Ah King (32 page)

A convulsive shudder passed through Darya.

“Believe me, I don’t want to be lost in the jungle again.”

“What would have happened if you hadn’t been found?”

“I can tell you. I should have gone mad. If I hadn’t been stung by a snake or attacked by a rhino I should have gone on blindly till I fell exhausted. I should have starved to death. I should have died of thirst. Wild beasts would have eaten my body and ants cleaned my bones.”

Silence fell upon them.

Then it happened, when they had spent nearly a month on Mount Hitam, that Neil, notwithstanding the quinine Munro had made him take regularly, was stricken with fever. It was not a bad attack, but he felt very sorry for himself

and was obliged to stay in bed. Darya nursed him. He was ashamed to give her so much trouble, but she would not listen to his protests. She was certainly very capable. He resigned himself to letting her do things for him that one of the Chinese boys could have done just as well. He was touched. She waited on him hand and foot. But when the fever was at its height and she sponged him all over with cold water, though the comfort was indescribable, he was excessively embarrassed. She insisted on washing him night and morning.

“I wasn’t in the British hospital at Yokohama for six months without learning at least the routine of nursing,” she said, smiling.

She kissed him on the lips each time after she had finished. It was friendly and sweet of her. He rather liked it, but attached no importance to it; he even went so far, a rare thing for him, as to be facetious on the subject.

“Did you always kiss your patients at the hospital?” he asked her.

“Don’t you like me to kiss you?” she smiled.

“It doesn’t do me any harm.”

“It may even hasten your recovery,” she mocked.

One night he dreamt of her. He awoke with a start. He was sweating profusely. The relief was wonderful, and he knew that his temperature had fallen; he was well. He did not care. For what he had dreamt filled him with shame. He was horrified. That he should have such thoughts, even in his sleep, made him feel awful. He must be a monster of depravity. Day was breaking, and he heard Munro getting up in the room next door that he occupied with Darya. She slept late, and he took care not to disturb her. When he passed through Neil’s room, Neil in a low voice called him.

“Hullo, are you awake?”

“Yes, I’ve had the crisis. I’m all right now.”

“Good. You’d better stay in bed today. Tomorrow you’ll be as fit as a fiddle.”

“Send Ah Tan to me when you’ve had your breakfast, will you?”

“Right-ho.”

He heard Munro start out. The Chinese boy came and asked him what he wanted. An hour later Darya awoke. She came in to bid him good morning. He could hardly look at her.

“I’ll just have my breakfast and then I’ll come in and wash you,” she said.

“I’m washed. I got Ah Tan to do it.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to spare you the trouble.”

“It isn’t a trouble. I like doing it.”

She came over to the bed and bent down to kiss him, but he turned away his head.

“Oh, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s silly.”

She looked at him for a moment, surprised, and then with a slight shrug of the shoulders left him. A little later she came back to see if there was anything he wanted. He pretended to be asleep. She very gently stroked his cheek.

“For God’s sake don’t do that,” he cried.

“I thought you were sleeping. What’s the matter with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you being horrid to me? Have I done anything to offend you?”

“No.”

“Tell me what it is.”

She sat down on the bed and took his hand. He turned his face to the wall. He was so ashamed he could hardly speak.

“You seem to forget I’m a man. You treat me as if I was a boy of twelve.”

“Oh?”

He was blushing furiously. He was angry with himself and vexed with her. She really should be more tactful. He plucked nervously at the sheet.

“I know it means nothing to you and it ought not to mean anything to me. It doesn’t when I’m well and up and about. One can’t help one’s dreams, but they are an indication of what is going on in the subconscious.”

“Have you been dreaming about me? Well, I don’t think there’s any harm in that.”

He turned his head and looked at her. Her eyes were gleaming, but his were sombre with remorse.

“You don’t know men,” he said.

She gave a little burble of laughter. She bent down and threw her arms round his neck. She had nothing on but her sarong and baju.

“You darling,” she cried. “Tell me, what did you dream?”

He was startled out of his wits. He pushed her violently aside.

“What are you doing? You’re crazy.”

He jumped half out of bed.

“Don’t you know that I’m madly in love with you?” she said.

“What
are
you talking about?”

He sat down on the side of the bed. He was frankly bewildered. She chuckled.

“Why do you suppose I came up to this horrible place? To be with you, ducky. Don’t you know I’m scared stiff of the jungle? Even in here I’m frightened there’ll be snakes or scorpions or something. I adore you.”

“You have no right to speak to me like that,” he said sternly.

“Oh, don’t be so prim,” she smiled.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He walked out on to the veranda and she followed him. He threw himself into a chair. She knelt by his side and tried to take his hands, but he withdrew them.

“I think you must be mad. I hope to God you don’t mean what you say.”

“I do. Every word of it,” she smiled.

It exasperated him that she seemed unconscious of the frightfulness of her confession.

“Have you forgotten your husband?”

“Oh, what does he matter?”

“Darya.”

“I can’t be bothered about Angus now.”

“I’m afraid you’re a very wicked woman,” he said slowly, a frown darkening his smooth brow.

She giggled.

“Because I’ve fallen in love with you? Darling, you shouldn’t be so absurdly good-looking.”

“For God’s sake don’t laugh.”

“I can’t help it; you’re comic-but still adorable. I love your white skin and your shining curly hair. I love you because you’re so prim and Scotch and humourless. I love your strength. I love your youth.”

Her eyes glowed and her breath came quickly. She stooped and kissed his naked feet. He drew them away quickly, with a cry of protest, and in the agitation of his gesture nearly overthrew the rickety chair.

“Woman, you’re insane. Have you no shame?”

“No.”

“What do you want of me?” he asked fiercely.

“Love.”

“What sort of man do you take me for?”

“A man like any other,” she replied calmly.

“Do you think after all that Angus Munro has done for me I could be such a damned beast as to play about with his wife? I admire him more than any man I’ve ever known. He’s grand. He’s worth a dozen of me and you put together. I’d sooner kill myself than betray him. I don’t know how you can think me capable of such a dastardly act.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t talk such bilge. What harm is it going to do him? You mustn’t take that sort of thing so tragically. After all, life is very short; we’re fools if we don’t take what pleasure we can out of it.”

“You can’t make wrong right by talking about it.”

“I don’t know about that. I think that’s a very controvertible statement.”

He looked at her with amazement. She was sitting at his feet, cool to all appearance and collected, and she seemed to be enjoying the situation. She seemed quite unconscious of its seriousness.

“Do you know that I knocked a fellow down at the club because he made an insulting remark about you?”

“Who?”

“Bishop.”

“Dirty dog. What did he say?”

“He said you’d had affairs with men.”

“I don’t know why people won’t mind their own business. Anyhow, who cares what they say? I love you. I’ve never loved anyone like you. I’m absolutely sick with love for you.”

“Be quiet. Be quiet.”

“Listen, tonight when Angus is asleep I’ll slip into your room. He sleeps like a rock. There’s no risk.”

“You mustn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“No, no, no.”

He was frightened out of his wits. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and went into the house.

Munro came back at noon, and in the afternoon they busied themselves as usual. Darya, as she sometimes did, worked with them. She was in high spirits. She was so gay that Munro suggested that she was beginning to enjoy the life.

“It’s not so bad,” she admitted. “I’m feeling happy today.”

She teased Neil. She seemed not to notice that he was silent and kept his eyes averted from her.

“Neil’s very quiet,” said Munro. “I suppose you’re feeling a bit weak still.”

“No. I just don’t feel very talkative.”

He was harassed. He was convinced that Darya was capable of anything. He remembered the hysterical frenzy of Nastasya Filipovna in
The Idiot,
and felt that she too could behave with that unfortunate lack of balance. He had seen her more than once fly into a temper with one of the Chinese servants and he knew how completely she could lose her self-control. Resistance only exasperated her. If she did not immediately get what she wanted she would go almost insane with rage. Fortunately she lost interest in a thing with the same suddenness with which she hankered for it, and if you could distract her attention for a minute she forgot all about it. It was in such situations that Neil had most admired Munro’s tact. He had often been slyly amused to see with what a pawky and yet tender cunning he appeased her feminine tantrums. It was on Munro’s account that Neil’s indignation was so great. Munro was a saint, and from what a state of humiliation and penury and random shifts had he not taken her to make her his wife! She owed everything to him. His name protected her. She had respectability. The commonest gratitude should have made it impossible for her to harbour such thoughts as she had that morning expressed. It was all very well for men to make advances, that was what men did, but for women to do so was disgusting. His modesty was outraged. The passion he had seen in her face, and the indelicacy of her gestures, scandalized him.

He wondered whether she would really carry out her threat to come to his room. He didn’t think she would dare. But when night came and they all went to bed, he was so terrified that he could not sleep. He lay there listening anxiously. The silence was broken only by the repeated and monotonous cry of an owl. Through the thin wall of woven palm leaves he heard Munro’s steady breathing. Suddenly he was conscious that someone was stealthily creeping into his room. He had already made up his mind what to do.

“Is that you, Mr Munro?” he called in a loud voice.

Darya stopped suddenly. Munro awoke.

“There’s someone in my room. I thought it was you.”

“It’s all right,” said Darya. “It’s only me, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go and smoke a cigarette on the veranda.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Munro. “Don’t catch cold.”

She walked through Neil’s room and out. He saw her light a cigarette. Presently she went back and he heard her get into bed.

He did not see her next morning, for he started out collecting before she was up, and he took care not to get in till he was pretty sure Munro would be back. He avoided being alone with her till it was dark and Munro went down for a few minutes to arrange the moth-traps.

“Why did you wake Angus last night?” she said in a low angry whisper.

He shrugged his shoulders and going on with his work did not answer.

“Were you frightened?”

“I have a certain sense of decency.”

“Oh, don’t be such a prig.”

“I’d rather be a prig than a dirty swine.”

“I hate you.”

“Then leave me alone.”

She did not answer, but with her open hand smartly slapped his face. He flushed, but did not speak. Munro returned and they pretended to be intent on whatever they were doing.

For the next few days Darya, except at meal-times and in the evenings, never spoke to Neil. Without prearrangement they exerted themselves to conceal from Munro that their relations were strained. But the effort with which Darya roused herself from a brooding silence would have been obvious to anyone more suspicious than Angus, and sometimes she could not help herself from being a trifle sharp with Neil. She chaffed him, but in her chaff was a sting. She knew how to wound and caught him on the raw, but he took care not to let her see it. He had an inkling that the good-humour he affected infuriated her.