The Wraith of Hadji Brani.

Otago Witness, Issue 2714, 21 March 1906, Page 79

The Wraith of Hadji Brani.

By Frank Morton,

(For th» Witness.)

Fielding Rathbone and his guests 6at on the broad balcony that fronts the most comfortable 6uite of rooms in the most comfortable hotel of Bombay, and the resting city sighed and murmured beneath tliem as the hour drew on to midnight. The late breeze was faint and vagrom, stealing furtively through the deep dark as though it feared to have its presence there detected, but still lending to the dense body of the night a grateful edge of coolness. Always in the midnight hush man stands most consciously and humbly between the two eternities, and on the balcony for some minutes the tide of talk had been stemmed. Now and then, the irregular creak of some complaining punkah would intrude, and constantly there was the indescribable timid_ crackling of the wicker lounges in the deserted drawing-room behind. Occasionally a solitary star would peep from a cloud-rift and as speedily vanish, or there would be a Tjloom of sudden crimson in the murk as the ash fell from one of the men's cigars. Among the big' cities of India, Bombay has on the whole the most salubrious heat, and deep summer nights on that side are graciously enjoyable whenever there is a breeze. This was just Buch a night. They were all there, including Mortimer. He had recovered his normal - temperature and poise, and was in a fair way to recover his strength ; bnt then insomnia had hit him deadly hard, so that for a time he had hovered perilously on the rerge of that vicious and shattering malady mere laymen call brain fever: by physicians variously designated according to the case and the circumstances. "It's a shame to sleep on such a night as this," said Lenton, breaking in upon the long silence, "though you, Mortimer, ought to be in bed." Mortimer's easy laugh came from the shadows. "And what about me, Mi Lenton?" 6poke a suspiciously meek voice out of the nearer dark. "Little girls, Miss Whitfors, ought to cay their prayers nicely, and be tucked in by nine o'clock sharp. Aek Mis Bathbone." "Don't believe him, Nesta," said that lady crisply. "You are as much entitled to the benefit of the night as he is." ""What a night!" said Rathbone. "Lord! what a night. I shall be sorry to leave India ; X feel it in my blood. *The insistent mystery of it is heavy with something appealing and alluring, something very sy/eet and terrible that lias- ko rame." "That," said Mortimer, "is a something independent of climate and mere local colour. You find it in the gentle Celebes, and it is appreciable amid tie sadist abominations of Tien-Tsin. That is Asia. The something indefinable is the. ceaseless whispering of a myriad unseen presences. This something can only consist with an utter absence of the commonplace and the expected, and only in Asia can that condition be fulfilled. In Asia, apart from the sunrise and the motions of the stare, nothing ever happens according to rule and plan." "Mr Mortimer," said Nesta, "I'm sure that you want to tell us a story, and I'm unselfish enough to say that I don't think you ought. You are not strong enough." Mortimer laughed. "I am strong as a walrus," he said. "I am even the prey of a devastating lunger. You need have no fear ; and then — see what I owe you for your gentle nursing. What sort of a story would j-ou like, Miss Whitfors?" " A good old horrible ghost story, then," said that young lady promptly. "It would suit the night," &aid MortiTiier; "but it might be bad for your nerves, little girl." "Nonsense. My nerves are in excellent condition, and rejoice in the midst of alarms." "Then the risk ie yours; the folks will bear me witness. I have come across several ghost stories of striking quality in Asia. I don't mean the ordinary ones, which are as stupid and foolish in Keiant.m as they are in Cork ; but stories inevitable and stern and strong, pages of life. In the Story I am thinking of there are none of the- old stock properties. There is even no ghost, properly so-called — no visible clockwork terror with a melodramatic instinct — no gaunt hobgoolin clanking horrid bones and breathing blue fire — no jibbeimg spectre in a flying sheet — nothing of that sort. My story is rather of — what shall I call it? — a wraith, a fearful obtruding presence never visible to the elernentarv sense, iniquity stalking at noonday. Shall I tell you?'' "Please," said Nesta. "If it isn't quite too horrible," said Mrs Rathbone. " Last year I made the Trip from Djeddah to" Singapore in the tramp Kaiserin, and we had a heavy deck-load of foetid pilgrims. The Malay gentleman ■who has been to Mecca to get his soul washed doesn't trouble about his body till he gets back to his own kampong, and the condition of him at times I can onlvsug^c-t in this company. The Malay is always a natural gentleman, but I never knew him improved by the trip to Mecca. Among the children of Islam moral deterioration is the invariable accompaniment of holiness; the holier the Hadji, the greater the rogue. In . India, holiness lends itself to dirt and squalor, where the Hindus are concerned : tn Malaya , in ■Asia Minor, in Tnrlvv. .*r.d wherever ike children of the Prophet gro-w holy overmuch, holiness tends naturally to gross depths of villainy. The holiest man on the Kaiserin was a battered and venomous '?ld Singapore Malay, who was known as Hadji Brani. He had been to Mecca four times, and his wickedness at home Sjraa ia proportion aa<s ia ths negative

sense- exemplary. Despite his age and scars, he was a famous invader of households, and for years many men had niarj veiled that no ill thing befell him. One ! night on the Kaiserin the thing befell. | We found him lying prone, very quiet. jHe had been stabbed in the back. The J kris has a certain corkscrew tendency when driven and withdrawn, and makes a tearing wound. This wound is generally I fatal, and the man who dies so retains !an expression of dread. There was no S life left in Hadji Brani, and we covered I him to hide his face. At daybreak he i went over the side. All the Malays aboard i were exceedingly shocked and surprised, but innocent as unshorn lambs. Search for the murderer was hopeless from the -start. I "We had aboard a very fine young , Malay named Tungku Mali. He had been , educated at Raffles School; and was persona I grata of the whites in the settlement. j But you cannot Europeanise the Malay, and Tungku had made the pilgrimage in his natural order. I often talked with him, and I remember that he professed himself particularly shocked the night the kris found Hadji Brani. Afterwards, gaining confidence in me, he told me things concerning a sister of his who was dead, and in the tale of those things the Hadji figured execrably. Then I understood, and the chances of the discovery of Tungku' s guilt — if it is to be called so — were not increased. 'Nor did I blame Tungku because he was not penitent. When m the end I discovered signs of womanish weakness in him, they were no l to be attributed to any feeling of regret. The young fellow was as brave as need be, but he was afraid. He swore to me that the Hadji had dealt in magic. Tungku was afraid of the power thatT had wrought the -downfall of his sister ; al 1 his talk was of spells and wizard •> When I suggested that the Hadji, being dead, could in no case be feared, Tungku looked at me in simple pity of my ignorance. As we ueared Singapore his unease visibly inareased, until I half feared that some late suspicion might fall on him. But we landed -without accident, and is nobody "was in any way sorry for the Hadji's death, nobody made any trouble about him. " Nobody, that is to say, except Mini. Mini was the -old man's legitimate daughter, and she loved him. In her way. I don't want you to run ahead of me and lavish pity on Mini, because I feel that your pity is too good "to waste. Many Malay girls are genuinely pretty, and all have a strange exotic charm that avails them well or ill, according to tl.e moral standard of your judgment. But Mini was the only true beauty I ever saw among the Malay women. They are generally squat, short in the shank, and of a heavy figure. Mini was almost I?]J, and supple as a reed. She had a complexion of pure olive, and very wonderful eyes. Did it ever strike you that you have never seen black ej-es? Xo? Well, think a bit. I had never seen them till I saw Mini's. They were infinitely black, and the pupil was only marked in the inky iris by its superior brilliancy. Try to imagine black velvet a league d<ep, ail glowing with a light within itself; and then you haven't got near the reality. But Mini's eves, for all their splendnur, were heavy \\7th evil, and there was much of the vampire in the wonderful fresh young mouth. There was something deadly about her, joined with something overpoweringly desirable, and wheu I saw that the news of her father's death by violence only moved her to a dull flame ; of suppressed anger, I began to fear for ': Tungku. I saw neither of them again for a week or two. Then, smoking on 2ny verandah one night after dinner, I overheard a discussion between my sais's wife and an ayah from the next house, and in the discussion the names of Tungku and Mini were mentioned together in a war that boded no good for my Malay. Did I ever tell you that the Malay women, though they can love and hate like fiends or fallen angels. ha\e no morals to speak of? Their ordinary conversation rather faithfully expresses their temperament. When these two mentioned, with much embellishment of naught y epithet, that Tungku Mali and the Hadji's daughter were behaving scandalously, I knew that something serious was wrong, and I guessed that Mini knew who had killed her father. Perhaps you can't follow me, but I can't stop to explain. "The day I drove you out to Johore, Mrs Rathbone. we went along the Sirangoon road, but you may not remember it. Fioni tiie heart of the city it runs thiough a crowded native quarter that teems v. ith strong Mnells and naked children, and so out across the island, past pepper and gambler plantations, to the Johore Strait. I knew that Hadji Brani had owned a small house on the Sirangoon road, and as he had died in good circumstances I judged that his daughter would still be in the old place. I went out there one night, when there was just the faintest shred of moon. I might have gone by day. but I lacked that splendid courage. The filacp seemed quite deserted when I reached it. and there was not a soul visible in or about the compound. But I saw that one room at least was occupied, for a light glinted through the Venetians, and with it floated a weird, disquieting melody. "I shinned up a small tree that commiinJed the window, and found that T could see in through the upper part of the "'isemppts. r Pi» spectacle wa^ rev to me in some particulars Tungku Mali was lounging on the mats in the middle of the floor. A gleaming kris hung fiom one of the ceiling beams, and it seemed that the man's eyes were fixed on this. Round and round him, with an undulating, snakelike. and most graceful motion, Mini was circling* «3ae was

, crooning some sort of incantation, and I should not then have known her for a j Malay. The Singapore women are scrupu : lously modest in their attire, but Mini only wore the flimsiest wisp of drapery. Her wonderful eyes seemed to glow and pulsate as she moved, and the parted bow of her lips was of a v ivid crimson. With her delicate, lithe figure and her streaming raven hair she seemed like some creature of another world. She was very beautiful and very strange, seen so ; but Tungku Mali kept his eyes fixed on the kris. He looked haggard and feverish, and I could see that he had lost flesh. His whole expression told me that the body of that fear had stayed with him. "I got down from my tree and went to the door of the bungalow. Mini came to me there, and I told her bluntly that I had come to take away Tungku Mali. She was dressed in her ordinary garments now, and in the sarong and kabayah lost her strangeness. She was merely a beautiful Malay girl, and I epoke sharply. She smiled up at me, trying her arts, but I pushed her away. Then she laughed insolently in my face. " 'Take him.' she said. "In the room I no longer saw the kris, but Tungku lay where I had seen him. and the spell had been removed. I told him briefly that I had something to say to him, and that he had better come with me. . "To my surprise, he made no sort of objection. He got up unsteadily and joined me. As we walked into the compound. Mini stood on the verandah, laughing like a bacchante. As we turned "into the avenue of giant bamboos she recommenced her crooning chant, and Tungku shuddered till I thought he would have fallen. I put my arm about him and so got him to the gate, and there we stood in the dark while I whistled to my saio. It was a breathless night, but the great bamboos creaked and groaned as though they were in the clutch of a high wind. There was a thick shimmer of fireflies in the tree across the road, and there was something eery in their brightness, as though we looked at it through a blue haze. I called Tungku's "attention to this. He shuddered horribly again. "'Hadji Brani, Tuan !' he gasped. " 'Oh, nonsense . said I, feeling by no means sure that it was nonsense, you will understand. 'I thought you had more sense, Tungku Mali.' " 'Tuan does not know,' he said. '"It was not like him to talk to me in Malay, but nevei a word of English did I get out of him that night. The case interested me, and I determined to take him along to my own place. He made uo sort of objection. When we climbed u-to the dogcart, the sais swung up behind, making no sign. Tungku was of a high caste, and in any case my servants were paid to be discreet. Once in my rooms, Tungku attested his orthodoxy by drinking a whisky-and-soda. Then, before h« could tell me anything of all I dssired to know, he was seized with a curious convulsion. I woudd like to explain exactly, but it is difficult. He was lying on a " long chair, and suddenly, while apparently retaining all his senses, he commenced to struggle. The man lay struggling, panting, fighting the wind, with tense muscles and a face of infinite distress As I watched him, while his chest heaved and his bones cracked, I saw that he really s&emed to be wrestling with something r&al, though intangible. You remember WelLs's invisible man? Well, you would have sworn that such, an one was struggling with Tungku. I could do nothing for him, and in a few moments the paroxysm ceased. Tungku recovered his breath, and then called my attention to strange things, new bruises .such as griping hands woulJ make about his legs and body, and livid flushes that might be fingermarks across his throat. "'Hadji Brani, Tuan/ he said. "I confess that this thing upset and scored me. There could be simply ho doubt whatever of Tungku Mali's good faith. He had wrestled with something — scraetlung malign and invisible — in deadly earnest, and he earnestly believed that the something was the spirit of Hadji Brani. So from that moment did I. You shall form your own conclusions. "I got Tungku out on to the verandah, where it was cooler, and there put him on a long chair and trapped him about -with a rug. The night was very ttiU and very dark, and the environing trees could only" be vaguely felt as dim shapes hovering in the soundless, gloom. And then everything cluinged ah though by magic, in a moment. A strong wind rushed acroos the compound and filled the air with driving leaves. There was a tumult of sound, like the whirring of multitudinous wings. The two big bloodhounds in the next compound bsved fcriously, but amid that clamour their tremendous voices were like the nibbling of a mouse in a cheerful room Ihrouwh ali tlie noise, instinct in all that gathering tenor, I caught tke menace of Mini's puls" ing laughter. Then, floating motionless m the air a few feet aw ay, I saw a blur of light, a just perceptible glow like a patch of bluish gloom against the absolute darkness that held v-». But tke glow was ptnetiatiHg. and it enabled me to see Tungku. He eat on the chair, his knees drawn up to his chin, his eyes staring and mad with tenor, his colourless lips loo.»elr trembling but emitting no sound. I «..i* hsni seized and shaken as he had been- before, but still more rudely. I gripped my nerves and went over to him. The blue glow had intensified till I could see him clearly. He looked a thing of lioirur. a mouthing corpse. He was tiling this way and that am he squatted on the lounge, and when I put my hands on him I found myself poweiless against tke unseen strength that shook him. And all ths time the blue blur brightened and the wind howled in fury. The blur was now like an opalescent disc against the night, and it seemed to have come nearer. 1 fought the terror, but fight as 1 would it clutched me, and I stood like boma frishtenad sirl wiula the aboaiaaa-

tion developed. The blur of blue had come nearer and nearer until it enwrapped Tungku. In_ the middle of it, I could see him twisting and contorted, and I heard him yelp feebly like nothing human — like a tired dog that is kicked. Can you imagine & man in the grip of some mad tornado that blows all ways at once, -with a rending 6trength against which nothing can stand? If you can, you have an idea of the sort of thing I saw happening to Tungku Mali, while all about me the wind roared, and the bloodhounds bayed, and the luscious evil laughter of the* girl Mini pulsed accursed. I don't like to think it, but I am afraid I fainted, and when I recovered my senses the night was dark and still again, and the long chair on my verandah was empty. " Something remained of Tungku Mali elsewhere. They found it huddled in a heap on the flags of his father's courtyard next morning. From the fiat roof to the flags there was a drop of forty feet, and they chose to decide that Tungku had walked in his sleep and fallen headlong. Dr Hardy, who examined the thing left, said that there was not a whole bone, and. that the muscles were torn and pounded into a pulp of shreds. But the sleepwalking explanation was accepted. To one or two men of discretion I told niv version, and they were unanimous in advising me to keep my mouth shut. I did — until to-night. "The girl Mini? Oh, she was housekeeper for a. broker the last I heard of her. Whatever force of special devilment was in her seems to have been expended on the night of roaring wind. Of the wind there is no doubt whatever. It made the night historic. "So there you have the story, Miss Whitfors. It is not a nice story, and it is not artistic. There is no plot in it, and of common sense no single particle. It is merely a nightmare incidental to Asia, where the unexpected happens all the time. I hope you will not get it into your dreams, and if you are wise you won't worry ah?ut explaining it to yourself. The philosophic mind accepts the inexplicable, thankful if it adds to the interest of the day's work. As for me, I'm goiag to bed."