A Complete Story

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LI, Issue 14, 3 April 1924, Page 11

A Complete Story

(By G. M. Hort; in the London Month.)

At the House of the Sycamore

Since the disembarking at Memphis, in the early dawn, Demetrius had found it impossible to rest. ' From the inn by the landing-stage, he had gone wandering aimlessly about the city; through -its wide centralstreet, and its many intersecting narrow ones; by the great temple (where Phtah, the Egyptian Vulcan, the Creative Artificer, was still worshipped, though not with such imposing ceremonial as of old); the "White wall" of the ancient citadel, and the busy market-place. And now, as noon neared, he found himself on the western skirts of the town where it could no longer be called a town, and where a few lowly houses, each in its own little courtyard, stood near a thin grove of palms. Beyond was a stretch of herbage, and beyond again what seemed to be a chain of hills, rising, strikingly enough, from the flat surrounding plain, and standing, dark, quiet and immutable, on the edge of the western desert. Those giant graves were, in truth, the hills to which Egypt seemed persistently to lift her eyes for aid! Persian and Greek and Roman conqueror had all given to her out- < ward raiment the shape and color of their civilisations; and all failed to alter her inmost heart. That remained faithful and introspective; obsessed with its main desire, its foremost anxiety— was a land in which death and honorable burial seemed the great aims of life! A strange land to Demetrius—this Egypt!— the stranger, by one of life's unescapable paradoxes, because he knew somewhat of her ways, and had in him a tinge of her blood. His mother'had been but half a Greek. He remembered the Egyptian songs she had sung in his childhood, the quaint Egyptian wonder tales she had told him. But in the cosmopolitan city of Alexandria he had turned more and more towards his father's folkand towards worldcitizenship. His father, the wealthy Greek merchant, had encouraged lam to pursue his studies among the Greek and Roman and Jewish scholars who frequented that learned town; and he.himself had pursued them willingly enough, since they satisfied, at least, half of his nature, and quieted, for the time, the vague .cravings and questionings of the other half. ... Only this last year had they been interrupted. A girl, a distant kinswoman of his mother's, had come as a guest to his father's house, lighting it with her flame-like beauty and careless ways of mirth. - Demetrius had loved, and wedded her. For a time it seemed that they both loved. . . Then, in some wild angered mood, the untamed girl had fled back to her own people, in the "up-river"'"city of Denderah; and, in their squalid house, in the shadow of Hathor's temple, had borne Demetrius's child; and yielded her own life. . . It was from that squalid house of hateful memories that Demetrius was returning now. He had journeyed from Alexandria unattended, unwilling that even a faithful slave should spy on his grief and humiliation; but now he regretted the foolish scruple that added physical fatigue and inconvenience to his mental distress, and saddled him with the care of a helpless and fretful child. ■':■ The increasing heat of the day had begun to oppress him; and the unaccustomed uncongenial burden had cramped his arms. He sought the meagre shade of a palm; laid the drowsy child on a cloak on the ground, and threw himself weariedly beside it. Then, with his chin on. his hands, and his eyes fixed dully on the distant tombs, which the shimmer of heat surrounded as with a halo, he gave himself again to his unrestful thoughts. If thoughts they could he justly called! His better judgment knew them for wild and morbid fancies. Yet he was at their mercy. His mind could but follow where they led. In this land of the shadow of Death, it was the shadows that held sway, that; seemed the tangible realities.. y*—-^- ••:" The superstitions that, as an educated sceptical Greek, he had so long scorned and forgotten, - were, having their

revenge on him now. .. .... Yes!: It was a superstition that held him there, that caused this purposeless delay in the homeward journey 3 this miserable prolonged indecision of mind and body! ,:j Ti- "When the mother of his dead wife—a strange-eyed haggard woman, learned in the socalled magic art: of her ■country!had spoken these illomened words about his baby-son, and the "evil stars" that foretold for him a lawless life and a felon's death, Demetrius had. not consciously" listened to her words. He had, most certainly, not believed them. Yet here.., in Memphis, he knew that he remembered them that it was their unacknowledged influence that prompted the weary questions that ceaselessly revolved in his brain. Was it, 1 ' indeed, inevitable that he should take home with him to. Alexandria this wailing dark-browed infant, who, whether or not it had been "born under evil stars," had, at least, been born under the evil shadow of its parents' enmity, and could but perpetuate the very memories that its father wished to drown ■■'./.■ -"■■ ■■ > -^ Its mother's mother had desired to rear it had hinted that in her forewarned farearmed care lay its best chance to cheat the fate that threatened it! . . . And' though that was all ludicrously impossible, yet the fact remained that the woman loved the child, and had wept at the parting! Would it not be best and kindest to send and summon her here, resign her grandson into her keeping, and then, down the sacred river, the travel-highway of Egypt, return home, unhampered and alone? The child was turning and whimpering in its halfsleep. Demetrius, with a strange mixture of solicitude and repugnance, attempted to soothe it. Then, raising his head and looking around him, he had an overwhelming sense of the loneliness of it all; of the meaningless undirected course of things; especially of things'in this land of giant-graves and futile fancies. So full of gods and shrines, this Egypt! Yet not one god who had any succor for an individual fate! No single shrine in which the suppliant could find light and leading for an unseen ,road! Nothing was true or reliable here —except "the eternal houses," built -for the dead, "and - the eternal malignant, mindless stars that rose and set above them! "Our sycamore casts a better shadow!" said a voice with a Syrian accent; and Demetrius turned, to see an elderly man, in the dress of an artisan, seated in the court-yard-door of one of the little houses, and signing to the stranger to join him. Over the courtyard's wall, a great sycamore spread its long branches, like inviting arms; and, though there was somewhat less of lavish welcome in the voice and gesture of the householder (who, indeed, had the guarded, prudent air of one accustomed to do nothing rashly), yet Demetrius recognised a kindliness greater than mere courtesy, and, with a murmur of thanks, lifted the child and crossed the sunny space. . . Yes ! The sycamore certainly cast a "better shadow." The Greek felt at once a little revived; able to watch, with languid interest, the work that the elder man had only suspended for a moment to issue the invitation, and that he had already resumed. "What is it thou art making?" Demetrius asked. The other answered without looking up, intent on the movements of his small hand-tool through some half-shaped material, that seemed stubborn to resist it. "It is a stand for a lamp, that I am cutting from the nut of the*Doum palm, which grows only in Egypt. It is stuff of unusual strength, and anything made of it should be well-wearing. I desire to carry some of it with me, when we return to our home." Demetrius had already guessed that the man was a Jew; and that not of the careless cosmopolitan type of Alexandria. . ;. Yet, looking at him, he saw so little of the emigrant's restlessness and discontent, • of the bigoted patriot's hostility to a strange land, that he was constrained to say: "Thy pardon! But thou seemest even here to have found a home?" J. '_ ~L „' The other. raised his eyes a moment from his work and set them on the distant horizon, with its-guarding line of sepulchral hills. Across his strong-featured, practical face a. dreamy look flitted. . To Demetrius it /seemed a look,

st.- \. Half-!:of memory of the "past, half of hope for the future. Yet-he spoke simply enoughV and only of the present: ■ - ;■/ - ;;"We have much to thank Egypt for. _-■ She gives us .' e - kindly shelter." I prosper at my trade of carpentry;- and j the child * and its mother thrive." f ■.;. r :tv T ; ■ ">.':^ : J ii'B ;■ ; 'As he uttered'the last words, which he did with a slow emphasis, as though he loved their sound and desired to , . linger on them, the child beside Demetrius flung out its arms, with a sharp, cross cry. It was as if this mention -: of one of its - kind more fortunate than itself had roused its anger. - -. As Demetrius again leaned over it, with his unskilful efforts to soothe, he was aware of a footstep crossing the courtyard, and looking up, saw a. woman standing in the open door. ;•'•'■>■?■ l r'i " ''". A woman, still quite young, yet with a gracious, selfN reliant bearing, in which was nothing indeterminate or immature. Her veil, thrown back from her forehead, showed her fair coloring, her firm candid brows, and her , eyes, gentle, yet keenly bright and alert. She spoke without hesitation, in a sweet, swift-toned voice, her quiet comprehensive glance seeming to raise the stranger at once to the status of guest. \ "The meal is ready'. Will you enter, and eat?" she said. Demetrius had opened his lips to refuse; but, before he knew, the carpenter had plucked him by the sleeve and drawn him within the door. It was a moment -before the woman, carrying now the quietened child, followed them yet Demetrius could not but feel that it was they who had followed a lead that she had given. In any case he had lost his will to resist. In .i,': the courtyard, the sycamore's large shadow was yet larger ;. v . and .cooler, and the meal was spread beneath it on a low " : -; table, or, rather, stool, suggestive of the host's own skilful X ; r 7workmanship. Near by was. a cradle of plaited reeds, {;. wherein Demetrius, as the woman bent over it, to lay the ?£■■ stranger's child beside her own, caught a glimpse of a ';■';little fair-haired head, and eyes, bright and alert, in a " ; serene little face.'. ; - -'.J - -Yes! It was evident that this child thrived; that all *•;"'' was well with this woman's son! — ■'-'. \ ; The Greek spoke, uneasily.—" The babe is fretful. He will disturb thine!" - J /: The woman, smiling, shook her head. "Nay! Trouble '0 not thyself. They will rest well together! My son loves v a comrade!" she said. '*?' • ■■""': Meanwhile the carpenter, stretching his hand over the dish of stewed vegetables and spices, the fresh baked bread cakes, and the jar of date-wine, murmured a Hebrew benediction. The simple yet inviting food made Demetrius realise that it was many hours since he had eaten. His hosts served him without hurry or ostentation, yet with an unremitting kindness and forethought. The child, apparently pleased with its cradle-companionship, and the milk with which it had been fed. presently slept as tranquilly as the other child at its side. "Upon Demetrius, too, some faint sense of tranquillity was falling. The shadow of death brooded over this land of sinister prevision and evil enchantment, and the shadow of disaster over his life! But here, with these good folk, he was conscious of a certain peace and brightness, of refreshment and light. The carpenter seemed to guess his thoughts and, the meal ended, said in his firm, precise voice: "Thou hadst best tarry with us till evening. 'Tis easy to see that thou art not used-to journeying with a young child, and that rest will be good for ye both." ••'-..-■. •■: • . , The speaker himself had laid by his tools and was opening a parchment-scroll, written with the Hebrew characters. The woman, seated near the cradle, and. bendv ing now and- again caressingly over it, had spindles in her hands, and had begun to weave wool: Demetrius watched her, with soothed, ; half-drowsing , eyes. Even through the sleep that gradually, overcame him. it was as if- he retained some consciousness of his •y/surroundings, as if the restful.'life- of the little courtyard ,v, was still in his dreams. He awoke to find the air cooler, and the light softened; and, presently, from the flat 'robf^he was watching, with • • -his hosts, the sun stooping towards the western horisoc. .V ' Over the great tombs, the sky was ; beginning to b10.?.e, ;: making their: darkness the more, noticeable. . „ " .

And suddenly, as he looked, Demetrius found that/he could speak.—"l have rested well. I owe you great thanks. But there is a thing that I desire even more than rest. I seek some light to guide my mind; and the very light of this land is darkness I". .-.'..-.. 73 •'-✓: -•■"' The carpenter . turned his shrewd, kindly eyes upon him. ■ "Tell us thy* trouble!", -he said. So Demetrius told them; unburdening himself to these strangers as easily as to life-friends not hesitating even over the foolish climax of the sorry story,—the sinister prophecy of shameful death that "the stars" foretold for his son; the infamy that the little Demetrius—or Dumas, as his mother's kin had called him ! —was to bring, in the coming years, on his father's name. As he ended, the sun touched the horizon, and the swift twilight fell. The carpenter spoke slowly.—"To certain visions by which God may warn us, to certain dreams that He may send for our guidance in doubt, I give all honor and belief. —What hinders Him from taking the bye-ways instead of the high' road, when His messages need haste? But that? He should be for ever pulling the veil from things He Himself has covered, and that, at the bidding of every poor soul who desires to be a wonderment to her neighbors, is a thought for fools; and I marvel how a man of sense and learning, like thee, can pay any heed to it." He added more, speaking weightily and well;, and Demetrius bowed his head in full assent. Yet, strangely enough, he felt that this shrewd, clear-sighted counsellor had left something unsaid, something for which he waited, and by which he could steer his course. Involuntarily, his eyes turned towards the woman, who, leaning by the cradle, apparently absorbed in the children, had scarcely seemed to hear the ill-omened tale. The carpenter, too, had turned to her. (Demetrius had noted, from the first, a curious affectionate reverence in his manner towards her.) — "What thinkest thou, Meriam?" he asked. She raised her serene face."ls it a matter for thought, and not, rather, reliance,; on -Him who can bring good out of evil she said. ,|"Even,were the prediction true, yet God has His secrets too; His strange ways of making darkness light." . .' „ v ' . Then softly, the woman, touching Demetrius's sleeve, called his attention to the, cradle, where the two children lay, in brotherly wise,"the dark head close to the fair, the arm of Meriam's child flung, as in a protective caress, round the neck of the other. — "See!" she said, smiling.—" See! My Son loves thine!" "Thy Son?" Demetrius looked down drearily on the little fair head. "He is of another breed! One does not need.to be a prophet to know that he will go another way." V, Still she smiled her keen sweet smile. —"Aye! But I will answer for him, that, lover of comrades as he is, he will draw after him all that are minded to bear him company !.'.'. And some, too, who, at first, took their own headstrong road, Mill yet follow him, at the last, into the land of light and peace." , She ceased; and," with infinite gentleness, lifted the stranger-child, and wrapped him up'for the journey. As in a dream Demetrius received the child from her arms, murmured,-dry-tongued, some phrase of gratitude and farewell, and turned to go forth from the House of the Sycamore;— to embark for Alexandria with his son. It was as in a dream, too, that he had listened to that sweet swift-toned voice, content to be soothed and strengthened by its mere accents, as by a strain of music, or the ripple of a mountain-spring. And only, after many years, was he to realise that the words it had spoken had sunk deep into his mind; that his .memory had retained them to soothe and strengthen him in a yet darker hour; when Dismas, the wayward, the born breaker of laws (in spite of his father's unwearying life-long care, and his own recurring storms of penitence had come to the end' of his ' headstrong road and :to a malefactor's death on* the hill outside Jerusalem.; '.'- ''.'"/