Little God Ben Page 14

  Ruth watched him disappear, then turned to the child and smiled. The child looked back solemnly. Ruth wanted to say something, though she did not know what it was she wanted to say. She was afraid, moreover, that her strange language might disturb the child and accentuate the difference between them. But a pat is the same in all languages, so she patted the child’s shoulder. The child’s only response was to move a little closer to her.

  In a few moments the High Priest came out again. With him was Oakley. ‘Thank God!’ thought Ruth. A white face was what she needed to help her in her desperate struggle against this numbing sense of loneliness. But, beyond its colour, there was not much to cheer her in Oakley’s face. He looked exceedingly glum.

  ‘Well, what’s the weather?’ she asked, daring speech.

  ‘Bit sultry,’ replied Oakley ignoring the High Priest’s glaring. ‘You’ve got to go inside.’ He added quickly, ‘But I’ll be here when you come out again.’

  ‘Oh—we will come out again?’ said Ruth.

  ‘You’ll come out,’ nodded Oakley.

  ‘Who will I find inside? Are the others there?’

  ‘Others?’ Oakley’s frown grew. ‘Haven’t you just left the others?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ returned Ruth. ‘I thought perhaps … but I see I was wrong.’

  The High Priest made an impatient gesture. Still ignoring him, Oakley asked:

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Gone hunting. All but Miss Noyes. Our dear Priest seems to be bursting. Just tell me what I’m going to find, and then I—we—had better go in.’

  ‘You’ll find Ben,’ said Oakley. ‘But you’ll find him a bit changed. Don’t forget I’m outside. If there’s any trouble, shout.’

  Some quality in his tone impressed itself on her.

  ‘I thought you weren’t—interested?’ she murmured.

  ‘Not a damn,’ he answered. ‘But remember to shout.’

  He turned away. The High Priest now looked more like bursting than ever. Ruth took hold of the child’s hand, and went into the hut.

  At first she saw nothing. She merely felt conscious of dark gloom around her. Then the bare strange chamber grew out of the dimness, with its queer occupant squatting silently in the seat of honour.

  Although she had expected to find Ben changed, she stared at him in amazement. He was quite motionless, and he was gazing over her head into space. There was no flicker of recognition, no sign of the emotion that surely must reside behind his grubby exterior. Judged by his appearance, his demeanour, and his atmosphere, he might indeed have been a little god, and she a mere mortal who had come to learn his will! Of course, it was just acting …

  The High Priest rustled by. He approached the seat, threw himself on the ground, rose, and turned, waving his arms in the direction of Ruth and the child.

  Ben lowered his eyes. He came out of his trance, and actually saw the visitors for the first time. Until that moment he had been, as he himself described it later, ‘in a sort of a cloud like,’ and the cloud still floated vaguely before him. ‘They seemed ter be there and yit at the sime time they didn’t, if yer git me.’

  But as the cloud thinned, and the High Priest continued to gesticulate in a manner demanding attention, the god in Ben became a little less and the man a little more. His glassy eye shed something of its fish-like quality, and Ruth realised—with relief—that she was being recognised. The relief was due to a sudden theory that madness, not histrionic ability, was at the bottom of Ben’s condition. It was the child, however, who did most to bring Ben back to earth, and to destroy his resemblance to a deified haddock.

  His gaze shifted from Ruth to the child, and remained on her. The child gazed back, and appeared to be reflecting Ben’s own transition. Her big, awed eyes lost their fear. Her lips parted slightly … They were smiling at each other.

  The effect on the High Priest was startling. He flung his hands into the air, as though in ecstasy, seized the child, and lifted her aside. Then he began gesticulating again towards Ruth.

  ‘’Ow was I ter know wot the blighter meant?’ asked Ben afterwards.

  In ignorance, he smiled at Ruth.

  This completed the Priest’s elation. He fell flat once more, then leapt to his feet, seized the two visitors he had presented, and drove them unceremoniously out of the hut.

  Oomoo gazed after them. His soul was troubled. Something had gone wrong in these last few moments, and he did not know what it was. He needed another clap of thunder to encourage him and to dispel a sense of failure. Mind you, he wasn’t going to fail! Not he! He was going to see this through to the end, like wot ’e’d sed, and it was going to be a happy end for white and black alike—yus, and pertickerly fer that black kid. But he would require periodic assistance, for even a little god must be backed up by a big god, and is helpless all alone … and, at this moment, Ben was utterly alone. He had a cannibal chief’s hut entirely to himself.

  ‘Wot I wishes,’ he thought, ‘is that this blinkin’ hinsperashun wouldn’t keep on comin’ and goin’ like. Why don’t it stick? Wot I wants is a trarnce fer the doorashun, and then ter wike up when it’s orl over. It’s mixin’. Fust you ’ave ’em orl under yer thumb, and nex’ they ’as you under their thumb, till yer don’t know where yer are!’

  A notion occurred to him.

  ‘P’r’ps I ain’t tryin’ ’ard enuff?’ he reflected. ‘Nah, then—fergit yer Ben. Yer Oomoo, see? Oomoo! Oomoo! Oomoo!’

  He murmured the word aloud, hoping it would put him into another trance, but all it did was to bring Oakley back. Well, that was something.

  ‘Yes, we know who you are, old sport,’ said Oakley. ‘You needn’t tell us.’

  ‘If you ain’t the bloomin’ limit!’ muttered Ben. ‘I was jest goin’ orf!’

  ‘Going off where?’

  ‘Eh? In a trarnce. See, I’m no good nacheral, but when I’m in a trarnce things comes ter me.’

  ‘Well, don’t go into a trance for a moment or two,’ said Oakley, ‘because I’ve got to talk to you and I’ve only a minute. As a matter of fact, you can stop having trances for several hours if you like. Make your next one in the Temple of Gold.’

  ‘Wotcher mean?’ blinked Ben.

  ‘I’m arranging that the Chief won’t come back here. He’ll spend the night in his second retreat, where he is now, and you won’t meet him—or anybody, I hope—till James calls with the carriage.’

  ‘’Oo?’

  ‘Never mind. The point is that this hut will be taboo to everybody for the rest of the day, so, provided you don’t make a noise, you can do what you like here. Stand on your head—ping-pong—Sailors’ Hornpipe—or blow bubbles. I’ll pop in and see you when I can, and I’ll bring you your wooma.’

  ‘’Ooray!’ answered Ben. ‘But wot abart the others?’

  ‘Don’t worry about them. I expect you’ll meet them in the Temple.’

  ‘Yus, but where are they nah?’

  ‘Heaven knows! Some of them appear to have taken little walks.’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind tikin’ one meself!’

  ‘Well, see you don’t. If they don’t come back I’ll have to try and round them up, and I don’t want to have you to chase as well.’

  ‘Walks, eh? Wot for?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to find out yet.’

  ‘P’r’aps I can sive yer the trouble.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘P’r’aps they’re lookin’ fer gold?’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Oakley frowning. ‘You may be right. Well, I must be off. See you later. Round about tea-time.’

  ‘Oi, ’arf a mo’!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘I got suthing helse ter arsk.’

  ‘Well, shoot it quickly.’

  ‘Why did Ugly-Mug send yer aht o’ the room jest nah? When ’e come in with the gal and the kid?’

  ‘He probably thought I’d be in the way—and, I gather, I would have been!’

  ‘Not in mine! I needed yer. Wot did ’e bring ’em ter me for? And the ki
d, too?’

  ‘You’ll learn.’

  ‘I wanter learn now. ’E mikes signs at ’em, and then I smiles at ’em, meanin’, “They’re nice, that’s orl right,” and orf ’e bundles ’em afore yer could count ’arf.’

  ‘Yes—I saw the end of the show.’

  ‘Where’s ’e bundled ’em to?’

  Oakley hesitated, then answered:

  ‘The Temple of Gold. And I’ve got to catch them up before they get there and help to show them in.’

  ‘Wot ’ave they gorn there for?’ demanded Ben.

  ‘For the night.’

  ‘Coo! Will they be sife?’

  ‘Safe as houses.’

  ‘Yus, but some’s jerry-built!’

  ‘As safe as Holloway, then.’

  ‘’Owjer know?’ insisted Ben. ‘If any ’arm comes to ’em—the little ’un, sime as the big ’un—Gawd, I’ll rise a storm!’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Ben,’ nodded Oakley. ‘But the High Priest will make it his special job to see that they are safe until—’

  ‘Yus?’

  ‘I’ve got to go, Ben. I’ve got to sound the second gong.’

  ‘Until wot?’

  ‘Until you see them again at tomorrow’s sunrise.’

  ‘Yus, yus,’ said Ben. ‘Go on, I can see ye’re keepin’ suthing back! Wot ’appens at termorrer’s sunrise?’

  ‘Sula domo toree—the trial.’

  ‘I know that! But wot else ’appens? I’ve gotter be told!’

  Oakley looked at him steadily, then replied:

  ‘I haven’t second sight, Ben, but I can tell you one thing that will happen—you and I will be working like hell to save their lives. So hang on to that, my love, and let the damn rest rip!’

  Then he went out. Ben listened for the gong. But it did not sound.

  20

  To the Priest’s Quarters

  The reason Ben did not hear the gong was because, just as Oakley was on the point of striking it—his hand was actually raised to do so—a sudden thought came into his mind. He paused and considered the thought. He decided it was a good one. His default would mean a row, but it might save another row considerably bigger.

  He hurried after the High Priest and his prisoners, therefore, without first acquainting the prostrate village of the departure. His conversation with Ben had given them a long start, and he did not overtake them until they had nearly reached the Temple. Ruth and the child were walking a few paces ahead of the Priest, and the Priest was watching them with the intentness of a cat.

  Oakley watched the Priest with equal intentness. The intentness gave his mind a pain. His mind was not used to this distressing exercise, and it rebelled. ‘What are you using me like this for?’ it complained. ‘Confound all these people! Let me go to sleep again!’

  Oakley sympathised with his mind’s protest, agreeing with it utterly. These people were an unholy nuisance. Instead of adding to one’s acceptance of life, as good pals should, they invaded philosophy and pierced the comfortable sluggishness that he had woven around his tortured body to deaden sensation. They were dragging him out of his self-protective stupor. But … well, what was there to do about it? If Oakley had developed his power of acceptance, he must accept even this new human invasion on his long-suffering emotions.

  It was Ruth who carried the most deadly weapons. Her very back stabbed, bringing uneasy longings to starved eyes. ‘That’s a good back,’ thought Oakley, striving callously to reduce it to the terms of a joint hanging in a shop. The ruse was completely unsuccessful. The smaller back of the child gave Ruth’s a maternal quality that made her all the more distracting.

  ‘H, e, l, l,’ thought Oakley as he increased his pace, passed the High Priest—ignoring the latter’s glare—and overtook Ruth. He fell into step quietly beside her till she noticed him and turned her head.

  ‘Good-afternoon,’ murmured Oakley.

  ‘Lovely weather,’ answered Ruth.

  ‘Who’s going to win Test Matches?’ he asked.

  ‘We are,’ said Ruth. ‘Batsman’s wicket. Besides,’ she added, ‘haven’t we got the umpires? To stop any body-bowling?’

  ‘Body-bowling?’ repeated Oakley puzzled. ‘What’s that?’

  Ruth smiled, but the smile faded as a shortened shadow that was not hers or Oakley’s or the child’s crept into the corner of her eye.

  ‘Cave!’ she murmured.

  ‘I’m cavying,’ Oakley murmured back. ‘Au revoir for a moment.’

  He dropped behind to the advancing Priest, made some earnest signs, and then came forward again.

  ‘I’ve done my little piece,’ he said. ‘Told the H.P. that I am giving you a few special instructions direct from Oomoo, and that I’ve just time to finish them before we reach the Temple if I’m not interrupted. That gives us three minutes. He thinks the instructions are to be a good girl till you see Oomoo again. Well, perhaps it’s not a bad one.’

  ‘Yes—if I am made to understand it,’ answered Ruth. ‘What, exactly, does “good girl” mean on this island?’

  ‘In your case it will mean to wait obediently in the Temple till tomorrow’s sunrise, when the trial takes place.’

  In spite of herself, Ruth looked startled.

  ‘Do you mean—?’ she began.

  ‘That you are not going back to your original prison?’ said Oakley. ‘Yes. You’re changing quarters. You’ll stay—with the child here—in the Priest’s annex, just behind the Temple. Make a note of the geography, will you? May come in useful. Temple’s on the promontory we’re reaching. First comes outer wall. Then gate in outer wall. Call it Outer Gate. All gates can be fastened on the inside, but not on the outside. Wooden bars that swing round and slide. No keys on the island. Outer Gate leads to large, gloomy, walled space. No roof. Need umbrella in rain. Call this space Outer Chamber. Beyond is another gate. Inner Gate. Leads to Temple itself. At end of Temple, third gate. Small door, rather. Call it Priest’s Door. Leads to a long ledge path. Don’t slip. Left, sheer drop into top of forest, though the tree-tops rise above it, forming untrustworthy wall. Right, trustworthy wall of rock, with a fourth door. Call this Front Door. Door to Priest’s quarters. I’ve never been in—yet. Note the “yet.” You’ll be taken there, and you’ll stay there till the trial. You’ll be absolutely safe—till the trial. Absolutely. Till the trial, the High Priest would defend you with his life.’

  ‘And at the trial?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘At the trial you’ll see us all again, and we’ll put anything right that’s wrong.’

  ‘I congratulate you, Mr Oakley.’

  ‘Meanin’?’

  ‘You are a politician. You choose your words tactfully. But I’m not a politician. When Oomoo smiled at me—and the child—did the High Priest interpret that as a sign that Oomoo wanted us for—’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Oakley wincing. ‘But please try and be a politician with me.’

  ‘Of course, you’re a fraud.’

  ‘Meanin’, once more?’

  ‘You pretend you can’t feel.’

  ‘It wasn’t pretence. It was genuine.’ He raised his eyes from the ground, and looked at her for a moment. ‘I suppose you know you’re ruining my life?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I still know behind it all that nothing matters. By the way, don’t get the idea that I’m paying you a compliment. Any pretty white girl would have done the same. Edna Best, Gertrude Lawrence, Tallulah—are they still queuing up for Tallulah?—Kay Hammond—I used to like Kay Hammond. Cheeky little thing. Still alive? So, you see, there’s nothing in it … As a matter of fact,’ he went on, now staring at the ground again, ‘there’s nothing in it, anyhow. I don’t care a damn. Not a damn. Well, any more questions?’

  ‘If there’s time,’ she answered.

  ‘For about three, I should think. There’s the outer wall ahead, but don’t stop to admire it. Shoot! I suppose they still say that at home?’

  ‘First question, th
en. Where does the ledge path lead if one doesn’t jump off into the forest on one side or into the Priest’s house on the other?’

  ‘Shoot me for a mug,’ replied Oakley. ‘I ought to have told you that without your asking. Meant to. Brain’s rusty. Needs oiling. It leads to a beach. Pretty long walk. Priest’s private beach. Taboo. No boat there. Difficult to get one there—’

  ‘Tom—Mr Haines—is looking for a boat.’

  ‘Is he? He won’t have any luck. They were all brought in before the storm for annual repairs. It’s a long path. Steep in places. Plateau halfway down. Well, second question?’

  ‘Did you sound the second gong? I didn’t hear it.’

  ‘You didn’t hear it because I didn’t sound it. You told me, you remember, that some of the party had gone hunting. I want to give them all the time I can to get back. Once I sound the gong the guards will be alert again. Thank the Lord, the H.P. hasn’t noticed my omission yet, but he will presently, and then I’ll have to return to the village and make a din.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they hear the din from here?’

  ‘They would but they won’t, because I’ve conveniently lost the gong. Left it behind by mistake on purpose. That’ll give me a chance to go back and find it—and to see the position. I’m supposed to stick around up here, you see.’

  ‘I thought you said your brain was rusty, Mr Oakley,’ said Ruth. ‘It seems to me to be working quite well. One last question, if I’ve not exceeded my allowance. What’s our plan to date—if any?’

  ‘Our plan to date,’ repeated Oakley, as they came within the shadow of the wall. ‘Oh, just to save seven or eight lives, and to pocket seven or eight tons of gold, and to convert a thousand cannibals to vegetarianism. But the seven or eight lives come first, and your own tops the list. If you think that’s sentimental, forget it.’

  There was no further opportunity for conversation. The first gate had been reached, and the High Priest had drawn up with them again.