may be useful. You know Mr. Blandhorn’s idea . . . ”
A tinge42 of respectful commiseration43 veiled the easy impudence44 of the drummer’s look. “The old man still here, is he?”
“Oh, yes; of course. He will never leave Eloued.”
“And the missus —?”
Bent again lowered his naturally low voice. “She died — a year ago — of the climate. The doctor had warned her; but Mr. Blandhorn felt a call to remain here.”
“And she wouldn’t leave without him?”
“Oh, she felt a call too . . . among the women . . . ”
Spink pondered. “How many years you been here, Willard?”
“Ten next July,” the other responded, as if he had added up the weeks and months so often that the reply was always on his lips.
“And the old man?”
“Twenty-five last April. We had planned a celebration . . . before Mrs. Blandhorn died. There was to have been a testimonial offered . . . but, owing to her death, Mr. Blandhorn preferred to devote the sum to our dispensary.”
“I see. How much?” said Spink sharply.
“It wouldn’t seem much to you. I believe about fifty pesetas . . .
“Two pesetas a year? Lucky the Society looks after you, ain’t it?”
Willard Bent met his ironic45 glance steadily46. “We’re not here to trade,” he said with dignity.
“No — that’s right too — ” Spink reddened slightly. “Well, all I meant was — look at here, Willard, we’re old friends, even if I did go wrong, as I suppose you’d call it. I was in this thing near on a year myself, and what always tormented47 me was this: What does it all amount to?”
“Amount to?”
“Yes. I mean, what’s the results? Supposing you was a fisherman. Well, if you fished a bit of river year after year, and never had a nibble48, you’d do one of two things, wouldn’t you? Move away — or lie about it. See?”
Bent nodded without speaking. Spink set down his glass and busied himself with the lighting49 of his long slender pipe. “Say, this mint-julep feels like old times,” he remarked.
Bent continued to gaze frowningly into his untouched glass. At length he swallowed the sweet decoction at a gulp50, and turned to his companion.
“I’d never lie . . . ” he murmured. “Well — ”
“I’m — I’m still — waiting . . . ”
“Waiting —?”
“Yes. The wind bloweth where it listeth. If St. Paul had stopped to count . . . in Corinth, say. As I take it — ” he looked long and passionately51 at the drummer — “as I take it, the thing is to be St. Paul.”
Harry Spink remained unimpressed. “That’s all talk — I heard all that when I was here before. What I want to know is: What’s your bag? How many?”
“It’s difficult — ”
“I see: like the pigs. They run around so!”
Both the young men were silent, Spink pulling at his pipe, the other sitting with bent head, his eyes obstinately52 fixed on the beaten floor. At length Spink rose and tapped the missionary on the shoulder.
“Say — s’posin’ we take a look around Corinth? I got to get onto my job tomorrow, but I’d like to take a turn round the old place first.”
Willard Bent rose also. He felt singularly old and tired, and his mind was full of doubt as to what he ought to do. If he refused to accompany Harry Spink, a former friend and fellow-worker, it might look like running away from his questions . . .
They went out together.
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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prurient
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| adj.好色的，淫乱的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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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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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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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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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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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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aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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51
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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