CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Leonie kept her bed for a couple of days with nervous fever. People atLabuwangi said that the residency was haunted. At the weekly assembliesin the Municipal Garden, when the band played and the children and theyoung people danced on the open-air stone floor, there were whisperedconversations around the refreshment-tables touching the strangehappenings in the residency. Dr. Rantzow was asked many questions,but could only tell what the resident had told him, what Mrs. vanOudijck herself had told him, of her being frightened in the bathroomby an enormous toad, on which she had trodden and stumbled. Therewas more known through the servants, however; though, when onespoke of the throwing of stones and the spitting of betel-juice,another laughed and called it all babu-talk. And so uncertaintyprevailed. Nevertheless, the papers throughout the country, fromSurabaya to Batavia, contained curious, hinting paragraphs, whichwere not very lucid but which suggested a good deal.
Van Oudijck himself discussed the matter with nobody, neither with hiswife and children nor with the officials or the servants. But on oneoccasion he came out of the bathroom looking deathly pale, with eyesstaring wildly. He went indoors quietly, however, and pulled himselftogether; and no one noticed anything. Then he spoke to the chief ofpolice. There was an old graveyard next to the residency-grounds. Thiswas now watched day and night; also the outer wall of the bathroom. Thebathroom itself was no longer used; they took their baths instead inthe visitors' bathroom.
As soon as Mrs. van Oudijck had recovered, she went to stay withfriends at Surabaya. She did not return. She had gradually, andunostentatiously, without a word to Van Oudijck, made Oorip pack up herclothes and all sorts of knick-nacks to which she was attached. Trunkupon trunk was sent after her. When Van Oudijck happened to go to herbedroom one day, he found it empty of all but the furniture. Numberlessthings had disappeared also from her boudoir. He had not observedthe dispatch of the trunks, but he now understood that she wouldnot return. He cancelled his next reception. It was December; andRene and Ricus were to come from Batavia for the Christmas holidays,for a week or ten days; but he cancelled the boys' visit. Then Doddiewas invited to stay at Patjaram, with the De Luce family. Although,with the instinct of a full-blooded Hollander, he did not like the DeLuces, he consented. They were fond of Doddie there: she would have abetter time than at Labuwangi. He had given up his idea, the hope thatDoddie would not become Indianized. Suddenly, Theo also went away:through Leonie's influence with commercial magnates at Surabaya,he obtained a well-paid berth in an export-and-import business.
Van Oudijck was left all alone in his big house. As the cook and thebutler had run away, Eldersma and Eva constantly asked him to meals,both to lunch and dinner. He never mentioned his house at their tableand it was never discussed. What he discussed confidentially withEldersma, as secretary, and with Van Helderen, as controller, these twonever mentioned, treating it all as an official secret. The chief ofpolice, who had been accustomed daily to make his brief report--thatnothing particular had happened, or that there had been a fire, orthat a man had been wounded--now made long, secret reports, with thedoors of the office locked, to prevent the messengers outside fromlistening. Gradually all the servants ran away, departing stealthilyin the night, with their families and their household belongings,leaving their huts in the compound empty and dirty. They did not evenstay in the residency. Van Oudijck let them go. He kept only Karioand the messengers; and the prisoners tended the garden daily. Thusthe house remained apparently unaltered, outside. But, inside, wherenothing was looked after, the dust lay thick on the furniture, whiteants devoured the mats, mildew and patches of moisture came throughthe walls. The resident never went about the house, occupying only hisbedroom and his office. His face began to wear a look of gloom, likea bitter, silent doubt. He worked more conscientiously than ever andstimulated his subordinates more actively, as though he were thinkingof nothing but the interests of Labuwangi. In his isolated position,he had no friend and sought none. He bore everything alone, on hisown shoulders, on his own back, which grew bent with approaching age:the heavy burden of his house, which was being destroyed, and of hisfamily life, which was breaking up amid the strange happenings thatescaped his police, his watchmen, his personal vigilance and hissecret spies. He discovered nothing. Nobody told him anything. Noone threw any light on anything.
And the strange happenings continued. A mirror was smashed by agreat stone. Calmly he had the pieces cleared away. It was not hisnature to believe in the supernatural character of possibilities;and he did not believe in it. He was secretly enraged at being unableto discover the culprits and an explanation of the events. But herefused to believe. He did not believe when he found his bed soiledand Kario, squatting at his feet, swore that he did not know how ithad happened. He did not believe when the tumbler which he liftedbroke into shivers. He did not believe when he heard a constant,irritating hammering overhead. But his bed was soiled, his glass didbreak, the hammering was a fact. He investigated all these facts,as punctiliously as though he were investigating a criminal case,and nothing came to light. He remained unperturbed in his relationswith his European and native officials and with the regent. No oneremarked anything in his behaviour; and in the evenings he worked on,defiantly, at his writing-table, while the hammering continued andthe night fell softly in the garden, as by enchantment.
On the steps outside, the messengers crept together, listening andwhispering, glancing round timorously at their master who sat writing,with a frown of concentration on his brows:
"Doesn't he hear it?"
"Yes, yes, he's not deaf."
"He must hear it."
"He thinks he can find it out through detectives."
"There are soldiers coming from Ngadjiwa."
"From Ngadjiwa!"
"Yes, he does not trust the detectives. He has written to the majorsahib."
"To send soldiers?"
"Yes, there are soldiers coming."
"Look at him frowning."
"And he just goes on working!"
"I'm frightened. I should never dare to stay, if I hadn't got to."
"I'm not afraid to stay, as long as he's there."
"Yes ... he's brave."
"He's plucky."
"He's a brave man."
"But he doesn't understand it."
"No, he doesn't know what it is."
"He thinks it's rats."
"Yes, he has had a search made for rats upstairs, under the roof."
"These Hollanders don't know things."
"No, they don't understand."
"He smokes a lot."
"Yes, quite twelve cigars a day."
"He doesn't drink much."
"No ... only his whisky-and-soda of an evening."
"He'll ask for it presently."
"No one has stayed with him."
"No. The others understood. They've all left."
"He goes to bed very late."
"Yes, he's working hard."
"He never sleeps at night, only in the afternoon."
"Look at him frowning."
"He never stops working."
"Messenger!"
"He's calling."
"Yes, excellency?"
"Bring whisky-and-soda."
One of the messengers rose, to fetch the drink. He had everythingready to hand, in the visitors' wing, to avoid having to go through thehouse. The others pressed closer together and went on whispering. Themoon pierced the clouds and lit up the garden and the pond as with ahumid vapour of silent enchantment. The messenger had mixed the drink;he returned, squatted and offered it to the resident.
"Put it down," said Van Oudijck.
The messenger stood the tumbler on the writing-table and creptaway. The other messengers whispered together.
"Messenger!" cried Van Oudijck.
"Excellency."
"What have you put in this glass?"
The man trembled and shrank away at Van Oudijck's feet:
"Excellency, it's not poison;
I swear it by my life, by my death;I can't help it, excellency. Kick me, kill me: I can't help it,excellency!"
The glass was a dull yellow.
"Fetch another tumbler and fill it before me."
The messenger went away, trembling.
The others sat close together, feeling the contact of one another'sbodies through the sweat-soaked cloth of their liveries, and staredbefore them in dismay. The moon rose from its clouds, laughing andmocking like a wicked fairy; its moist and silent enchantment shonesilver over the wide garden. In the distance, from the garden at theback, a plaintive cry rang out, as though a child were being throttled.