Who hath desired the Sea — the sight of salt-water unbounded?
His Sea in no showing the same — his Sea and the same ‘neath all showing —
His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise hill-men desire their Hills!
The Sea and the Hills.
‘I have found my heart again,’ said E23, under cover of the platform’s tumult5. ‘Hunger and fear make men dazed, or I might have thought of this escape before. I was right. They come to hunt for me. Thou hast saved my head.’
A group of yellow-trousered Punjab policemen, headed by a hot and perspiring6 young Englishman, parted the crowd about the carriages. Behind them, inconspicuous as a cat, ambled9 a small fat person who looked like a lawyer’s tout10.
‘See the young Sahib reading from a paper. My description is in his hand,’ said E23. ‘Thev go carriage by carriage, like fisher-folk netting a pool.’
When the procession reached their compartment11, E23 was counting his beads12 with a steady jerk of the wrist; while Kim jeered13 at him for being so drugged as to have lost the ringed fire-tongs which are the Saddhu’s distinguishing mark. The lama, deep in meditation14, stared straight before him; and the farmer, glancing furtively15, gathered up his belongings16.
‘Nothing here but a parcel of holy-bolies,’ said the Englishman aloud, and passed on amid a ripple17 of uneasiness; for native police mean extortion to the native all India over.
‘The trouble now,’ whispered E23, ‘lies in sending a wire as to the place where I hid that letter I was sent to find. I cannot go to the tar-office in this guise18.’
‘Is it not enough I have saved thy neck?’
‘Not if the work be left unfinished. Did never the healer of sick pearls tell thee so? Comes another Sahib! Ah!’
This was a tallish, sallowish District Superintendent19 of Police — belt, helmet, polished spurs and all — strutting20 and twirling his dark moustache.
E23 glanced up under his eyelids22. ‘It is well said,’ he muttered in a changed voice. ‘I go to drink water. Keep my place.’
He blundered out almost into the Englishman’s arms, and was bad-worded in clumsy Urdu.
‘Tum mut? You drunk? You mustn’t bang about as though Delhi station belonged to you, my friend.’
E23, not moving a muscle of his countenance23, answered with a stream of the filthiest24 abuse, at which Kim naturally rejoiced. It reminded him of the drummer-boys and the barrack-sweepers at Umballa in the terrible time of his first schooling25.
‘My good fool,’ the Englishman drawled. ‘Nickle-jao! Go back to your carriage.’
Step by step, withdrawing deferentially26 and dropping his voice, the yellow Saddhu clomb back to the carriage, cursing the D.S.P. to remotest posterity27, by — here Kim almost jumped — by the curse of the Queen’s Stone, by the writing under the Queen’s Stone, and by an assortment28 of Gods “with wholly, new names.
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ — the Englishman flushed angrily — ‘but it’s some piece of blasted impertinence. Come out of that!’
E23, affecting to misunderstand, gravely produced his ticket, which the Englishman wrenched30 angrily from his hand.
‘Oh, zoolum! What oppression!’ growled31 the Jat from his corner. ‘All for the sake of a jest too.’ He had been grinning at the freedom of the Saddhu’s tongue. ‘Thy charms do not work well today, Holy One!’
The Saddhu followed the policeman, fawning32 and supplicating33. The ruck of passengers, busy, with their babies and their bundles, had not noticed the affair. Kim slipped out behind him; for it flashed through his head that he had heard this angry, stupid Sahib discoursing34 loud personalities35 to an old lady near Umballa three years ago.
‘It is well’, the Saddhu whispered, jammed in the calling, shouting, bewildered press — a Persian greyhound between his feet and a cageful of yelling hawks36 under charge of a Rajput falconer in the small of his back. ‘He has gone now to send word of the letter which I hid. They told me he was in Peshawur. I might have known that he is like the crocodile — always at the other ford37. He has saved me from present calamity38, but I owe my life to thee.’
‘Is he also one of Us?’ Kim ducked under a Mewar camel-driver’s greasy39 armpit and cannoned40 off a covey of jabbering41 Sikh matrons.
‘Not less than the greatest. We are both fortunate! I will make report to him of what thou hast done. I am safe under his protection.’
He bored through the edge of the crowd besieging42 the carriages, and squatted44 by the bench near the telegraph-office.
‘Return, or they take thy place! Have no fear for the work, brother — or my life. Thou hast given me breathing-space, and Strickland Sahib has pulled me to land. We may work together at the Game yet. Farewell!’
Kim hurried to his carriage: elated, bewildered, but a little nettled45 in that he had no key to the secrets about him.
‘I am only a beginner at the Game, that is sure. I could not have leaped into safety as did the Saddhu. He knew it was darkest under the lamp. I could not have thought to tell news under pretence46 of cursing . . . and how clever was the Sahib! No matter, I saved the life of one . . . Where is the Kamboh gone, Holy One?’ he whispered, as he took his seat in the now crowded compartment.
‘A fear gripped him,’ the lama replied, with a touch of tender malice47. ‘He saw thee change the Mahratta to a Saddhu in the twinkling of an eye, as a protection against evil. That shook him. Then he saw the Saddhu fall sheer into the hands of the polis — all the effect of thy art. Then he gathered up his son and fled; for he said that thou didst change a quiet trader into an impudent48 bandier of words with the Sahibs, and he feared a like fate. Where is the Saddhu?’
‘With the polis,’ said Kim . . . ‘Yet I saved the Kamboh’s child.’
‘Ah, chela, see how thou art overtaken! Thou didst cure the Kamboh’s child solely50 to acquire merit. But thou didst put a spell on the Mahratta with prideful workings — I watched thee — and with sidelong glances to bewilder an old old man and a foolish farmer: whence calamity and suspicion.’
Kim controlled himself with an effort beyond his years. Not more than any other youngster did he like to eat dirt or to be misjudged, but he saw himself in a cleft51 stick. The train rolled out of Delhi into the night.
‘It is true,’ he murmured. ‘Where I have offended thee I have done wrong.’
‘It is more, chela. Thou hast loosed an Act upon the world, and as a stone thrown into a pool so spread the consequences thou canst not tell how far.’
This ignorance was well both for Kim’s vanity and for the lama’s peace of mind, when we think that there was then being handed in at Simla a code-wire reporting the arrival of E23 at Delhi, and, more important, the whereabouts of a letter he had been commissioned to — abstract. Incidentally, an over-zealous52 policeman had arrested, on charge of murder done in a far southern State, a horribly indignant Ajmir cotton-broker, who was explaining himself to a Mr Strickland on Delhi platform, while E23 was paddling through byways into the locked heart of Delhi city. In two hours several telegrams had reached the angry minister of a southern State reporting that all trace of a somewhat bruised53 Mahratta had been lost; and by the time the leisurely54 train halted at Saharunpore the last ripple of the stone Kim had helped to heave was lapping against the steps of a mosque55 in far-away Roum — where it disturbed a pious56 man at prayers.
The lama made his in ample form near the dewy bougainvillea-trellis near the platform, cheered by the clear sunshine and the presence of his disciple57. ‘We will put these things behind us,’ he said, indicating the brazen58 engine and the gleaming track. ‘The jolting59 of the te-rain — though a wonderful thing — has turned my bones to water. We will use clean air henceforward.’
‘Let us go to the Kulu woman’s house’ said Kim, and stepped forth60 cheerily under the bundles. Early morning Saharunpore-way is clean and well scented61. He thought of the other mornings at St Xavier’s, and it topped his already thrice-heaped contentment.
‘Where is this new haste born from? Wise men do not run about like chickens in the sun. We have come hundreds upon hundreds of koss already, and, till now, I have scarcely been alone with thee an instant. How canst thou receive instruction all jostled of crowds? How can I, whelmed by a flux62 of talk, meditate63 upon the Way?’
‘Her tongue grows no shorter with the years, then?’ the disciple smiled.
‘Nor her desire for charms. I remember once when I spoke64 of the Wheel of Life’ — the lama fumbled65 in his bosom66 for his latest copy — ‘she was only curious about the devils that besiege67 children. She shall acquire merit by entertaining us — in a little while — at an after-occasion — softly, softly. Now we will wander loose-foot, waiting upon the Chain of Things. The Search is sure.’
So they travelled very easily across and among the broad bloomful fruit-gardens — by way of Aminabad, Sahaigunge, Akrola of the Ford, and little Phulesa — the line of the Siwaliks always to the north, and behind them again the snows. After long, sweet sleep under the dry stars came the lordly, leisurely passage through a waking village — begging-bowl held forth in silence, but eyes roving in defiance68 of the Law from sky’s edge to sky’s edge. Then would Kim return soft-footed through the soft dust to his master under the shadow of a mango-tree or the thinner shade of a white Doon siris, to eat and drink at ease. At mid-day, after talk and a little wayfaring69, they slept; meeting the world refreshed when the air was cooler. Night found them adventuring into new territory — some chosen village spied three hours before across the fat land, and much discussed upon the road.
There they told their tale — a new one each evening so far as Kim was concerned — and there were they made welcome, either by priest or headman, after the custom of the kindly70 East.
When the shadows shortened and the lama leaned more heavily upon Kim, there was always the Wheel of Life to draw forth, to hold flat under wiped stones, and with a long straw to expound71 cycle by cycle. Here sat the Gods on high — and they were dreams of dreams. Here was our Heaven and the world of the demi-Gods — horsemen fighting among the hills. Here were the agonies done upon the beasts, souls ascending72 or descending73 the ladder and therefore not to be interfered75 with. Here were the Hells, hot and cold, and the abodes76 of tormented77 ghosts. Let the chela study the troubles that come from over-eating — bloated stomach and burning bowels78. Obediently, then, with bowed head and brown finger alert to follow the pointer, did the chela study; but when they came to the Human World, busy and profitless, that is just above the Hells, his mind was distracted; for by the roadside trundled the very Wheel itself, eating, drinking, trading, marrying, and quarrelling — all warmly alive. Often the lama made the living pictures the matter of his text, bidding Kim — too ready — note how the flesh takes a thousand shapes, desirable or detestable as men reckon, but in truth of no account either way; and how the stupid spirit, bond-slave to the Hog79, the Dove, and the Serpent — lusting80 after betel-nut, a new yoke81 of oxen, women, or the favour of kings — is bound to follow the body through all the Heavens and all the Hells, and strictly82 round again. Sometimes a woman or a poor man, watching the ritual — it was nothing less — when the great yellow chart was unfolded, would throw a few flowers or a handful of cowries upon its edge. It sufficed these humble83 ones that they had met a Holy One who might be moved to remember them in his prayers.
‘Cure them if they are sick,’ said the lama, when Kim’s sporting instincts woke. ‘Cure them if they have fever, but by no means work charms. Remember what befell the Mahratta.’
‘Then all Doing is evil?’ Kim replied, lying out under a big tree at the fork of the Doon road, watching the little ants run over his hand.
‘At the Gates of Learning we were taught that to abstain from action was unbefitting a Sahib. And I am a Sahib.’
‘Friend of all the World,’ — the lama looked directly at Kim — ‘I am an old man — pleased with shows as are children. To those who follow the Way there is neither black nor white, Hind7 nor Bhotiyal. We be all souls seeking escape. No matter what thy wisdom learned among Sahibs, when we come to my River thou wilt85 be freed from all illusion — at my side. Hai! My bones ache for that River, as they ached in the te-rain; but my spirit sits above my bones, waiting. The Search is sure!’
‘I am answered. Is it permitted to ask a question?’
The lama inclined his stately head.
‘I ate thy bread for three years — as thou knowest. Holy One, whence came —?’
‘There is much wealth, as men count it, in Bhotiyal,’ the lama returned with composure. ‘In my own place I have the illusion of honour. I ask for that I need. I am not concerned with the account. That is for my monastery86. Ai! The black high seats in the monastery, and novices87 all in order!’
And he told stories, tracing with a finger in the dust, of the immense and sumptuous88 ritual of avalanche-guarded cathedrals; of processions and devil-dances; of the changing of monks89 and nuns90 into swine; of holy cities fifteen thousand feet in the air; of intrigue92 between monastery and monastery; of voices among the hills, and of that mysterious mirage93 that dances on dry snow. He spoke even of Lhassa and of the Dalai Lama, whom he had seen and adored.
Each long, perfect day rose behind Kim for a barrier to cut him off from his race and his mother-tongue. He slipped back to thinking and dreaming in the vernacular94, and mechanically followed the lama’s ceremonial observances at eating, drinking, and the like. The old man’s mind turned more and more to his monastery as his eyes turned to the steadfast95 snows. His River troubled him nothing. Now and again, indeed, he would gaze long and long at a tuft or a twig96, expecting, he said, the earth to cleave97 and deliver its blessing98; but he was content to be with his disciple, at ease in the temperate99 wind that comes down from the Doon. This was not Ceylon, nor Buddh Gaya, nor Bombay, nor some grass-tangled ruins that he seemed to have stumbled upon two years ago. He spoke of those places as a scholar removed from vanity, as a Seeker walking in humility100, as an old man, wise and temperate, illumining knowledge with brilliant insight. Bit by bit, disconnectedly, each tale called up by some wayside thing, he spoke of all his wanderings up and down Hind; till Kim, who had loved him without reason, now loved him for fifty good reasons. So they enjoyed themselves in high felicity, abstaining101, as the Rule demands, from evil words, covetous102 desires; not over-eating, not lying on high beds, nor wearing rich clothes. Their stomachs told them the time, and the people brought them their food, as the saying is. They were lords of the villages of Aminabad, Sahaigunge, Akrola of the Ford, and little Phulesa, where Kim gave the soulless woman a blessing.
But news travels fast in India, and too soon shuffled103 across the crop-land, bearing a basket of fruits with a box of Kabul grapes and gilt104 oranges, a white-whiskered servitor — a lean, dry Oorya — begging them to bring the honour of their presence to his mistress, distressed105 in her mind that the lama had neglected her so long.
‘Now do I remember’ — the lama spoke as though it were a wholly new proposition. ‘She is virtuous106, but an inordinate107 talker.’
Kim was sitting on the edge of a cow’s manger, telling stories to a village smith’s children.
‘She will only ask for another son for her daughter. I have not forgotten her,’ he said. ‘Let her acquire merit. Send word that we will come.’
They covered eleven miles through the fields in two days, and were overwhelmed with attentions at the end; for the old lady held a fine tradition of hospitality, to which she forced her son-inlaw, who was under the thumb of his women-folk and bought peace by borrowing of the money-lender. Age had not weakened her tongue or her memory, and from a discreetly108 barred upper window, in the hearing of not less than a dozen servants, she paid Kim compliments that would have flung European audiences into unclean dismay.
‘But thou art still the shameless beggar-brat109 of the parao,’ she shrilled110. ‘I have not forgotten thee. Wash ye and eat. The father of my daughter’s son is gone away awhile. So we poor women are dumb and useless.’
For proof, she harangued111 the entire household unsparingly till food and drink were brought; and in the evening — the smoke-scented evening, copper-dun and turquoise112 across the fields — it pleased her to order her palanquin to be set down in the untidy forecourt by smoky torchlight; and there, behind not too closely drawn113 curtains, she gossiped.
‘Had the Holy One come alone, I should have received him otherwise; but with this rogue114, who can be too careful?’
‘Maharanee,’ said Kim, choosing as always the amplest title, ‘is it my fault that none other than a Sahib — a polis-Sahib — called the Maharanee whose face he —’ ‘Chutt! That was on the pilgrimage. When we travel — thou knowest the proverb.’
‘Called the Maharanee a Breaker of Hearts and a Dispenser of Delights?’
‘To remember that! It was true. So he did. That was in the time of the bloom of my beauty.’ She chuckled115 like a contented116 parrot above the sugar lump. ‘Now tell me of thy goings and comings — as much as may be without shame. How many maids, and whose wives, hang upon thine eyelashes? Ye hail from Benares? I would have gone there again this year, but my daughter — we have only two sons. Phaii! Such is the effect of these low plains. Now in Kulu men are elephants. But I would ask thy Holy One — stand aside, rogue — a charm against most lamentable117 windy colics that in mango-time overtake my daughter’s eldest118. Two years back he gave me a powerful spell.’
‘Oh, Holy One!’ said Kim, bubbling with mirth at the lama’s rueful face.
‘It is true. I gave her one against wind.’
‘Teeth — teeth — teeth, ‘ snapped the old woman.
“‘Cure them if they are sick,”’ Kim quoted relishingly, “‘but by no means work charms. Remember what befell the Mahratta.”’
‘That was two Rains ago; she wearied me with her continual importunity119.’ The lama groaned120 as the Unjust Judge had groaned before him. ‘Thus it comes — take note, my chela — that even those who would follow the Way are thrust aside by idle women. Three days through, when the child was sick, she talked to me.’
‘Arre! and to whom else should I talk? The boy’s mother knew nothing, and the father — in the nights of the cold weather it was — “Pray to the Gods,” said he, forsooth, and turning over, snored!’
‘I gave her the charm. What is an old man to do?’
“‘To abstain from action is well — except to acquire merit.”’
‘Ah chela, if thou desertest me, I am all alone.’
‘He found his milk-teeth easily at any rate,’ said the old lady. ‘But all priests are alike.’
Kim coughed severely121. Being young, he did not approve of her flippancy122. ‘To importune123 the wise out of season is to invite calamity.’
‘There is a talking mynah’ — the thrust came back with the well-remembered snap of the jewelled fore-finger — ‘over the stables which has picked up the very tone of the family priest. Maybe I forget honour to my guests, but if ye had seen him double his fists into his belly124, which was like a half-grown gourd125, and cry: “Here is the pain!” ye would forgive. I am half minded to take the hakim’s medicine. He sells it cheap, and certainly it makes him fat as Shiv’s own bull. He does not deny remedies, but I doubted for the child because of the inauspicious colour of the bottles.’
The lama, under cover of the monologue127, had faded out into the darkness towards the room prepared.
‘Thou hast angered him, belike,’ said Kim.
‘Not he. He is wearied, and I forgot, being a grandmother. (None but a grandmother should ever oversee128 a child. Mothers are only fit for bearing.) Tomorrow, when he sees how my daughter’s son is grown, he will write the charm. Then, too, he can judge of the new hakim’s drugs.’
‘Who is the hakim, Maharanee?’
‘A wanderer, as thou art, but a most sober Bengali from Dacca — a master of medicine. He relieved me of an oppression after meat by means of a small pill that wrought129 like a devil unchained. He travels about now, vending130 preparations of great value. He has even papers, printed in Angrezi, telling what things he has done for weak-backed men and slack women. He has been here four days; but hearing ye were coming (hakims and priests are snake and tiger the world over) he has, as I take it, gone to cover.’
While she drew breath after this volley, the ancient servant, sitting unrebuked on the edge of the torchlight, muttered: ‘This house is a cattle-pound, as it were, for all charlatans131 and — priests. Let the boy stop eating mangoes . . . but who can argue with a grandmother?’ He raised his voice respectfully: ‘Sahiba, the hakim sleeps after his meat. He is in the quarters behind the dovecote.’
Kim bristled132 like an expectant terrier. To outface and down-talk a Calcutta-taught Bengali, a voluble Dacca drug-vendor, would be a good game. It was not seemly that the lama, and incidentally himself, should be thrown aside for such an one. He knew those curious bastard133 English advertisements at the backs of native newspapers. St Xavier’s boys sometimes brought them in by stealth to snigger over among their mates; for the language of the grateful patient recounting his symptoms is most simple and revealing. The Oorya, not unanxious to play off one parasite134 against the other, slunk away towards the dovecote.
‘Yes,’ said Kim, with measured scorn. ‘Their stock-intrade is a little coloured water and a very great shamelessness. Their prey135 are broken-down kings and overfed Bengalis. Their profit is in children — who are not born.’ The old lady chuckled. ‘Do not be envious136. Charms are better, eh? I never gainsaid137 it. See that thy Holy One writes me a good amulet138 by the morning.’
‘None but the ignorant deny’ — a thick, heavy voice boomed through the darkness, as a figure came to rest squatting140 — ‘None but the ignorant deny the value of charms. None but the ignorant deny the value of medicines.’
‘A rat found a piece of turmeric. Said he: “I will open a grocer’s shop,”’ Kim retorted.
‘The priest’s son knows the names of his nurse and three Gods. Says he: “Hear me, or I will curse you by the three million Great Ones.”’ Decidedly this invisible had an arrow or two in his quiver. He went on: ‘I am but a teacher of the alphabet. I have learned all the wisdom of the Sahibs.’
‘The Sahibs never grow old. They dance and they play like children when they are grandfathers. A strong-backed breed,’ piped the voice inside the palanquin.
‘I have, too, our drugs which loosen humours of the head in hot and angry men. Sina well compounded when the moon stands in the proper House; yellow earths I have — arplan from China that makes a man renew his youth and astonish his household; saffron from Kashmir, and the best salep of Kabul. Many people have died before —’
‘That I surely believe,’ said Kim.
‘They knew the value of my drugs. I do not give my sick the mere142 ink in which a charm is written, but hot and rending143 drugs which descend74 and wrestle144 with the evil.’
The voice launched into an immense tale of misfortune and bankruptcy146, studded with plentiful147 petitions to the Government. ‘But for my fate, which overrules all, I had been now in Government employ. I bear a degree from the great school at Calcutta — whither, maybe, the son of this House shall go.’
‘He shall indeed. If our neighbour’s brat can in a few years be made an F A’ (First Arts — she used the English word, of which she had heard so often), ‘how much more shall children clever as some that I know bear away prizes at rich Calcutta.’
‘Never,’ said the voice, ‘have I seen such a child! Born in an auspicious126 hour, and — but for that colic which, alas148! turning into black cholers, may carry him off like a pigeon — destined149 to many years, he is enviable.’
‘Hai mai!’ said the old lady. ‘To praise children is inauspicious, or I could listen to this talk. But the back of the house is unguarded, and even in this soft air men think themselves to be men, and women we know . . . The child’s father is away too, and I must be chowkedar [watchman] in my old age. Up! Up! Take up the palanquin. Let the hakim and the young priest settle between them whether charms or medicine most avail. Ho! worthless people, fetch tobacco for the guests, and — round the homestead go I!’
The palanquin reeled off, followed by straggling torches and a horde150 of dogs. Twenty villages knew the Sahiba — her failings, her tongue, and her large charity. Twenty villages cheated her after immemorial custom, but no man would have stolen or robbed within her jurisdiction151 for any gift under heaven. None the less, she made great parade of her formal inspections152, the riot of which could be heard half-way to Mussoorie.
Kim relaxed, as one augur153 must when he meets another. The hakim, still squatting, slid over his hookah with a friendly foot, and Kim pulled at the good weed. The hangers-on expected grave professional debate, and perhaps a little free doctoring.
‘To discuss medicine before the ignorant is of one piece with teaching the peacock to sing,’ said the hakim.
‘True courtesy,’ Kim echoed, ‘is very often inattention.’
These, be it understood, were company-manners, designed to impress.
‘Get hence! Remove!’ said the hakim. ‘Is it the habit of the place to pester155 honoured guests? Ye crowd in like buffaloes156.’
‘If the Sahiba knew —’ Kim began.
‘Ai! Ai! Come away. They are meat for our mistress. When her young Shaitan’s colics are cured perhaps we poor people may be suffered to -’
‘The mistress fed thy wife when thou wast in jail for breaking the money-lender’s head. Who speaks against her?’ The old servitor curled his white moustaches savagely157 in the young moonlight. ‘I am responsible for the honour of this house. Go!’ and he drove the underlings before him.
Said the hakim, hardly more than shaping the words with his lips: ‘How do you do, Mister O’Hara? I am jolly glad to see you again.’
Kim’s hand clenched158 about the pipe-stem. Anywhere on the open road, perhaps, he would not have been astonished; but here, in this quiet backwater of life, he was not prepared for Hurree Babu. It annoyed him, too, that he had been hoodwinked.
‘Ah ha! I told you at Lucknow — resurgam — I shall rise again and you shall not know me. How much did you bet — eh?’
He chewed leisurely upon a few cardamom seeds, but he breathed uneasily.
‘But why come here, Babuji?’
‘Ah! Thatt is the question, as Shakespeare hath it. I come to congratulate you on your extraordinary effeecient performance at Delhi. Oah! I tell you we are all proud of you. It was verree neat and handy. Our mutual159 friend, he is old friend of mine. He has been in some dam’-tight places. Now he will be in some more. He told me; I tell Mr Lurgan; and he is pleased you graduate so nicely. All the Department is pleased.’
For the first time in his life, Kim thrilled to the clean pride (it can be a deadly pitfall160, none the less) of Departmental praise — ensnaring praise from an equal of work appreciated by fellow-workers. Earth has nothing on the same plane to compare with it. But, cried the Oriental in him, Babus do not travel far to retail161 compliments.
‘Tell thy tale, Babu,’ he said authoritatively162.
‘Oah, it is nothing. Onlee I was at Simla when the wire came in about what our mutual friend said he had hidden, and old Creighton —’ He looked to see how Kim would take this piece of audacity163.
‘The Colonel Sahib,’ the boy from St Xavier’s corrected. ‘Of course. He found me at a loose string, and I had to go down to Chitor to find that beastly letter. I do not like the South — too much railway travel; but I drew good travelling allowance. Ha! Ha! I meet our mutual at Delhi on the way back. He lies quiett just now, and says Saddhu-disguise suits him to the ground. Well, there I hear what you have done so well, so quickly, upon the instantaneous spur of the moment. I tell our mutual you take the bally bun, by Jove! It was splendid. I come to tell you so.’
‘Umm!’
The frogs were busy in the ditches, and the moon slid to her setting. Some happy servant had gone out to commune with the night and to beat upon a drum. Kim’s next sentence was in the vernacular.
‘How didst thou follow us?’
‘Oah. Thatt was nothing. I know from our mutual friend you go to Saharunpore. So I come on. Red Lamas are not inconspicuous persons. I buy myself my drug-box, and I am very good doctor really. I go to Akrola of the Ford, and hear all about you, and I talk here and talk there. All the common people know what you do. I knew when the hospitable164 old lady sent the dooli. They have great recollections of the old lama’s visits here. I know old ladies cannot keep their hands from medicines. So I am a doctor, and — you hear my talk? I think it is verree good. My word, Mister O’Hara, they know about you and the lama for fifty miles — the common people. So I come. Do you mind?’
‘Babuji,’ said Kim, looking up at the broad, grinning face, ‘I am a Sahib.’
‘My dear Mister O’Hara —’
‘And I hope to play the Great Game.’
‘You are subordinate to me departmentally at present.’
‘Then why talk like an ape in a tree? Men do not come after one from Simla and change their dress, for the sake of a few sweet words. I am not a child. Talk Hindi and let us get to the yolk165 of the egg. Thou art here — speaking not one word of truth in ten. Why art thou here? Give a straight answer.’
‘That is so verree disconcerting of the Europeans, Mister O’Hara. You should know a heap better at your time of life.’
‘But I want to know,’ said Kim, laughing. ‘If it is the Game, I may help. How can I do anything if you bukh [babble166] all round the shop?’
Hurree Babu reached for the pipe, and sucked it till it gurgled again.
‘Now I will speak vernacular. You sit tight, Mister O’Hara . . . It concerns the pedigree of a white stallion.’
‘Still? That was finished long ago.’
‘When everyone is dead the Great Game is finished. Not before. Listen to me till the end. There were Five Kings who prepared a sudden war three years ago, when thou wast given the stallion’s pedigree by Mahbub Ali. Upon them, because of that news, and ere they were ready, fell our Army.’
‘Ay — eight thousand men with guns. I remember that night.’
‘But the war was not pushed. That is the Government custom. The troops were recalled because the Government believed the Five Kings were cowed; and it is not cheap to feed men among the high Passes. Hilas and Bunar — Rajahs with guns — undertook for a price to guard the Passes against all coming from the North. They protested both fear and friendship.’ He broke off with a giggle167 into English: ‘Of course, I tell you this unoffeecially to elucidate168 political situation, Mister O’Hara. Offeecially, I am debarred from criticizing any action of superiors. Now I go on. — This pleased the Government, anxious to avoid expense, and a bond was made for so many rupees a month that Hilas and Bunar should guard the Passes as soon as the State’s troops were withdrawn169. At that time — it was after we two met — I, who had been selling tea in Leh, became a clerk of accounts in the Army. When the troops were withdrawn, I was left behind to pay the coolies who made new roads in the Hills. This road-making was part of the bond between Bunar, Hilas, and the Government.’
‘So? And then?’
‘I tell you, it was jolly-beastly cold up there too, after summer,’ said Hurree Babu confidentially170. ‘I was afraid these Bunar men would cut my throat every night for thee pay-chest. My native sepoy-guard, they laughed at me! By Jove! I was such a fearful man. Nevar mind thatt. I go on colloquially171 . . . I send word many times that these two Kings were sold to the North; and Mahbub Ali, who was yet farther North, amply confirmed it. Nothing was done. Only my feet were frozen, and a toe dropped off. I sent word that the roads for which I was paying money to the diggers were being made for the feet of strangers and enemies.’
‘For?’
‘For the Russians. The thing was an open jest among the coolies. Then I was called down to tell what I knew by speech of tongue. Mahbub came South too. See the end! Over the Passes this year after snow-melting’ — he shivered afresh — ‘come two strangers under cover of shooting wild goats. They bear guns, but they bear also chains and levels and compasses.’
‘Oho! The thing gets clearer.’
‘They are well received by Hilas and Bunar. They make great promises; they speak as the mouthpiece of a Kaisar with gifts. Up the valleys, down the valleys go they, saying, “Here is a place to build a breastwork; here can ye pitch a fort. Here can ye hold the road against an army” — the very roads for which I paid out the rupees monthly. The Government knows, but does nothing. The three other Kings, who were not paid for guarding the Passes, tell them by runner of the bad faith of Bunar and Hilas. When all the evil is done, look you — when these two strangers with the levels and the compasses make the Five Kings to believe that a great army will sweep the Passes tomorrow or the next day — Hill-people are all fools — comes the order to me, Hurree Babu, “Go North and see what those strangers do.” I say to Creighton Sahib, “This is not a lawsuit172, that we go about to collect evidence.”’ Hurree returned to his English with a jerk: “‘By Jove,” I said, “why the dooce do you not issue demi-offeecial orders to some brave man to poison them, for an example? It is, if you permit the observation, most reprehensible173 laxity on your part.” And Colonel Creighton, he laughed at me! It is all your beastly English pride. You think no one dare conspire174! That is all tommy-rott.’
‘Then thou goest forth to follow the strangers?’
‘No. To meet them. They are coming in to Simla to send down their horns and heads to be dressed at Calcutta. They are exclusively sporting gentlemen, and they are allowed special faceelities by the Government. Of course, we always do that. It is our British pride.’
‘Then what is to fear from them?’
‘By Jove, they are not black people. I can do all sorts of things with black people, of course. They are Russians, and highly unscrupulous people. I— I do not want to consort176 with them without a witness.’
‘Will they kill thee?’
‘Oah, thatt is nothing. I am good enough Herbert Spencerian, I trust, to meet little thing like death, which is all in my fate, you know. But — but they may beat me.’
‘Why?’
Hurree Babu snapped his fingers with irritation177. ‘Of course I shall affeeliate myself to their camp in supernumerary capacity as perhaps interpreter, or person mentally impotent and hungree, or some such thing. And then I must pick up what I can, I suppose. That is as easy for me as playing Mister Doctor to the old lady. Onlee — onlee — you see, Mister O’Hara, I am unfortunately Asiatic, which is serious detriment178 in some respects. And all-so I am Bengali — a fearful man.’
‘God made the Hare and the Bengali. What shame?’ said Kim, quoting the proverb.
‘It was process of Evolution, I think, from Primal179 Necessity, but the fact remains180 in all the cui bono. I am, oh, awfully181 fearful! — I remember once they wanted to cut off my head on the road to Lhassa. (No, I have never reached to Lhassa.) I sat down and cried, Mister O’Hara, anticipating Chinese tortures. I do not suppose these two gentlemen will torture me, but I like to provide for possible contingency182 with European assistance in emergency.’ He coughed and spat183 out the cardamoms. ‘It is purely184 unoffeecial indent185, to which you can say “No, Babu”. If you have no pressing engagement with your old man — perhaps you might divert him; perhaps I can seduce186 his fancies — I should like you to keep in Departmental touch with me till I find those sporting coves187. I have great opeenion of you since I met my friend at Delhi. And also I will embody188 your name in my offeecial report when matter is finally adjudicated. It will be a great feather in your cap. That is why I come really.’
‘Humph! The end of the tale, I think, is true; but what of the fore-part?’
‘About the Five Kings? Oah! there is ever so much truth in it. A lots more than you would suppose,’ said Hurree earnestly. ‘You come — eh? I go from here straight into the Doon. It is verree verdant189 and painted meads. I shall go to Mussoorie to good old Munsoorie Pahar, as the gentlemen and ladies say. Then by Rampur into Chini. That is the only way they can come. I do not like waiting in the cold, but we must wait for them. I want to walk with them to Simla. You see, one Russian is a Frenchman, and I know my French pretty well. I have friends in Chandernagore.’
‘He would certainly rejoice to see the Hills again,’ said Kim meditatively190. ‘All his speech these ten days past has been of little else. If we go together —’
‘Oah! We can be quite strangers on the road, if your lama prefers. I shall just be four or five miles ahead. There is no hurry for Hurree — that is an Europe pun, ha! ha! — and you come after. There is plenty of time; they will plot and survey and map, of course. I shall go tomorrow, and you the next day, if you choose. Eh? You go think on it till morning. By Jove, it is near morning now.’ He yawned ponderously191, and with never a civil word lumbered192 off to his sleeping-place. But Kim slept little, and his thoughts ran in Hindustani:
‘Well is the Game called great! I was four days a scullion at Quetta, waiting on the wife of the man whose book I stole. And that was part of the Great Game! From the South — God knows how far — came up the Mahratta, playing the Great Game in fear of his life. Now I shall go far and far into the North playing the Great Game. Truly, it runs like a shuttle throughout all Hind. And my share and my joy’ — he smiled to the darkness — ‘I owe to the lama here. Also to Mahbub Ali — also to Creighton Sahib, but chiefly to the Holy One. He is right — a great and a wonderful world — and I am Kim — Kim — Kim — alone — one person — in the middle of it all. But I will see these strangers with their levels and chains . . . ’
‘What was the upshot of last night’s babble?’ said the lama, after his orisons
‘There came a strolling seller of drugs — a hanger-on of the Sahiba’s. Him I abolished by arguments and prayers, proving that our charms are worthier193 than his coloured waters.’
‘Very strictly.’
‘In the Plains,’ said Kim, ‘are always too many people. In the Hills, as I understand, there are fewer.’
‘Oh! the Hills, and the snows upon the Hills.’ The lami tore off a tiny square of paper fit to go in an amulet. ‘But what dost thou know of the Hills?’
‘They are very close.’ Kim thrust open the door and looked at the long, peaceful line of the Himalayas flushed in morning-gold. ‘Except in the dress of a Sahib, I have never set foot among them.’
The lama snuffed the wind wistfully.
‘If we go North,’ — Kim put the question to the waking sunrise — ‘would not much mid-day heat be avoided by walking among the lower hills at least? . . . Is the charm made, Holy One?’
‘I have written the names of seven silly devils — not one of whom is worth a grain of dust in the eye. Thus do foolish women drag us from the Way!’
Hurree Babu came out from behind the dovecote washing his teeth with ostentatious ritual. Full-fleshed, heavy-haunched, bull-necked, and deep-voiced, he did not look like ‘a fearful man’. Kim signed almost imperceptibly that matters were in good train, and when the morning toilet was over, Hurree Babu, in flowery speech, came to do honour to the lama. They ate, of course, apart, and afterwards the old lady, more or less veiled behind a window, returned to the vital business of green-mango colics in the young. The lama’s knowledge of medicine was, of course, sympathetic only. He believed that the dung of a black horse, mixed with sulphur, and carried in a snake-skin, was a sound remedy for cholera196; but the symbolism interested him far more than the science. Hurree Babu deferred197 to these views with enchanting198 politeness, so that the lama called him a courteous199 physician. Hurree Babu replied that he was no more than an inexpert dabbler200 in the mysteries; but at least — he thanked the Gods therefore — he knew when he sat in the presence of a master. He himself had been taught by the Sahibs, who do not consider expense, in the lordly halls of Calcutta; but, as he was ever first to acknowledge, there lay a wisdom behind earthly wisdom — the high and lonely lore201 of meditation. Kim looked on with envy. The Hurree Babu of his knowledge — oily, effusive202, and nervous — was gone; gone, too, was the brazen drug-vendor of overnight. There remained — polished, polite, attentive203 — a sober, learned son of experience and adversity, gathering204 wisdom from the lama’s lips. The old lady confided205 to Kim that these rare levels were beyond her. She liked charms with plenty of ink that one could wash off in water, swallow, and be done with. Else what was the use of the Gods? She liked men and women, and she spoke of them — of kinglets she had known in the past; of her own youth and beauty; of the depredations206 of leopards207 and the eccentricities208 of love Asiatic; of the incidence of taxation209, rack-renting, funeral ceremonies, her son-inlaw (this by allusion210, easy to be followed), the care of the young, and the age’s lack of decency211. And Kim, as interested in the life of this world as she soon to leave it, squatted with his feet under the hem8 of his robe, drinking all in, while the lama demolished212 one after another every theory of body-curing put forward by Hurree Babu.
At noon the Babu strapped213 up his brass-bound drug-box, took his patent-leather shoes of ceremony in one hand, a gay blue-and-white umbrella in the other, and set off northwards to the Doon, where, he said, he was in demand among the lesser214 kings of those parts.
‘We will go in the cool of the evening, chela,’ said the lama. ‘That doctor, learned in physic and courtesy, affirms that the people among these lower hills are devout215, generous, and much in need of a teacher. In a very short time — so says the hakim — we come to cool air and the smell of pines.’
‘Ye go to the Hills? And by Kulu road? Oh, thrice happy!’ shrilled the old lady. ‘But that I am a little pressed with the care of the homestead I would take palanquin . . . but that would be shameless, and my reputation would be cracked. Ho! Ho! I know the road — every march of the road I know. Ye will find charity throughout — it is not denied to the well-looking. I will give orders for provision. A servant to set you forth upon your journey? No . . . Then I will at least cook ye good food.’
‘What a woman is the Sahiba!’ said the white-bearded Oorya, when a tumult rose by the kitchen quarters. ‘She has never forgotten a friend: she has never forgotten an enemy in all her years. And her cookery — wah!’ He rubbed his slim stomach.
There were cakes, there were sweetmeats, there was cold fowl216 stewed217 to rags with rice and prunes218 — enough to burden Kim like a mule139.
‘I am old and useless,’ she said. ‘None now love me — and none respect — but there are few to compare with me when I call on the Gods and squat43 to my cooking-pots. Come again, O people of good will. Holy One and disciple, come again. The room is always prepared; the welcome is always ready . . . See the women do not follow thy chela too openly. I know the women of Kulu. Take heed219, chela, lest he run away when he smells his Hills again . . . Hai! Do not tilt220 the rice-bag upside down . . . Bless the household, Holy One, and forgive thy servant her stupidities.’
She wiped her red old eyes on a corner of her veil, and clucked throatily.
‘Women talk,’ said the lama at last, ‘but that is a woman’s infirmity. I gave her a charm. She is upon the Wheel and wholly given over to the shows of this life, but none the less, chela, she is virtuous, kindly, hospitable — of a whole and zealous heart. Who shall say she does not acquire merit?’
‘Not I, Holy One,’ said Kim, reslinging the bountiful provision on his shoulders. ‘In my mind — behind my eyes — I have tried to picture such an one altogether freed from the Wheel — desiring nothing, causing nothing — a nun91, as it were.’
‘I cannot make the picture.’
‘Nor I. But there are many, many millions of lives before her. She will get wisdom a little, it may be, in each one.’
‘Thy mind is set on things unworthy. But she has skill. I am refreshed all over. When we reach the lower hills I shall be yet stronger. The hakim spoke truly to me this morn when he said a breath from the snows blows away twenty years from the life of a man. We will go up into the Hills — the high hills — up to the sound of snow-waters and the sound of the trees — for a little while. The hakim said that at any time we may return to the Plains, for we do no more than skirt the pleasant places. The hakim is full of learning; but he is in no way proud. I spoke to him — when thou wast talking to the Sahiba — of a certain dizziness that lays hold upon the back of my neck in the night, and he said it rose from excessive heat — to be cured by cool air. Upon consideration, I marvelled222 that I had not thought of such a simple remedy.’
‘Didst thou tell him of thy Search?’ said Kim, a little jealously. He preferred to sway the lama by his own speech — not through the wiles223 of Hurree Babu.
‘Assuredly. I told him of my dream, and of the manner by which I had acquired merit by causing thee to be taught wisdom.’
‘Thou didst not say I was a Sahib?’
‘What need? I have told thee many times we be but two souls seeking escape. He said — and he is just herein — that the River of Healing will break forth even as I dreamed — at my feet, if need be. Having found the Way, seest thou, that shall free me from the Wheel, need I trouble to find a way about the mere fields of earth — which are illusion? That were senseless. I have my dreams, night upon night repeated; I have Jataka; and I have thee, Friend of all the World. It was written in thy horoscope that a Red Bull on a green field — I have not forgotten — should bring thee to honour. Who but I saw that prophecy accomplished224? Indeed, I was the instrument. Thou shalt find me my River, being in return the instrument. The Search is sure!’
He set his ivory-yellow face, serene225 and untroubled, towards the beckoning226 Hills; his shadow shouldering far before him in the dust.
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1
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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foamless
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| adj.无泡沫的 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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11
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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13
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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18
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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filthiest
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| filthy（肮脏的，污秽的）的最高级形式 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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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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32
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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cannoned
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| vi.与…猛撞（cannon的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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43
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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44
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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45
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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47
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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48
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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49
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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50
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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51
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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52
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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53
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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54
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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55
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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56
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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57
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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58
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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61
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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62
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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63
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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64
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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65
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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66
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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67
besiege
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| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
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68
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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69
wayfaring
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| adj.旅行的n.徒步旅行 | |
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70
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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71
expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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72
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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73
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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74
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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75
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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76
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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77
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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78
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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79
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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80
lusting
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| 贪求（lust的现在分词形式） | |
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81
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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82
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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83
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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84
abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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85
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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86
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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87
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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88
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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89
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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90
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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91
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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92
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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93
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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94
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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95
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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96
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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97
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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98
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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99
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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100
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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101
abstaining
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| 戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的现在分词 )； 弃权（不投票） | |
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102
covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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103
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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104
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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105
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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106
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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107
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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108
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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109
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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110
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
harangued
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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113
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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114
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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115
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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117
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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118
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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119
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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120
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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121
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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122
flippancy
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| n.轻率；浮躁；无礼的行动 | |
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123
importune
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| v.强求；不断请求 | |
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124
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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125
gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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126
auspicious
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|
| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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127
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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128
oversee
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| vt.监督，管理 | |
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129
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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130
vending
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| v.出售（尤指土地等财产）( vend的现在分词 )；（尤指在公共场所）贩卖；发表（意见，言论）；声明 | |
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131
charlatans
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| n.冒充内行者，骗子( charlatan的名词复数 ) | |
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132
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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133
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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134
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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135
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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136
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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137
gainsaid
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
amulet
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| n.护身符 | |
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139
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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140
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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141
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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142
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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143
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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144
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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145
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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146
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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147
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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148
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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149
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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150
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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151
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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152
inspections
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| n.检查( inspection的名词复数 )；检验；视察；检阅 | |
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153
augur
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| n.占卦师；v.占卦 | |
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154
ulcer
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| n.溃疡，腐坏物 | |
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155
pester
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| v.纠缠，强求 | |
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156
buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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157
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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158
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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160
pitfall
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| n.隐患，易犯的错误；陷阱，圈套 | |
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161
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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162
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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163
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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164
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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165
yolk
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| n.蛋黄，卵黄 | |
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166
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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167
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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168
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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169
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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170
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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171
colloquially
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| adv.用白话，用通俗语 | |
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172
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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173
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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174
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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175
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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176
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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177
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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178
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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179
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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180
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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181
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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182
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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183
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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184
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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185
indent
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| n.订单，委托采购，国外商品订货单，代购订单 | |
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186
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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187
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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188
embody
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| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
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189
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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190
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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ponderously
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192
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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193
worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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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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deafen
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| vt.震耳欲聋；使听不清楚 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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197
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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dabbler
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| n. 戏水者, 业余家, 半玩半认真做的人 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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202
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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203
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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204
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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205
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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206
depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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207
leopards
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| n.豹( leopard的名词复数 )；本性难移 | |
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208
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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214
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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218
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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221
stews
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| n.炖煮的菜肴( stew的名词复数 )；烦恼，焦虑v.炖( stew的第三人称单数 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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222
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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224
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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225
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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226
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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