the garden of allah-第55章

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free；　Monsieur　Androvsky。　Good…bye。〃

As　she　spoke　she　felt　that　the　air　was　clearing；　the　clouds　were
flying。　Constraint　at　least　was　at　an　end。　And　she　had　really　the
sensation　of　setting　a　captive　at　liberty。　She　turned　to　leave　him；
but　he　said：

〃Please；　stop；　Madame。〃

〃Why？〃

〃You　have　made　a　mistake。〃

〃In　what？〃

〃I　do　want　to　see　this　garden。〃

〃Really？　Well；　then；　you　can　wander　through　it。〃

〃I　do　not　wish　to　see　it　alone。〃

〃Larbi　shall　guide　you。　For　half　a　franc　he　will　gladly　give　up　his
serenading。〃

〃Madame；　if　you　will　not　show　me　the　garden　I　will　not　see　it　at　all。
I　will　go　now　and　will　never　come　into　it　again。　I　do　not　pretend。〃

〃Ah！〃　she　said；　and　her　voice　was　quite　changed。　〃But　you　do　worse。〃

〃Worse！〃

〃Yes。　You　lie　in　the　face　of　Africa。〃

She　did　not　wish　or　mean　to　say　it；　and　yet　she　had　to　say　it。　She
knew　it　was　monstrous　that　she　should　speak　thus　to　him。　What　had　his
lies　to　do　with　her？　She　had　been　told　a　thousand；　had　heard　a
thousand　told　to　others。　Her　life　had　been　passed　in　a　world　of　which
the　words　of　the　Psalmist；　though　uttered　in　haste；　are　a　clear…cut
description。　And　she　had　not　thought　she　cared。　Yet　really　she　must
have　cared。　For；　in　leaving　this　world；　her　soul　had；　as　it　were；
fetched　a　long　breath。　And　now；　at　the　hint　of　a　lie；　it　instinctively
recoiled　as　from　a　gust　of　air　laden　with　some　poisonous　and
suffocating　vapour。

〃Forgive　me；〃　she　added。　〃I　am　a　fool。　Out　here　I　do　love　truth。〃

Androvsky　dropped　his　eyes。　His　whole　body　expressed　humiliation；　and
something　that　suggested　to　her　despair。

〃Oh；　you　must　think　me　mad　to　speak　like　this！〃　she　exclaimed。　〃Of
course　people　must　be　allowed　to　arm　themselves　against　the　curiosity
of　others。　I　know　that。　The　fact　is　I　am　under　a　spell　here。　I　have
been　living　for　many；　many　years　in　the　cold。　I　have　been　like　a　woman
in　a　prison　without　any　light；　and〃

〃You　have　been　in　a　prison！〃　he　said；　lifting　his　head　and　looking　at
her　eagerly。

〃I　have　been　living　in　what　is　called　the　great　world。〃

〃And　you　call　that　a　prison？〃

〃Now　that　I　am　living　in　the　greater　world；　really　living　at　last。　I
have　been　in　the　heart　of　insincerity；　and　now　I　have　come　into　the
heart；　the　fiery　heart　of　sincerity。　It's　therethere〃she　pointed
to　the　desert。　〃And　it　has　intoxicated　me；　I　think　it　has　made　me
unreasonable。　I　expect　everyonenot　an　Arabto　be　as　it　is；　and
every　little　thing　that　isn't　quite　frank；　every　pretence；　is　like　a
horrible　little　hand　tugging　at　me；　as　if　trying　to　take　me　back　to
the　prison　I　have　left。　I　think；　deep　down；　I　have　always　loathed
lies；　but　never　as　I　have　loathed　them　since　I　came　here。　It　seems　to
me　as　if　only　in　the　desert　there　is　freedom　for　the　body；　and　only　in
truth　there　is　freedom　for　the　soul。〃

She　stopped；　drew　a　long　breath；　and　added：

〃You　must　forgive　me。　I　have　worried　you。　I　have　made　you　do　what　you
didn't　want　to　do。　And　then　I　have　attacked　you。　It　is　unpardonable。〃

〃Show　me　the　garden；　Madame；〃　he　said　in　a　very　low　voice。

Her　outburst　over；　she　felt　a　slight　self…consciousness。　She　wondered
what　he　thought　of　her　and　became　aware　of　her　unconventionality。　His
curious　and　persistent　reticence　made　her　frankness　the　more　marked。
Yet　the　painful　sensation　of　oppression　and　exasperation　had　passed
away　from　her　and　she　no　longer　thought　of　his　personality　as
destructive。　In　obedience　to　his　last　words　she　walked　on；　and　he　kept
heavily　beside　her；　till　they　were　in　the　deep　shadows　of　the　closely…
growing　trees　and　the　spell　of　the　garden　began　to　return　upon　her；
banishing　the　thought　of　self。

〃Listen！〃　she　said　presently。

Larbi's　flute　was　very　near。

〃He　is　always　playing；〃　she　whispered。

〃Who　is　he？〃

〃One　of　the　gardeners。　But　he　scarcely　ever　works。　He　is　perpetually
in　love。　That　is　why　he　plays。〃

〃Is　that　a　love…tune　then？〃　Androvsky　asked。

〃Yes。　Do　you　think　it　sounds　like　one？〃

〃How　should　I　know；　Madame？〃

He　stood　looking　in　the　direction　from　which　the　music　came；　and　now
it　seemed　to　hold　him　fascinated。　After　his　question；　which　sounded　to
her　almost　childlike；　and　which　she　did　not　answer；　Domini　glanced　at
his　attentive　face；　to　which　the　green　shadows　lent　a　dimness　that　was
mysterious；　at　his　tall　figure；　which　always　suggested　to　her　both
weariness　and　strength；　and　remembered　the　passionate　romance　to　whose
existence　she　awoke　when　she　first　heard　Larbi's　flute。　It　was　as　if　a
shutter；　which　had　closed　a　window　in　the　house　of　life；　had　been
suddenly　drawn　away；　giving　to　her　eyes　the　horizon　of　a　new　world。
Was　that　shutter　now　drawn　back　for　him？　No　doubt　the　supposition　was
absurd。　Men　of　his　emotional　and　virile　type　have　travelled　far　in
that　world；　to　her　mysterious；　ere　they　reach　his　length　of　years。
What　was　extraordinary　to　her；　in　the　thought　of　it　alone；　was
doubtless　quite　ordinary　to　him；　translated　into　act。　Not　ignorant；
she　was　nevertheless　a　perfectly　innocent　woman；　but　her　knowledge
told　her　that　no　man　of　Androvsky's　strength；　power　and　passion　is
innocent　at　Androvsky's　age。　Yet　his　last　dropped…out　question　was
very　deceptive。　It　had　sounded　absolutely　natural　and　might　have　come
from　a　boy's　pure　lips。　Again　he　made　her　wonder。

There　was　a　garden　bench　close　to　where　they　were　standing。　〃If　you
like　to　listen　for　a　moment　we　might　sit　down；〃　she　said。

He　started。

〃Yes。　Thank　you。〃

When　they　were　sitting　side　by　side；　closely　guarded　by　the　gigantic
fig　and　chestnut　trees　which　grew　in　this　part　of　the　garden；　he
added：

〃Whom　does　he　love？〃

〃No　doubt　one　of　those　native　women　whom　you　consider　utterly　without
attraction；〃　she　answered　with　a　faint　touch　of　malice　which　made　him
redden。

〃But　you　come　here　every　day？〃　he　said。

〃I！〃

〃Yes。　Has　he　ever　seen　you？〃

〃Larbi？　Often。　What　has　that　to　do　with　it？〃

He　did　not　reply。

Odd　and　disconnected　as　Larbi's　melodies　were；　they　created　an
atmosphere　of　wild　tenderness。　Spontaneously　they　bubbled　up　out　of
the　heart　of　the　Eastern　world　and；　when　the　player　was　invisible　as
now；　suggested　an　ebon　faun　couched　in　hot　sand　at　the　foot　of　a　palm
tree　and　making　music　to　listening　sunbeams　and　amorous　spirits　of　the
waste。

〃Do　you　like　it？〃　she　said　presently　in　an　under　voice。

〃Yes；　Madame。　And　you？〃

〃I　love　it；　but　not　as　I　love　the　song　of　the　freed　negroes。　That　is　a
song　of　all　the　secrets　of　humanity　and　of　the　desert　too。　And　it　does
not　try　to　tell　them。　It　only　says　that　they　exist　and　that　God　knows
them。　But；　I　remember；　you　do　not　like　that　song。〃

〃Madame；〃　he　answered　slowly；　and　as　if　he　were　choosing　his　words；　〃I
see　that　you　understood。　The　song　did　move　me　though　I　said　not。　But
no；　I　do　not　like　it。〃

〃Do　you　care　to　tell　me　why？〃

〃Such　a　song　as　that　seems　to　me　anit　is　like　an　intrusion。　There
are　things　that　should　be　let　alone。　There　are　dark　places　that　should
be　left　dark。〃

〃You　mean　that　all　human　beings　hold　within　them　secrets；　and　that　no
allusion　even　should　ever　be　made　to　those　secrets？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃I　understand。〃

After　a　pause　he　said；　anxiously；　she　thought：

〃Am　I　right；　Madame；　or　is　my　thought　ridiculous？〃

He　asked　it　so　simply　that　she　felt　touched。

〃I'm　sure　you　could　never　be　ridiculous；〃　she　said　quickly。　〃And
perhaps　you　are　right。　I　don't　know。　That　song　makes　me　think　and
feel；　and　so　I　love　it。　Perhaps　if　you　heard　it　alone〃

〃Then　I　should　hate　it；〃　he　interposed。

His　voice　was　like　an　uncontrolled　inner　voice　speaking。

〃And　not　thought　and　feeling〃　she　began。

But　he　interrupted　her。

〃They　make　all　the　misery　that　exists　in　the　world。〃

〃And　all　the　happiness。〃

〃Do　they？〃

〃They　must。〃

〃Then　you　want　to　think　deeply；　to　feel　deeply？〃

〃Yes。　I　would　rather　be　the　central　figure　of　a　world…tragedy　than　die
without　having　felt　to　the　uttermost；　even　if　it　were　sorrow。　My　whole
nature　revolts　against　the　idea　of　being　able　to　feel　little　or
nothing　really。　It　seems　to　me　that　when　we　begin　to　feel　acutely　we
begin　to　grow；　like　the　palm　tree　rising　towards　the　African　sun。〃

〃I　do　not　think　you　have　ever　been　very　u