Green Mansions: A Romance of the Tropical Forest

  CHAPTER XVII

  As I re-entered the cave with my burden Nuflo sat up and stared at mewith a frightened look in his eyes. Throwing my cloak down, I placed thegirl on it and briefly related what had happened.

  He drew near to examine her; then placed his hand on her heart."Dead!--she is dead!" he exclaimed.

  My own anxiety changed to an irrational anger at his words. "Old fool!She has only fainted," I returned. "Get me some water, quick."

  But the water failed to restore her, and my anxiety deepened as I gazedon that white, still face. Oh, why had I told her that sad tragedy I hadimagined with so little preparation? Alas! I had succeeded too well inmy purpose, killing her vain hope and her at the same moment.

  The old man, still bending over her, spoke again. "No, I will notbelieve that she is dead yet; but, sir, if not dead, then she is dying."

  I could have struck him down for his words. "She will die in my arms,then," I exclaimed, thrusting him roughly aside, and lifting her up withthe cloak beneath her.

  And while I held her thus, her head resting on my arm, and gazed withunutterable anguish into her strangely white face, insanely praying toHeaven to restore her to me, Nuflo fell on his knees before her, andwith bowed head, and hands clasped in supplication, began to speak.

  "Rima! Grandchild!" he prayed, his quivering voice betraying hisagitation. "Do not die just yet: you must not die--not wholly die--untilyou have heard what I have to say to you. I do not ask you to answerin words--you are past that, and I am not unreasonable. Only, when Ifinish, make some sign--a sigh, a movement of the eyelid, a twitch ofthe lips, even in the small corners of the mouth; nothing more thanthat, just to show that you have heard, and I shall be satisfied.Remember all the years that I have been your protector, and this longjourney that I have taken on your account; also all that I did foryour sainted mother before she died at Voa, to become one of the mostimportant of those who surround the Queen of Heaven, and who, when theywish for any favour, have only to say half a word to get it. And do notcast in oblivion that at the last I obeyed your wish and brought yousafely to Riolama. It is true that in some small things I deceived you;but that must not weigh with you, because it is a small matter and notworthy of mention when you consider the claims I have on you. In yourhands, Rima, I leave everything, relying on the promise you made me, andon my services. Only one word of caution remains to be added. Do not letthe magnificence of the place you are now about to enter, the new sightsand colours, and the noise of shouting, and musical instruments andblowing of trumpets, put these things out of your head. Nor must youbegin to think meanly of yourself and be abashed when you find yourselfsurrounded by saints and angels; for you are not less than they,although it may not seem so at first when you see them in their brightclothes, which, they say, shine like the sun. I cannot ask you to tiea string round your finger; I can only trust to your memory, which wasalways good, even about the smallest things; and when you are asked, asno doubt you will be, to express a wish, remember before everything tospeak of your grandfather, and his claims on you, also on your angelicmother, to whom you will present my humble remembrances."

  During this petition, which in other circumstances would have moved meto laughter but now only irritated me, a subtle change seemed to cometo the apparently lifeless girl to make me hope. The small hand in minefelt not so icy cold, and though no faintest colour had come to theface, its pallor had lost something of its deathly waxen appearance; andnow the compressed lips had relaxed a little and seemed ready to part.I laid my finger-tips on her heart and felt, or imagined that I felt,a faint fluttering; and at last I became convinced that her heart wasreally beating.

  I turned my eyes on the old man, still bending forward, intentlywatching for the sign he had asked her to make. My anger and disgustat his gross earthy egoism had vanished. "Let us thank God, old man,"I said, the tears of joy half choking my utterance. "She lives--she isrecovering from her fit."

  He drew back, and on his knees, with bowed head, murmured a prayer ofthanks to Heaven.

  Together we continued watching her face for half an hour longer, Istill holding her in my arms, which could never grow weary of that sweetburden, waiting for other, surer signs of returning life; and she seemednow like one that had fallen into a profound, death-like sleep whichmust end in death. Yet when I remembered her face as it had looked anhour ago, I was confirmed in the belief that the progress to recovery,so strangely slow, was yet sure. So slow, so gradual was this passingfrom death to life that we had hardly ceased to fear when we noticedthat the lips were parted, or almost parted, that they were no longerwhite, and that under her pale, transparent skin a faint, bluish-rosycolour was now visible. And at length, seeing that all danger was pastand recovery so slow, old Nuflo withdrew once more to the fireside and,stretching himself out on the sandy floor, soon fell into a deep sleep.

  If he had not been lying there before me in the strong light of theglowing embers and dancing flames, I could not have felt more alone withRima--alone amid those remote mountains, in that secret cavern, withlights and shadows dancing on its grey vault. In that profound silenceand solitude the mysterious loveliness of the still face I continuedto gaze on, its appearance of life without consciousness, produced astrange feeling in me, hard, perhaps impossible, to describe.

  Once, when clambering among the rough rocks, overgrown with forest,among the Queneveta mountains, I came on a single white flower which wasnew to me, which I have never seen since. After I had looked long at it,and passed on, the image of that perfect flower remained so persistentlyin my mind that on the following day I went again, in the hope of seeingit still untouched by decay. There was no change; and on this occasionI spent a much longer time looking at it, admiring the marvellousbeauty of its form, which seemed so greatly to exceed that of allother flowers. It had thick petals, and at first gave me the idea of anartificial flower, cut by a divinely inspired artist from some unknownprecious stone, of the size of a large orange and whiter than milk, andyet, in spite of its opacity, with a crystalline lustre on the surface.Next day I went again, scarcely hoping to find it still unwithered; itwas fresh as if only just opened; and after that I went often, sometimesat intervals of several days, and still no faintest sign of any change,the clear, exquisite lines still undimmed, the purity and lustre asI had first seen it. Why, I often asked, does not this mystic forestflower fade and perish like others? That first impression of itsartificial appearance had soon left me; it was, indeed, a flower, and,like other flowers, had life and growth, only with that transcendentbeauty it had a different kind of life. Unconscious, but higher; perhapsimmortal. Thus it would continue to bloom when I had looked my laston it; wind and rain and sunlight would never stain, never tinge, itssacred purity; the savage Indian, though he sees little to admire in aflower, yet seeing this one would veil his face and turn back; eventhe browsing beast crashing his way through the forest, struck withits strange glory, would swerve aside and pass on without harming it.Afterwards I heard from some Indians to whom I described it thatthe flower I had discovered was called Hata; also that they had asuperstition concerning it--a strange belief. They said that only oneHata flower existed in the world; that it bloomed in one spot for thespace of a moon that on the disappearance of the moon in the sky theHata disappeared from its place, only to reappear blooming in someother spot, sometimes in some distant forest. And they also said thatwhosoever discovered the Hata flower in the forest would overcome allhis enemies and obtain all his desires, and finally outlive other menby many years. But, as I have said, all this I heard afterwards, and myhalf-superstitious feeling for the flower had grown up independentlyin my own mind. A feeling like that was in me while I gazed on the facethat had no motion, no consciousness in it, and yet had life, a life ofso high a kind as to match with its pure, surpassing loveliness. I couldalmost believe that, like the forest flower, in this state and aspect itwould endure for ever; endure and perhaps give of its own immortality toeverything around it--to me, holding her in my arms an
d gazing fixedlyon the pale face framed in its cloud of dark, silken hair; to theleaping flames that threw changing lights on the dim stony wall ofrock; to old Nuflo and his two yellow dogs stretched out on the floor ineternal, unawakening sleep.

  This feeling took such firm possession of my mind that it kept me fora time as motionless as the form I held in my arms. I was only releasedfrom its power by noting still further changes in the face I watched,a more distinct advance towards conscious life. The faint colour,which had scarcely been more than a suspicion of colour, had deepenedperceptibly; the lids were lifted so as to show a gleam of the crystalorbs beneath; the lips, too, were slightly parted.

  And, at last, bending lower down to feel her breath, the beauty andsweetness of those lips could no longer be resisted, and I touched themwith mine. Having once tasted their sweetness and fragrance, it wasimpossible to keep from touching them again and again. She was notconscious--how could she be and not shrink from my caress? Yet therewas a suspicion in my mind, and drawing back I gazed into her face oncemore. A strange new radiance had overspread it. Or was this only anillusive colour thrown on her skin by the red firelight? I shaded herface with my open hand, and saw that her pallor had really gone, thatthe rosy flame on her cheeks was part of her life. Her lustrous eyes,half open, were gazing into mine. Oh, surely consciousness had returnedto her! Had she been sensible of those stolen kisses? Would she nowshrink from another caress? Trembling, I bent down and touched her lipsagain, lightly, but lingeringly, and then again, and when I drew backand looked at her face the rosy flame was brighter, and the eyes,more open still, were looking into mine. And gazing with those open,conscious eyes, it seemed to me that at last, at last, the shadow thathad rested between us had vanished, that we were united in perfect loveand confidence, and that speech was superfluous. And when I spoke, itwas not without doubt and hesitation: our bliss in those silent momentshad been so complete, what could speaking do but make it less!

  "My love, my life, my sweet Rima, I know that you will understand menow as you did not before, on that dark night--do you remember it,Rima?--when I held you clasped to my breast in the wood. How it piercedmy heart with pain to speak plainly to you as I did on the mountaintonight--to kill the hope that had sustained and brought you so far fromhome! But now that anguish is over; the shadow has gone out of thosebeautiful eyes that are looking at me. It is because loving me, knowingnow what love is, knowing, too, how much I love you, that you no longerneed to speak to any other living being of such things? To tell it, toshow it, to me is now enough--is it not so, Rima? How strange it seemed,at first, when you shrank in fear from me! But, afterwards, when youprayed aloud to your mother, opening all the secrets of your heart, Iunderstood it. In that lonely, isolated life in the wood you had heardnothing of love, of its power over the heart, its infinite sweetness;when it came to you at last it was a new, inexplicable thing, and filledyou with misgivings and tumultuous thoughts, so that you feared it andhid yourself from its cause. Such tremors would be felt if it had alwaysbeen night, with no light except that of the stars and the pale moon, aswe saw it a little while ago on the mountain; and, at last, day dawned,and a strange, unheard-of rose and purple flame kindled in the easternsky, foretelling the coming sun. It would seem beautiful beyond anythingthat night had shown to you, yet you would tremble and your heart beatfast at that strange sight; you would wish to fly to those who might beable to tell you its meaning, and whether the sweet things it prophesiedwould ever really come. That is why you wished to find your people, andcame to Riolama to seek them; and when you knew--when I cruelly toldyou--that they would never be found, then you imagined that that strangefeeling in your heart must remain a secret for ever, and you couldnot endure the thought of your loneliness. If you had not fainted soquickly, then I should have told you what I must tell you now. They arelost, Rima--your people--but I am with you, and know what you feel, evenif you have no words to tell it. But what need of words? It shines inyour eyes, it burns like a flame in your face; I can feel it in yourhands. Do you not also see it in my face--all that I feel for you, thelove that makes me happy? For this is love, Rima, the flower and themelody of life, the sweetest thing, the sweet miracle that makes our twosouls one."

  Still resting in my arms, as if glad to rest there, still gazing intomy face, it was clear to me that she understood my every word. And then,with no trace of doubt or fear left, I stooped again, until my lips wereon hers; and when I drew back once more, hardly knowing which bliss wasgreatest--kissing her delicate mouth or gazing into her face--she all atonce put her arms about my neck and drew herself up until she sat on myknee.

  "Abel--shall I call you Abel now--and always?" she spoke, still withher arms round my neck. "Ah, why did you let me come to Riolama? I wouldcome! I made him come--old grandfather, sleeping there: he does notcount, but you--you! After you had heard my story, and knew that it wasall for nothing! And all I wished to know was there--in you. Oh, howsweet it is! But a little while ago, what pain! When I stood on themountain when you talked to me, and I knew that you knew best, and triedand tried not to know. At last I could try no more; they were all deadlike mother; I had chased the false water on the savannah. 'Oh, let medie too,' I said, for I could not bear the pain. And afterwards, here inthe cave, I was like one asleep, and when I woke I did not really wake.It was like morning with the light teasing me to open my eyes and lookat it. Not yet, dear light; a little while longer, it is so sweet to liestill. But it would not leave me, and stayed teasing me still, like asmall shining green fly; until, because it teased me so, I opened mylids just a little. It was not morning, but the firelight, and I was inyour arms, not in my little bed. Your eyes looking, looking into mine.But I could see yours better. I remembered everything then, how you onceasked me to look into your eyes. I remembered so many things--oh, somany!"

  "How many things did you remember, Rima?"

  "Listen, Abel, do you ever lie on the dry moss and look straight up intoa tree and count a thousand leaves?"

  "No, sweetest, that could not be done, it is so many to count. Do youknow how many a thousand are?"

  "Oh, do I not! When a humming-bird flies close to my face and stopsstill in the air, humming like a bee, and then is gone, in that shorttime I can count a hundred small round bright feathers on its throat.That is only a hundred; a thousand are more, ten times. Looking up Icount a thousand leaves; then stop counting, because there are thousandsmore behind the first, and thousands more, crowded together so that Icannot count them. Lying in your arms, looking up into your face, it waslike that; I could not count the things I remembered. In the wood, whenyou were there, and before; and long, long ago at Voa, when I was achild with mother."

  "Tell me some of the things you remembered, Rima."

  "Yes, one--only one now. When I was a child at Voa mother was verylame--you know that. Whenever we went out, away from the houses, intothe forest, walking slowly, slowly, she would sit under a tree while Iran about playing. And every time I came back to her I would find her sopale, so sad, crying--crying. That was when I would hide and come softlyback so that she would not hear me coming. 'Oh, mother, why are youcrying? Does your lame foot hurt you?' And one day she took me in herarms and told me truly why she cried."

  She ceased speaking, but looked at me with a strange new light cominginto her eyes.

  "Why did she cry, my love?"

  "Oh, Abel, can you understand--now--at last!" And putting her lipsclose to my ear, she began to murmur soft, melodious sounds that toldme nothing. Then drawing back her head, she looked again at me, her eyesglistening with tears, her lips half parted with a smile, tender andwistful.

  Ah, poor child! in spite of all that had been said, all that hadhappened, she had returned to the old delusion that I must understandher speech. I could only return her look, sorrowfully and in silence.

  Her face became clouded with disappointment, then she spoke again withsomething of pleading in her tone. "Look, we are not now apart, I hidingin the wood, you seeking, but togeth
er, saying the same things. Inyour language--yours and now mine. But before you came I knew nothing,nothing, for there was only grandfather to talk to. A few words eachday, the same words. If yours is mine, mine must be yours. Oh, do younot know that mine is better?"

  "Yes, better; but alas! Rima, I can never hope to understand your sweetspeech, much less to speak it. The bird that only chirps and twitterscan never sing like the organ-bird."

  Crying, she hid her face against my neck, murmuring sadly between hersobs: "Never--never!"

  How strange it seemed, in that moment of joy, such a passion of tears,such despondent words!

  For some minutes I preserved a sorrowful silence, realizing for thefirst time, so far as it was possible to realize such a thing, what myinability to understand her secret language meant to her--that finerlanguage in which alone her swift thoughts and vivid emotions could beexpressed. Easily and well as she seemed able to declare herself in mytongue, I could well imagine that to her it would seem like the mereststammering. As she had said to me once when I asked her to speak inSpanish, "That is not speaking." And so long as she could not communewith me in that better language, which reflected her mind, there wouldnot be that perfect union of soul she so passionately desired.

  By and by, as she grew calmer, I sought to say something that would beconsoling to both of us. "Sweetest Rima," I spoke, "it is so sad thatI can never hope to talk with you in your way; but a greater love thanthis that is ours we could never feel, and love will make us happy,unutterably happy, in spite of that one sadness. And perhaps, after awhile, you will be able to say all you wish in my language, which isalso yours, as you said some time ago. When we are back again in thebeloved wood, and talk once more under that tree where we first talked,and under the old mora, where you hid yourself and threw down leaveson me, and where you caught the little spider to show me how you madeyourself a dress, you shall speak to me in your own sweet tongue, andthen try to say the same things in mine.... And in the end, perhaps, youwill find that it is not so impossible as you think."

  She looked at me, smiling again through her tears, and shook her head alittle.

  "Remember what I have heard, that before your mother died you were ableto tell Nuflo and the priest what her wish was. Can you not, in the sameway, tell me why she cried?"

  "I can tell you, but it will not be telling you."

  "I understand. You can tell the bare facts. I can imagine somethingmore, and the rest I must lose. Tell me, Rima."

  Her face became troubled; she glanced away and let her eyes wander roundthe dim, firelit cavern; then they returned to mine once more.

  "Look," she said, "grandfather lying asleep by the fire. So far awayfrom us--oh, so far! But if we were to go out from the cave, and on andon to the great mountains where the city of the sun is, and stood thereat last in the midst of great crowds of people, all looking at us,talking to us, it would be just the same. They would be like the treesand rocks and animals--so far! Not with us nor we with them. But we areeverywhere alone together, apart--we two. It is love; I know it now, butI did not know it before because I had forgotten what she told me. Doyou think I can tell you what she said when I asked her why she cried?Oh no! Only this, she and another were like one, always, apart fromthe others. Then something came--something came! O Abel, was that thesomething you told me about on the mountain? And the other was lost forever, and she was alone in the forests and mountains of the world. Oh,why do we cry for what is lost? Why do we not quickly forget it and feelglad again? Now only do I know what you felt, O sweet mother, when yousat still and cried, while I ran about and played and laughed! O poormother! Oh, what pain!" And hiding her face against my neck, she sobbedonce more.

  To my eyes also love and sympathy brought the tears; but in a littlewhile the fond, comforting words I spoke and my caresses recalled herfrom that sad past to the present; then, lying back as at first,her head resting on my folded cloak, her body partly supported by myencircling arm and partly by the rock we were leaning against,her half-closed eyes turned to mine expressed a tender assuredhappiness--the chastened gladness of sunshine after rain; a softdelicious languor that was partly passionate with the passionetherealized.

  "Tell me, Rima," I said, bending down to her, "in all those troubleddays with me in the woods had you no happy moments? Did not something inyour heart tell you that it was sweet to love, even before you knew whatlove meant?"

  "Yes; and once--O Abel, do you remember that night, after returning fromYtaioa, when you sat so late talking by the fire--I in the shadow, neverstirring, listening, listening; you by the fire with the light on yourface, saying so many strange things? I was happy then--oh, how happy! Itwas black night and raining, and I a plant growing in the dark, feelingthe sweet raindrops falling, falling on my leaves. Oh, it will bemorning by and by and the sun will shine on my wet leaves; and thatmade me glad till I trembled with happiness. Then suddenly the lightningwould come, so bright, and I would tremble with fear, and wish thatit would be dark again. That was when you looked at me sitting in theshadow, and I could not take my eyes away quickly and could not meetyours, so that I trembled with fear."

  "And now there is no fear--no shadow; now you are perfectly happy?"

  "Oh, so happy! If the way back to the wood was longer, ten times, andif the great mountains, white with snow on their tops, were between, andthe great dark forest, and rivers wider than Orinoco, still I would goalone without fear, because you would come after me, to join me in thewood, to be with me at last and always."

  "But I should not let you go alone, Rima--your lonely days are overnow."

  She opened her eyes wider and looked earnestly into my face. "I must goback alone, Abel," she said. "Before day comes I must leave you. Resthere, with grandfather, for a few days and nights, then follow me."

  I heard her with astonishment. "It must not be, Rima," I cried. "What,let you leave me--now you are mine--to go all that distance, through allthat wild country where you might lose yourself and perish alone? Oh, donot think of it!"

  She listened, regarding me with some slight trouble in her eyes, butsmiling a little at the same time. Her small hand moved up my arm andcaressed my cheek; then she drew my face down to hers until our lipsmet. But when I looked at her eyes again, I saw that she had notconsented to my wish. "Do I not know all the way now," she spoke, "allthe mountains, rivers, forests--how should I lose myself? And I mustreturn quickly, not step by step, walking--resting, resting--walking,stopping to cook and eat, stopping to gather firewood, to make ashelter--so many things! Oh, I shall be back in half the time; and Ihave so much to do."

  "What can you have to do, love?--everything can be done when we are inthe wood together."

  A bright smile with a touch of mockery in it flitted over her face asshe replied: "Oh, must I tell you that there are things you cannot do?Look, Abel," and she touched the slight garment she wore, thinner nowthan at first, and dulled by long exposure to sun and wind and rain.

  I could not command her, and seemed powerless to persuade her; but I hadnot done yet, and proceeded to use every argument I could find to bringher round to my view; and when I finished she put her arms around myneck and drew herself up once more. "O Abel, how happy I shall be!" shesaid, taking no notice of all I had said. "Think of me alone, days anddays, in the wood, waiting for you, working all the time; saying: 'Comequickly, Abel; come slow, Abel. O Abel, how long you are! Oh, do notcome until my work is finished!' And when it is finished and you arriveyou shall find me, but not at once. First you will seek for me in thehouse, then in the wood, calling: 'Rima! Rima!' And she will be there,listening, hid in the trees, wishing to be in your arms, wishing foryour lips--oh, so glad, yet fearing to show herself. Do you know why?He told you--did he not?--that when he first saw her she was standingbefore him all in white--a dress that was like snow on the mountain-topswhen the sun is setting and gives it rose and purple colour. I shallbe like that, hidden among the trees, saying: 'Am I different--not likeRima? Will he know me--will he love me j
ust the same?' Oh, do I notknow that you will be glad, and love me, and call me beautiful? Listen!Listen!" she suddenly exclaimed, lifting her face.

  Among the bushes not far from the cave's mouth a small bird had brokenout in song, a clear, tender melody soon taken up by other birds furtheraway.

  "It will soon be morning," she said, and then clasped her arms about meonce more and held me in a long, passionate embrace; then slipping awayfrom my arms and with one swift glance at the sleeping old man, passedout of the cave.

  For a few moments I remained sitting, not yet realizing that she hadleft me, so suddenly and swiftly had she passed from my arms and mysight; then, recovering my faculties, I started up and rushed out inhopes of overtaking her.

  It was not yet dawn, but there was still some light from the fullmoon, now somewhere behind the mountains. Running to the verge of thebushgrown plateau, I explored the rocky slope beneath without seeing herform, and then called: "Rima! Rima!"

  A soft, warbling sound, uttered by no bird, came up from the shadowybushes far below; and in that direction I ran on then pausing, calledagain. The sweet sound was repeated once more, but much lower down now,and so faintly that I scarcely heard it. And when I went on furtherand called again and again, there was no reply, and I knew that she hadindeed gone on that long journey alone.