‘Shut your mouth!’ Jason yelled. He hit her on the side of the head with his open hand. He was trembling violently. She stumbled and fell to her knees and stayed there on all fours, her head hanging and her hair trailing in the mud.
Cursing monotonously, Jason picked her up in his arras and carried her to his hut. Her body was warm and her face calm. She was already asleep. He laid her down and knelt beside her head, glowering bitterly at her dark eyelids.
She was helpless. She must have some money hidden away somewhere. She was in love with him, for all her abuse. By God, she spoke to him like a mother, or like Molly, telling him what he had done, what he must do. But by God, she was a slender figure of a woman, lying there in his hut. He was standing in a trance when the old woman shuffled in and said, ‘Let her sleep now. She’s a pretty one, isn’t she, but thin. Why is she so thin?’
Early in the evening the pearlers returned. Simon waved excitedly from the leading boat, and leaped out as soon as the craft reached the shallows, and ran up with his right hand tight shut and his mouth split in a wide smile. He cried, ‘Look!’ He held his clenched fist under Jason’s nose, then slowly opened it. Six big pearls lay on his palm. ‘It is not to be believed!’ he shouted. ‘There has never been such a catch! These will buy us food for weeks! Months! Even at the king’s price! And this in the Dussehra! Because of your blessing! Ave Maria, Ave Maria!’
He danced up and down the beach, singing and yelling. Jason smiled with his lips and thought: There’s my money. It’ll be easy. Then he told Simon of Catherine’s arrival, and they went together to the hut to see whether she had waked up.
She was sitting outside the hut, and the two old women were squatting in front of her, staring at her but not speaking. She stood up as they approached and said, ‘Take me to the sea, please, Jason. Isn’t there a sandy point across the cove?’
Jason said, ‘Yes, but why don’t you rest here?’
She said, ‘I want to bathe myself. And to talk.’ Her sleep had freshened her, and the mark on her cheek where he had hit her did not show. She held out her hand. Jason stared at it. God’s blood, he must guide her. He took her hand, not gently, and led her round the edge of the cove and across the dunes to the neck of the point.
She said, ‘Now I can hear the sea close, the real sea. Is there anyone watching?’ He glanced up and down in the twilight and said, ‘No.’ She took off her skirt and walked slowly towards the sighing waves. Jason sat on the dry sand and watched her. She knelt in the sea, washed out the skirt, rinsed it two and three times, carried it out, and spread it on the sand. Then she sat in the shallows and splashed water on her body and face, came out, put on her skirt, and at last walked slowly up the beach to him. It was almost dark. He held his breath and hoped that she would not see him.
But why did he want her to stand there, ten feet from him, the skirt clinging to her thighs and the blue hint of evening on breast and cheek? He could have her whenever he wanted to. He could keep his dislike for her. She was his slave, or she would not be here. She would not have stood naked so carelessly before him.
She said, ‘Why do you look at me? You know I love you.’ He started. How did she know he was there, and gazing? He must remember to find where her money was. She sat down near him and said, ‘I have washed most of it away--what I saw. It happened, and I remember it all, but it is cleaner now. I am glad you hit me, because I don’t think I could have slept otherwise.’
Jason said, ‘Don’t talk about it. I lost my temper.’
She said, ‘What shall we do?’
He said, ‘We?’
She said, ‘You are engaged to marry me.’
He began to answer with anger, but she moved her arms in a small gesture of embrace--not to him, but to the sea and the indigo sky and the whispering dunes--and the pectoral muscle stood out for an instant, pulling up her breast, and he thought: I will have her now.
He put out his hand. She caught it and pressed it to her mouth. She said, ‘You must take me, Jason, because you need a guide as much as I do. I think I can lead you to where you want to be. We can go together, leading each other. I felt it the moment I heard you singing “Greensleeves.” ‘
He whispered quietly in her ear for a moment, talking of their first meeting in the orange garden. God’s blood, the poor soft thing really was in love--helpless, hopeless, melted with love. He could not wait a moment longer.
He put his left arm round her, eased her back to the sand, and brought up his right hand. He whispered, ‘I love you, dearest, I love you.’ His chest hurt, and he thought: I could, by God, I could--but this time I shall laugh last.
Her mouth softened under his. She said, ‘I will not lie with you, to make love, until you love me, dearest.’
He muttered, ‘I do, I do! Oh, darling!’
She said, ‘You don’t. I love you, that is all. Even when we are married I will not lie with you until you love me.’ Gently she put his hand away and sat up.
He said exasperatedly, ‘How in damnation are you going to know? I’ve told you, and you won’t believe me.’
She said, ‘I’ll know.’
He tried again, assaulting her slight body with kisses and hard arms. She did not turn stiff against him, and she did not struggle. She even kissed him, but he could not lie with her.
He shouted, ‘What do you want to marry me for, then?’
She said, ‘I’ve told you. Because I love you. To lead you. To be led. Take me back now, dear.’
Jason shouted, ‘I’m not going to marry you.’
She said quietly--but he heard the laughter in her voice--‘You must. You have taken my dowry, and spent it. Oh, Jason, I--‘
He bawled. ‘I haven’t spent it! It was stolen or lost. God’s blood, you know I didn’t mean it when I took it, and I said I’d never see you or speak to you after the marriage.’
She said, ‘Jason, you must take me with you, because you need me. You will never be happy without me, nor I without you.’
He bawled, ‘And lead you by the hand at a snail’s pace with the king’s cavalry galloping at our heels? I’ve got enough to do to look after myself.’
She said, ‘Take me back to the hut now, dear.’ She held out her hand. Jason walked away, leaving her there. After a moment he ran back, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the huts.
God’s blood, he had wanted her for a minute back there, but that was only because she was a woman and had had the obscenity to prance around undressed in front of him. He hated her. Let her laugh now, or smile, or so much as speak, and he’d strangle her. But she did not.
Only, just at the edge of the muddy stream, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his neck under the ear and whispered, ‘Darling Jason, do hurry and love me.’
He shrugged her off and wondered how soon Simon would be safely asleep.
Black as the Windline at new moon; past midnight--the drunken hogs of pearlers snoring beside their black sluts; the Portuguese girl deep asleep beside him; a wind rising in the palms. He took out Voy’s sack and put in it his knife and the handfuls of cold rice, wrapped in leaves, which he had taken from his bowl at supper. He backed out of the hut on hands and knees.
He crept into Simon’s hut. Simon always kept his pearls in a small box in a hole in the earth under the strewn palm leaves where he slept. Jason listened for the couple’s breathing. They slept heavily on opposite sides of the hut. They were childless. Gently he pushed Simon over and moved the leaves. He dug in silence with his fingers, for the earth was dry and friable. In a moment he came to the box, opened it, took out the pearls, and put it back in the hole. God’s blood! --they’d said it was due to his blessing that they’d found them in the first place.
He edged out of the hut and waited a moment beside the door. It had been easy, but his breath came fast and his hands were not steady. Now he was himself again. He put the pearls in Voy’s sack.
West was his way, west and south. He’d move fast till he came to the first jungle, then lie up till daylight, then go boldly out and buy a horse. Pearls, a steady hand, a gentle tongue, a sharp knife. He glanced at the sky, but clouds hid the Pole Star. The surf rolled like slow, heavy drums on the Coromandel shore, and the palms creaked and bowed under the wind.
He turned away from the sea, threaded between the huts, and walked down to wade the stream. He trod on a sharp stone and sat down with a gasp of pain. He found the stone and angrily flung it away. His foot hurt, and he smelled blood on his fingers. He washed his foot in the stream and wondered whether he should bind it with a leaf. But he had no time. He must get on.
Feet ran up behind him--a soft thump-thump in the mud. He jumped up and turned. The rough handle of his knife grated in his palm. Simon’s voice called, ‘Jason? Don’t go yet, Jason. I have something to give you. He is here, senhorita.’
A second shape appeared, and Catherine said, ‘Come back, Jason. Simon does not know what you have done. We can put them back before he finds out.’ She spoke in English.
Jason said, ‘I’m going now, with what I’ve got.’
The three of them stood close in the blackness by the gurgling stream, the whites of their eyes like a grouping of tiny lamps. Simon looked from Jason to Catherine as they spoke tensely in the foreign language.
Catherine said, ‘I found you had gone. I guessed and woke Simon. You must not go.’
Jason said, ‘You stupid whore!’ and turned to run. She flung herself at him and bore him down. Simon shouted distractedly and knelt to separate them. He seized Jason’s knife wrist and cried, ‘Jason, no, no, lord! You don’t need a knife!’
Jason wrenched his arm free and struck. The knife sank against resistance. Jason drew back his arm to strike again. Catherine still hung silently around his waist. Lamps ran down the slope, and the pearlers threw themselves on him, and he heard their shouts. ‘Who is it? A robber! Bring him to the huts!’
Catherine stood up slowly and said, ‘It is Lord Jason.’
One of the men knelt quickly with a little lamp in his hand. He said, ‘Simon is hurt.’
From the back of the group a high, keening wail began.
Simon’s wife ran forward and threw herself on Simon’s body. Jason said, ‘I killed him.’ The woman glanced up at him but seemed to see nothing. Her eyes were blank.
Simon sat up and groaned. ‘I’m hurt--in the side.’
Jason said, ‘I did it.’
One of the pearlers said, ‘It was an accident, Lord Jason. You were his friend.’
Jason said, ‘I meant to kill him. I stole his pearls.’
Simon said, ‘That is impossible, Jason. I was going to give them to you.’ Wide-eyed, filthy children sobbed and clung together on the edge of the crowd.
Jason began to cry. The tears streamed down his face, and he could not close his eyes to check them. Catherine took his hand and said, ‘Lead me to our hut.’
Lead her? He could not see. But he had to dry his eyes and master himself, and all for the sake of this girl. He took her hand and led her to the hut. He lay down and stared at the intertwined leaves of the roof. Slowly, softly, she began to talk. She was not speaking English or Tamil, so he did not know what she said.
He had failed this time. His heart slowly hardened as the tears dried on his cheeks. He would not fail again.
In the morning she said, ‘Give me the pearls. Simon can’t afford to give them away.’
They were still in his sack. She wasn’t so blind she could not have felt in a sack some time during the night, but she had to make him give them to her. Why should he, damnation take her? But he was helpless here now, and did not know what to do. Simon would recover. He hated them all.
Sullenly he handed over the pearls, and she went out of the hut. In a few minutes she returned and said, ‘Take me to the sea again, Jason. To the same place, please.’
He got up and led her round the beach. On the far slope of the dunes, where the sea wind struck, she sat down. She said, ‘Go and bathe yourself in the water. Wash all over.’
He walked slowly into the sea until the waves broke against his chest. Then he had to fight to keep his footing. For half an hour he fought strenuously against the waves, jumping into them, and trying to beat them down with his fists.
When he went back to her he felt that his strength and confidence had returned. He said shortly, ‘I’m going to leave this place now.’
She said, ‘You don’t have any money.’
‘I’ll get some.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘It’s none of your business.’ Why should he tell her? Then he changed his mind. He said spitefully, ‘I’m going to beg and steal, and borrow and not pay back. I’m going to laugh last.’
She said, ‘At the last you will not laugh. No, we must follow your map until we find the treasure.’
He laughed sourly. ‘Don’t be a fool.’
She said, ‘If you don’t promise to follow the map I won’t give you any money.’
Startled, he looked at her and blurted, ‘You haven’t got any money.’
She said, ‘I have--several small diamonds. Parvati sewed them into the skirt.’
He said, ‘You had them when you came! What have you done with them? Where are they?’
She put her hand into the fold-over of her skirt and drew out his map. She unfolded it and said, ‘We must follow this, Jason.’
He said, ‘I tell you it’s no good. A trickster called Voy, Speranza Voy, sold it to me in England for forty shillings. How did he know I only had forty-six shillings, three pennies, and two farthings?’
‘Because you’re you,’ she said calmly. ‘What can you lose by following the map? You’ve got to go somewhere, haven’t you? Why not go where the map points?’
‘I can’t read it,’ he snarled. ‘And some of it’s in Latin.’
‘I can read it,’ she said. ‘That’s why I brought my spectacles. I’ll translate the Latin for you, but not before we are near the treasure. Until then you don’t need to know what it means.’
He said, ‘I’m not going anywhere with you. What good’s a blind woman who won’t lie with me?’
She said, ‘You’re going to cook for yourself? Mend your own clothes? You’re hoping to have more than a loincloth one day, aren’t you? And if you don’t take me I won’t give you any money.’