the garden of allah-第109节

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/hotellerie/；　of　which　I　had　the　key。　When　it　was　night　I　unlocked　the
door。　I　walked　to　the　cemeterybetween　the　Stations　of　the　Cross。
Domini；　I　did　not　see　them。　In　the　cemetery　was　a　ladder；　as　I　told
you。

〃Just　before　dawn　I　reached　my　brother's　house　outside　of　Tunis；　not
far　from　the　Bardo。　I　knocked。　My　brother　himself　came　down　to　know
who　was　there。　He；　as　I　told　you；　was　without　religion；　and　had　always
hated　my　being　a　monk。　I　told　him　all；　without　reserve。　I　said；　'Help
me　to　go　away。　Let　me　go　anywherealone。'　He　gave　me　clothes；　money。
I　shaved　off　my　beard　and　moustache。　I　shaved　my　head；　so　that　the
tonsure　was　no　longer　visible。　In　the　afternoon　of　that　day　I　left
Tunis。　I　was　let　loose　into　life。　DominiDomini；　I　won't　tell　you
where　I　wandered　till　I　came　to　the　desert；　till　I　met　you。

〃I　was　let　loose　into　life；　but；　with　my　freedom；　the　wish　to　live
seemed　to　die　in　me。　I　was　afraid　of　life。　I　was　haunted　by　terrors。　I
had　been　a　monk　so　long　that　I　did　not　know　how　to　live　as　other　men。
I　did　not　live；　I　never　livedtill　I　met　you。　And　thenthen　I
realised　what　life　may　be。　And　then；　too；　I　realised　fully　what　I　was。
I　struggled；　I　fought　myself。　You　knownow；　if　you　look　back；　I　think
you　know　that　I　triedsometimes；　oftenI　tried　totoI　tried
to〃

His　voice　broke。

〃That　last　day　in　the　garden　I　thought　that　I　had　conquered　myself；
and　it　was　in　that　moment　that　I　fell　for　ever。　When　I　knew　you　loved
me　I　could　fight　no　more。　Do　you　understand？　You　have　seen　me；　you
have　lived　with　me；　you　have　divined　my　misery。　But　don'tdon't
think；　Domini；　that　it　ever　came　from　you。　It　was　the　consciousness　of
my　lie　to　you；　my　lie　to　God；　thatthatI　can't　go　onI　can't　tell
youI　can't　tell　youyou　know。〃

He　was　silent。　Domini　said　nothing；　did　not　move。　He　did　not　look　at
her；　but　her　silence　seemed　to　terrify　him。　He　drew　back　from　it
sharply　and　turned　to　the　desert。　He　stared　across　the　vast　spaces　lit
up　by　the　moon。　Still　she　did　not　move。

〃I'll　goI'll　go！〃　he　muttered。

And　he　stepped　forward。　Then　Domini　spoke。

〃Boris！〃　she　said。

He　stopped。

〃What　is　it？〃　he　murmured　hoarsely。

〃Boris；　now　at　last　youyou　can　pray。〃

He　looked　at　her　as　if　awe…stricken。

〃Pray！〃　he　whispered。　〃You　tell　me　I　can　praynow！〃

〃Now　at　last。〃

She　went　into　the　tent　and　left　him　alone。　He　stood　where　he　was　for　a
moment。　He　knew　that；　in　the　tent；　she　was　praying。　He　stood；　trying
to　listen　to　her　prayer。　Then；　with　an　uncertain　hand；　he　felt　in　his
breast。　He　drew　out　the　wooden　crucifix。　He　bent　down　his　head；
touched　it　with　his　lips；　and　fell　upon　his　knees　in　the　desert。

The　music　had　ceased　in　the　city。　There　was　a　great　silence。




BOOK　VI。　THE　JOURNEY　BACK



CHAPTER　XXVII

The　good　priest　of　Amara；　strolling　by　chance　at　the　dinner…hour　of
the　following　day　towards　the　camp　of　the　hospitable　strangers；　was
surprised　and　saddened　to　find　only　the　sand…hill　strewn　with　debris。
The　tents；　the　camels；　the　mules；　the　horsesall　were　gone。　No
servants　greeted　him。　No　cook　was　busy。　No　kind　hostess　bade　him　come
in　and　stay　to　dine。　Forlornly　he　glanced　around　and　made　inquiry。　An
Arab　told　him　that　in　the　morning　the　camp　had　been　struck　and　ere
noon　was　far　on　its　way　towards　the　north。　The　priest　had　been　on
horseback　to　an　neighbouring　oasis；　so　had　heard　nothing　of　this
flitting。　He　asked　its　explanation；　and　was　told　a　hundred　lies。　The
one　most　often　repeated　was　to　the　effect　that　Monsieur；　the　husband
of　Madame；　was　overcome　by　the　heat；　and　that　for　this　reason　the
travellers　were　making　their　way　towards　the　cooler　climate　that　lay
beyond　the　desert。

As　he　heard　this　a　sensation　of　loneliness　came　to　the　priest。　His
usually　cheerful　countenance　was　overcast　with　gloom。　For　a　moment　he
loathed　his　fate　in　the　sands　and　sighed　for　the　fleshpots　of
civilisation。　With　his　white　umbrella　spread　above　his　helmet　he　stood
still　and　gazed　towards　the　north　across　the　vast　spaces　that　were
lemon…yellow　in　the　sunset。　He　fancied　that　on　the　horizon　he　saw
faintly　a　cloud　of　sand　grains　whirling；　and　imagined　it　stirred　up　by
the　strangers'　caravan。　Then　he　thought　of　the　rich　lands　of　the　Tell；
of　the　olive　groves　of　Tunis；　of　the　blue　Mediterranean；　of　France；
his　country　which　he　had　not　seen　for　many　years。　He　sighed
profoundly。

〃Happy　people；〃　he　thought　to　himself。　〃Rich；　free；　able　to　do　as　they
like；　to　go　where　they　will！　Why　was　I　born　to　live　in　the　sand　and　to
be　alone？〃

He　was　moved　by　envy。　But　then　he　remembered　his　intercourse　with
Androvsky　on　the　previous　day。

〃After　all；〃　he　thought　more　comfortably；　〃he　did　not　look　a　happy
man！〃　And　he　took　himself　to　task　for　his　sin　of　envy；　and　strolled　to
the　inn　by　the　fountain　where　he　paid　his　pension。

The　same　day；　in　the　house　of　the　marabout　of　Beni…Hassan；　Count
Anteoni　received　a　letter　brought　from　Amara　by　an　Arab。　It　was　as
follows：


〃AMARA。

　〃MY　DEAR　FRIEND：　Good…bye。　We　are　just　leaving。　I　had　expected　to
　　be　here　longer；　but　we　must　go。　We　are　returning　to　the　north　and
　　shall　not　penetrate　farther　into　the　desert。　I　shall　think　of　you；
　　and　of　your　journey　on　among　the　people　of　your　faith。　You　said　to
　　me；　when　we　sat　in　the　tent　door；　that　now　you　could　pray　in　the
　　desert。　Pray　in　the　desert　for　us。　And　one　thing　more。　If　you
　　never　return　to　Beni…Mora；　and　your　garden　is　to　pass　into　other
　　hands；　don't　let　it　go　into　the　hands　of　a　stranger。　I　could　not
　　bear　that。　Let　it　come　to　me。　At　any　price　you　name。　Forgive　me
　　for　writing　thus。　Perhaps　you　will　return；　or　perhaps；　even　if　you
　　do　not；　you　will　keep　your　garden。Your　Friend；　DOMINI。〃


In　a　postscript　was　an　address　which　would　always　find　her。

Count　Anteoni　read　this　letter　two　or　three　times　carefully；　with　a
grave　face。

〃Why　did　she　not　put　Domini　Androvsky？〃　he　said　to　himself。　He　locked
the　letter　in　a　drawer。　All　that　night　he　was　haunted　by　thoughts　of
the　garden。　Again　and　again　it　seemed　to　him　that　he　stood　with　Domini
beside　the　white　wall　and　saw；　in　the　burning　distance　of　the　desert；
at　the　call　of　the　Mueddin；　the　Arabs　bowing　themselves　in　prayer；　and
the　manthe　man　to　whom　now　she　had　bound　herself　by　the　most　holy
tiefleeing　from　prayer　as　if　in　horror。

〃But　it　was　written；〃　he　murmured　to　himself。　〃It　was　written　in　the
sand　and　in　fire：　'The　fate　of　every　man　have　we　bound　about　his
neck。'〃

In　the　dawn　when；　turning　towards　the　rising　sun；　he　prayed；　he
remembered　Domini　and　her　words：　〃Pray　in　the　desert　for　us。〃　And　in
the　Garden　of　Allah　he　prayed　to　Allah　for　her；　and　for　Androvsky。

Meanwhile　the　camp　had　been　struck；　and　the　first　stage　of　the　journey
northward；　the　journey　back；　had　been　accomplished。　Domini　had　given
the　order　of　departure；　but　she　had　first　spoken　with　Androvsky。

After　his　narrative；　and　her　words　that　followed　it；　he　did　not　come
into　the　tent。　She　did　not　ask　him　to。　She　did　not　see　him　in　the
moonlight　beyond　the　tent；　or　when　the　moonlight　waned　before　the
coming　of　the　dawn。　She　was　upon　her　knees；　her　face　hidden　in　her
hands；　striving　as　surely　few　human　beings　have　ever　had　to　strive　in
the　difficult　paths　of　life。　At　first　she　had　felt　almost　calm。　When
she　had　spoken　to　Androvsky　there　had　even　been　a　strange　sensation
that　was　not　unlike　triumph　in　her　heart。　In　this　triumph　she　had　felt
disembodied；　as　if　she　were　a　spirit　standing　there；　removed　from
earthly　suffering；　but　able　to　contemplate；　to　understand；　to　pity　it；
removed　from　earthly　sin；　but　able　to　commit　an　action　that　might　help
to　purge　it。

When　she　said　to　Androvsky；　〃Now　you　can　pray；〃　she　had　passed　into　a
region　where　self　had　no　existence。　Her　whole　soul　was　intent　upon
this　man　to　whom　she　had　given　all　the　treasures　of　her　heart　and　whom
she　knew　to　be　writhing　as　souls　writhe　in　Purgatory。　He　had　spoken　at
last；　he　had　laid　bare　his　misery；　his　crime；　he　had　laid　bare　the
agony　of　one　who　had　insulted　God；　but　who　repented　his　insult；　who
had　wandered　far　away　from　God；　but　who　could　never　be　happy　in　his
wandering；　who　could　never　be　at　peace　even　in　a　mighty　human　love
unless　that　love　was　consecrated　by　God's　contentment　with　it。　As　she
stood　there　Domini　had　had　an　instant　of　absolutely　clear　sight　into
the　depths　of　another's　heart；　another's　nature。　She　had　seen　the　monk
in　Androvsky；　not　slain　by　his　act　of　rejection；　but　alive；　sorrow…
stricken；　quivering；　scourged。　And　she　had　been　able　to　tell　this　monk
as　God　seemed　to　be　telling　her；　making　of　her　his　messengerthat
now　at　last　he　might　pray　to　a　God　who　again　would　hear　him；　as　He　had
heard　him　in　the　garden　of　El…Largani；　in　his　cell；　in　the　chapel；　in
the　fields。　She　had　been　able　to　do　this。　Then　she　had　turned　away；
gone　into　the　tent　and　fallen　upon　her　knees。

But　with　that　personal　action　her　sense　of　triumph　passed　away。　As　her
body　sank　down　her　soul　seemed　to　sink　down　with　it　into　bottomless
depths　of　blackness　where　no　light　had　ever　been；　into　an　underworld；
airless；　peopled　with　invisible　violence。　And　it　seemed　to　her　as　if
it　was　her　previous　flight　upward　which　had　caused　this　descent　into　a