Little God Ben Page 9
But now there was a gentle stirring again, like the impulse of life that brings spring with its glory and chaos through the frozen surface of winter. Ruth, whose voice whispered memories and whose eyes recalled old dreams, was a little itch in his mind. Ben—that miserable idiot, Ben!—gave him alarmingly friendly feelings … And here he was looking at the pretty little girl, and realising her charm once more.
‘This won’t do, my child!’ thought Oakley. refusing to respond to her smile. ‘You’re only an insignificant atom like me. You don’t matter!’
He walked on abruptly, with a strong desire to find a rock and bash his head against it.
The child looked after him. She liked the Low Priest, though she didn’t know why.
He reached the end of the village, and entered the Chief’s hut which he had christened Buckingham Palace. He wondered whether Ben would still be inside, or whether he would have fled. Staring towards the throne he beheld an odd sight. Ben was standing stiffly with arms outstretched. One arm was pointing ahead of him, the other from his side. He looked something like a signpost. Fortunately there were no eyes other than Oakley’s to behold him.
‘What’s this?’ asked Oakley quietly. ‘Your daily dozen?’
Ben’s arms dropped, and he sat down hastily on his seat.
‘You didn’t see me come in, did you?’ continued Oakley, still keeping his voice low. ‘S’pose I’d been somebody else?’
‘Well, didn’t I look orl right?’ muttered Ben. ‘I was practisin’.’
‘What for?’
‘Dif’rent posishuns. I gits stiff. And then don’t I seem silly sittin’ like a waxiwork and never movin’? I thort if I could find one or two dif’rent posishuns wot looked a bit noble like, it might ’elp.’
‘You haven’t moved from your seat, have you?’ inquired Oakley.
‘Well—yer saw me standin’ jest nah,’ answered Ben, rather uneasily.
‘I mean, you haven’t left your seat? Come away from it?’
‘Oh!’
‘That means you have?’
‘Well—I ’ad a poke rahnd once.’
‘Don’t blame you. But it was a mistake. What happened? No, wait a minute!’
He moved towards the curtain to the inner chamber.
‘Tha’s right, tell ’em not ter come in fer a bit,’ whispered Ben. ‘I’m bizzy.’
‘I’ve got something else to tell them,’ replied Oakley. ‘And to tell you, too. Sit tight for five minutes, and don’t move an eyelash.’
Ben grunted, and reverted to his waxwork pose. Oakley disappeared through the curtain. In less than the five minutes he returned.
‘Keep steady,’ he murmured. ‘You’re going to see a pretty sight.’
He stood aside. Then the rush curtain parted again, and the Chief emerged. His twelve wives followed. In single file they marched across the floor without pausing, and vanished through the outer curtain.
‘O.K.,’ said Oakley. ‘Loosen up.’
‘Well, I’m blowed!’ exclaimed Ben in astonishment. ‘Course you’re a bloomin’ majishun! ’Owjer manidge to pour ’em out?’
‘I’ll tell you in a moment,’ answered Oakley. ‘But let’s hear your news first, if you have any.’
‘’Ow long ’ave we got?’ asked Ben.
‘About an hour,’ replied Oakley.
‘Go on!’ cried Ben, and then suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth. The loudness of his exclamation alarmed him. ‘Wot abart the blokes ahtside?’ he whispered.
‘They’ve gone for a walk, too. We’re quite alone. Do you want to stretch your legs?’
‘Do dawgs like sossidges?’ grinned Ben and leaped from the seat.
As he reached the ground his legs gave under him, and Oakley caught him.
‘Tha’s funny,’ blinked Ben. ‘Me knees is orl wobbly like. You know—they ain’t there.’
‘Run about and see if you can find them again,’ suggested Oakley, releasing him carefully.
‘No fear. I’d go over—I feels worse ’n I did on the ship. I b’leeve I’ve bust me knee-caps ’oldin’ ’em tight. Or p’r’aps it’s bein’ ’ungry. ’Unger starts in yer stummick and then goes dahn ter yer legs.’ He rubbed his knees. The blood began to circulate once more. ‘’Ooray! They’re comin’ back!’
‘But haven’t you had any food?’ asked Oakley. ‘Didn’t they bring you any wooma?’
‘Wooma! I calls it bloomer! Yus, they brought it, and I put some in me marth while they was watchin’—not quick, o’ corse, but stitely like—and when I gits it in me marth I thinks “Lumme,” and I puts me ’ands on me ’ead, like yer sed meant “Go away,” and they goes away, and then I ’ops dahn and spits it aht in a corner. That was the time I left me seat, see?’
Oakley shook his head gloomily.
‘I wonder, Ben,’ he said, ‘whether you’re going to see this through?’
‘See it through?’ repeated Ben. A new look came into his eyes. ‘Listen, and I’ll tell yer. I’ve seed more things through than—than yer’d think there was. I’ve seed ’aunted ’ouses through, and I’ve seed creepin’ ’ands through, and blood comin’ dahn the staircase through, and I seed fices at the winder through, and murders through—not done ’em, seed ’em—and I’ve seed habder-cashuns through—’
‘Habdercashuns?’ queried Oakley.
‘Yus. Them things wot one bloke steals another bloke fer a ransiom. And yer can bet yer larst button, mister, that I’m goin’ ter see this through. See? Yer larst button!’
‘Ben,’ replied Oakley, ‘I almost believe you.’
‘Well, yer can,’ declared Ben solemnly, ‘becos’ I’ve lived with meself orl me life and I knows meself. But I ain’t goin’ ter eat that blinkin’ wooma! Mindjer, I’m a mug. It’s a fack. Yus. I don’t mind tellin’ you becos’ yer knows it. But there’s somethink funny in me—born like, sime as Napoleon—wot carn’t stop once I gits goin’, and I keeps on goin’ till I gits there. When things is easy, yer wouldn’t notice me. Walkin’ along the street in the sunshine—jest nothink. But when things goes wrong, I sticks ter it. Funny, ain’t it?’
‘I wish you weren’t so interesting, Ben,’ said Oakley. ‘It’s a pity.’
‘Oo’s int’restin’? Wotcher mean?’ answered Ben. ‘Oh, I see. Comic like. Well, I don’t mean it like that. I’m seerious. Becos’ nah I’m goin’ ter tell yer somethink else—and if I’m torkin’ a lot I can’t ’elp it, ’cos I bin quiet so long me marth’s fair bustin’. Where was I? Oh, yus. Somethink else. I’m goin’ ter see this through like wot I sed, but it ain’t the way yer think. I’ve bin workin’ it aht, sittin’ ere and gettin’ accalermetized—’
‘Accalermetized?’
‘I say, yer ’ave fergot yer English, aincher? Accalermetized. Gittin’ used ter a thing. Settlin’ dahn like. Well, I’m settlin’ dahn like, and it’s come ter me—doncher larf—it’s come ter me that p’r’aps is Fite. P’r’aps I was meant ter be ’ere. Look at ’em orl! Hignorosses. Don’t know nothink. P’r’aps the real Gawd ’as sent me—see wot I mean?—ter teach ’em abart ’im, by easy stiges. Any’ow,’ said Oomoo, ‘that’s wot I’m goin’ ter do—that’s wot I’m goin’ ter see through and that’s wot I’m tellin’ yer. Not meanin’, o’ corse, ter be blasfemious.’
Oakley groaned, while Ben paused for breath.
‘Wot’s the matter?’ asked Ben anxiously. ‘Aincher goin’ ter ’elp me?’
‘I guessed you were going to be a trouble, Ben,’ replied Oakley. ‘I see I was right. You want me to help you to perform the impossible—believe me, old chap—the impossible—and I dislike effort. Particularly useless effort. Effort is energy. Energy is heat. Heat is life. Life is feeling, minding, worrying, being hopeful, being, dashed, being courageous, being afraid, being terrified—loving, hating, laughing, shrieking—joy, agony. And here, Ben—only agony. Agony!’
He paused. He held up his hand and regarded it. He found it, to his relief, steady.
‘I don’t git yer,
’ murmured Ben swallowing.
‘Don’t try to,’ answered Oakley. ‘Forget it. We have been having a little dream, Ben, you and I, but now it is over. Let us be practical again. You have talked quite enough, and you will now be a good chap and confine yourself to short answers. This meal of wooma. The Chief was not supposed to watch you. How did it happen that he stayed?’
‘I don’t s’pose I give ’im time ter go.’
‘I understood that you were stately?’
‘Tha’s right. Stitely and quick.’
‘What happened after you had got rid of the Chief—’
‘And ’is wives.’
‘Oh, the whole family?’
‘Yus. In they comes, like a ’en with its chicks. That larst one’s a bit of a mess, ain’t she?’
‘What happened after you got rid of them and, also, the wooma?’
‘Eh? Oh! I come back to the seat, see?’
‘Your knees were not so weak that time?’
‘Yus, they was. It was then they starts feelin’ funny. I ’ad ter come back on ’em.’
‘Are you feeling any better now?’
‘No. Yus. I dunno.’
‘Well, can you get back to your seat now, without walking on your knees?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Have a shot. Or shall I help you?’
‘No, let’s see ’ow she goes.’
He returned to the throne shakily.
‘’Ome!’ he announced. ‘Coo, wot a gime!’
‘Be careful about “Coo,” Ben,’ warned Oakley.
‘Eh? Wotcher mean?’
‘I am telling you what “Coo” means on this island. It means, “Come here.”’
‘Coo! I mean, Lumme!’
‘That is preferable. Lumme is not down in our dictionary. Well, proceed. What happened after you had returned to your seat on your knees?’
‘Well, they keeps poppin’ in—not the knees—and so I keeps puttin’ me ’ands on me ’ead, and then they keeps poppin’ aht agine.’
‘And is that all your news?’
‘Yus, barrin’ the gittin’ stiff, and the thinkin’ wot I’ve jest told yer.’
‘But you are going to forget that.’
‘No, I ain’t. I’ve mide up me mind. Wot abart the others? Did yer give them me messidge abart the gold?’
‘I implied your standpoint.’
‘Wot’s that? Me toes?’
‘You are very trying, Ben. One of these days a tragedy will happen. You will make me laugh. I must avoid you. I told them you did not care much for their idea about the gold.’
‘’Ow did they tike it?’
‘Two of them agreed with you—’
‘I knows which they was!’
‘The others gave you the veto.’
‘Did they! Well, I’ll give ’em one back!’
‘What?’
‘Wot you sed.’
‘Let us start again. The others are determined to get hold of the gold if they can—or, rather, some of it—and they expect you to assist them at the trial tomorrow.’
‘Oh! ’Ow?’
‘By making it a divine order from Oomo.’
‘They can expeck!’
‘Meaning you will refuse?’
‘I’m a gawd o’ storm, ain’t I? Not o’ thievin’!’
‘The storm is coming.’
‘It can, fer me.’
‘I anticipated your refusal. So did they. In fact, anticipating it, they suggested—’
Oakley paused abruptly. Was it expedient to inform Ben of their suggestion? It occurred to Oakley, as he watched Ben’s eyes and noted the queer light in them, that it would not be expedient. If Ben proceeded with his mad ambition to reform the natives, a certain amount of licence might indeed be necessary when interpreting Oomoo’s signs. Oakley’s advantage would be weakened by Ben’s foreknowledge of it.
‘Wot did they sergest?’ asked Ben.
‘That they would have to do without you,’ said Oakley. ‘And, as I told them, you may not be in a position to help them at the trial, even if you want to—which brings me to my main point, Oomoo. I have seen the High Priest. Would you like to see him, too?’
‘Wot, that bag o’ black bones?’
‘The bones aren’t black.’
‘No, but the bag is. I ain’t goin’ ter see ’im!’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to—’
‘At the trial, yer mean? Well, I ain’t goin’ ter see ’im, not even then.’
‘How will you manage it?’
‘Shut me eyes.’
‘If you do that, he will grow even more suspicious.’
‘More wot?’
‘Suspicious.’
‘’Oo’s ’spishus?’
‘I am telling you. The High Priest.’
‘Go on!’ exclaimed Ben, trying not to feel a draught. ‘Wot’s ’e gotter be ’spishus abart? I’m doin’ it orl right, ain’t I? And, any’ow, ’e ain’t seed me yet.’
‘No,’ answered Oakley. ‘But he is coming to see you very soon—’
‘’Ere, ’old ’ard!’ interrupted Ben. ‘I thort yer told me ’e never lef’ ’is temple?’
‘I told you he rarely left his temple. He evidently regards this as a special occasion.’
‘Blimey!’ muttered Ben. ‘Tell ’im I’m aht!’
‘I’m afraid he knows you’re in. He is coming at midday or, as we have it here, when the shadows are smallest—and he is going to test you.’
‘Wot’s that? Test me?’ gasped Ben.
‘To prove whether you are human or divine. It won’t be fun, but—well, we’ll go on hoping.’
‘I’m ’oping’ ’ard,’ murmured Ben. ‘Wot’s these ’ere tests goin’ ter be? Will ’e jest prod me, like?’
‘I don’t know. Unfortunately there’s no precedent.’
‘Yer mean, if there was, ’e’d stop it?’
‘What?’
‘Well, if there ain’t a precedent, there’s a chief, ain’t there? Can’t ’e stop it? ’E knows I’m Oomoo.’
Oakley smiled rather sadly.
‘The Chief couldn’t stop the High Priest. No one on the island can stop the High Priest—except Oomoo himself. So your job is to see that you remain Oomoo while the tests are going on. I’ll be here, to do what I can.’
‘Thank Gawd fer that! Git the Chief back, too—e’s on my side.’
‘That wouldn’t be in the rules. When the H.P. leaves the Temple, I’m the only one who is allowed to see him. All the rest, including the Chief, have to be out of the way. That’s how I packed the Chief and his wives off just now. I told them they must go at once, and got rid of them early. When I leave you, I shall walk through the village calling “Kooala”—’
‘Wot’s that?’
‘High Priest. That will be the first warning. Then I shall meet the H.P. at the Temple and return with him, sounding my gong. There won’t be a soul about. They will all be in their huts, lying flat.’
‘Where’ll the Chief be? ’E ain’t in ’is ’ut?’
‘He has a second residence where he keeps the wives he is not using. I sent him there. He’ll probably come back with a new selection. The H.P. will visit the prisoners first, then come on here. And—well, that’s as far as I can tell you. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it could be.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Ben. ‘’Ow bad could it be? ’E ain’t goin’ ter cut me ’ead orf ter see if it jumps back, or anythink silly like that, is ’e?’
‘That is hardly likely. Especially if you adopt the right attitude.’
‘Adopt a wot?’
‘If you keep dignified—stand-offish—“stitely.”’
‘Tha’s right,’ nodded Ben, a gleam of hope dawning. A very tiny gleam. ‘Stitely. Arter orl, if I am a gawd, I am a gawd, well, ain’t I, and a gawd wouldn’t put up with no monkey-tricks!’
‘You’ve got the idea exactly,’ answered Oakley. ‘It’s precisely what I was going to advise you to do.’
Oakley studied the expression.
‘That ought to send him away,’ he admitted. ‘The High Priest is pretty sure to try and frighten you—that will probably be one of his tests—but I’m not sure, Ben, that you won’t win.’
‘I’ll ’ave a good shot,’ Ben promised fervently. ‘I got one nexpreshun even worse’n that, but I won’t show yer ’cos it ’urts. Torkin’ o’ which—there won’t be any pine, will there? Boilin’ water, or stickin’ yer with a knife ter see if yer squeak? ’Cos I squeak easy … Oi! Wot’s that?’
Oakley raised his head. From the height on which the Temple stood came an ominous clang.
‘Confound the fellow!’ he muttered. ‘That’s the Priest’s gong.’
‘Wot’s ’e sahndin’ it for?’ asked Ben.
‘For me. I wonder if anything’s happened? Or is he just growing impatient? It’s not noon yet.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps it’s as well. The sooner it begins, the sooner it’ll be over. I must go.’
‘Oi! ’Arf a mo’!’ gasped Ben as Oakley turned towards the exit. ‘Do yer mean that the—the nex’ time I see yer, ’e’ll be along with yer?’
‘That’s what I mean, sonny,’ replied Oakley. ‘Good luck.’
‘I’m ’avin’ so much luck,’ answered Ben, ‘I don’t know where ter put it.’
Oakley walked to the curtain, then suddenly stopped.
‘Of course, you can take a chance and scoot, if you want to,’ he said.
‘Scoot yer grandmother!’ retorted Ben. ‘I’m seein’ it through, ain’t I?’
‘I’ve a hunch you are,’ said Oakley.
13
The Misery of Ardentino
The difference between Ben and Richard Ardentino was that Ben was a coward and looked it, whereas Ardentino was a coward and didn’t. The advantage was on Ben’s side, for he had no appearance to keep up. But Ardentino did not worry about appearances until he had put a considerable distance between his splendid frame and the unpleasant folk he was flying from. Then he paused, partly for breath, and partly to commune with himself.