Stories by English Authors: Africa

V >> Various >> Stories by English Authors: Africa


"Or?" queried madam, tremblingly.

"Or Amos starts on his journey to hell. God, how my fingers itch to slay
him! The devil, the Jew devil!"




X--AT THE HOUSE OF AMOS

As Ahmed had advised, Gregorio settled himself patiently to await the
summons. Madam would have liked to ask him many questions, and to have
extracted a promise from him not to risk his life in any mad enterprise
his accomplice might suggest. But though the Greek's body seemed almost
lifeless, so quietly and immovably he rested on his chair, there was a
restless look in his eyes that told her how fiercely and irrepressibly
his anger burned. She knew enough of his race to know that no power on
earth could stop him striking for revenge. And she trembled, for
she knew also that directly he had begun to strike his madness would
increase, and that only sheer physical exhaustion would stay his hand.

Madam Marx was unhappy, and as she waited on her customers her eyes
rested continually on the Greek, who heeded her not. Once she carried
some wine to him, and he drank eagerly, spilling a few drops on the
floor first. "It's like blood," he muttered, and smiled. Madam hastily
covered his mouth with her trembling fingers.

Just before midnight Ahmed arrived with his two friends. Gregorio saw
them at once, and, calling them to him, they spoke together in low
voices for a few moments. There was little need for words, and soon,
scarcely noticed by the drinkers and gamblers, they passed out into the
street and walked slowly toward the Jew's house. Ahmed rapidly repeated
the plan of action. When they reached the door they stood for a moment
before they woke the Arab, and these words passed between them:

"For a wife."

"For a sister."

"For a son."

Gregorio then demanded admittance and led the way, followed by his three
friends. He had visited the house of Amos before, on less bloody but
less delightful business, and he did not hesitate, but strode on to
where he knew the Jew would be. His companions stood behind the curtain,
awaiting the signal.

Amos looked somewhat surprised at the Greek's entrance, but motioned him
to a seat, and, as on the occasion of his first visit, clapped his hands
together as a signal that coffee and pipes were required.

"It is kind of you to come, for doubtless you wish to pay me what is
owing."

"I wish to pay you."

"That is well. I hope you are better again. I regretted to find you so
ill two nights ago."

"I am better."

The conversation ceased, for Gregorio was restless and his fingers
itched to do their work. Something in his manner alarmed Amos, for he
summoned in two of his servants and raised himself slightly, as if the
better to avoid an attack. But he continued to smoke calmly, watching
the Greek under his half-closed lids.

"I have another piece of business to settle with you."

"Do you want to borrow more money because I refuse to lend you any?"

"No; it is you who have borrowed, and I have come to you to receive back
my own."

"I fail to understand you."

Gregorio tried to keep calm, but it was not possible. Rising to his
feet, he bent over the Jew and cried out:

"Give me back my son, you Jew dog!"

"Your son is not here."

"You lie! by God, you lie! If he is not here you have murdered him."

"Madman!" shouted Amos, as the Greek's knife flashed from its sheath;
but before he or his servants could stay the uplifted arm the Jew sank
back among his cushions, wounded to the heart. With a shout of triumph
and a "Death of all Jews!" Gregorio turned savagely on the servants
and, reinforced by his companions, soon succeeded in slaying them. Then
leaving the dead side by side, the four men dashed through the house
seeking fresh victims. Ten minutes later they were in the street again,
dripping with the blood of women and men, for in their fury they had
killed every human being in the house.

Down the narrow native streets they pushed on quickly, hugging the
shadows, toward the Penny-farthing Shop. Madam Marx, her ears sharpened
by fear, heard them, admitted them by a side door, and led them quickly
to an upper room. Thither she carried water and clean garments, but
dared not ask any questions. Sick with anxiety, she re-entered the bar
and waited.

At length the murderers appeared and called for coffee, and Madam
Marx attended to their wants. In a few minutes the Egyptians left,
and Gregorio and she were alone. Coming near him, she placed her hand
timidly on his shoulder, and asked him, in a hoarse whisper, to tell her
what had happened.

"My son was not there."

"Well?"

"Well, you can guess the rest. Not one person remains alive of that
devil's household."

Madam Marx gasped at the magnitude of the crime, and though her terrors
increased, her pride in the man capable of so tremendous revenge
increased also.

"What will happen to you?" she found voice to ask.

"Nothing. I must hide here. We were not seen. Besides, you remember the
last time a Greek murdered a Jew--it was at Port Said--the matter was
hushed up. Our consuls care as little for Jews as we do. My God, how
glad I am I killed him!"

His eyes were fixed on the street as he spoke, and suddenly he started
to his feet. Madam rose too, and clung to him. He pushed her roughly on
one side, while an evil smile played on his lips.

"By God, she shall come back now!"

"Who?"

"Xantippe. There is no need for her to live with the Englishman now. Our
son is dead and the Jew in hell. I will at least have my wife back."

"She will not come."

"She will come. By God, I will make her! I have tasted blood to-night,
and I am not a child to be treated with contempt. I say I will make her
come."

"But if she refuses?"

"Then I will take care she does not go back to the Englishman."

"You will--" but madam's voice faltered. Gregorio read her meaning and
laughed a yes.

"But, Gregorio, think; you will be hanged for that. You wife is not a
Jewess."

But Gregorio laughed again and strode into the street. He was mad with
grief and the intoxicating draughts of vengeance he had swallowed. He
strode across the road and mounted the stairs with steady feet. Madam
Marx followed him, weeping and calling on him to come back. As he
reached the door of his room she flung herself before him, but he
pushed her on one side with his feet and shut the door behind him as he
entered.

Lying on the threshold, she heard the bolt fastened, and knew the last
act of the tragedy was begun.




XI--HUSBAND AND WIFE

As Gregorio entered the room, Xantippe, who was kneeling by a box into
which she was placing clothes neatly folded, turned her head and said
laughingly:

"You are impatient, my friend; I have nearly--"

But recognising Gregorio, she did not finish the sentence. She sat down
on the edge of the box. Her face became white, and the blood left her
lips. With a great effort she remained quiet and folded her hands on her
lap.

Gregorio looked at her for a moment, a cruel smile making his sinister
face appear almost terrible, and his bloodshot eyes glared at her
savagely. At last he broke the silence by shouting her name hoarsely,
making at the same time a movement toward her. He looked like a wild
animal about to spring upon his prey. Xantippe, however, did not flinch,
answering softly:

"I am not deaf. What do you want here?"

"It is my room; I suppose I have a right to be here."

"I apologise for having intruded."

"None of your smooth speeches. The Englishman has schooled you
carefully, I see. Can you say 'good-bye' in English yet?"

"Why should I say 'good-bye'?"

"It is time. You will come back to me now."

"Never."

Gregorio laughed hysterically and stood beside her. His fingers played
with her hair. In spite of her fear lest she should irritate him,
Xantippe shrank from his touch. Gregorio noticed her aversion and said
savagely:

"You must get used to me, Xantippe. From to-night we live together
again. It is not necessary now for you to earn money."

"I shall not come back to you. I have told you I hate you. It is your
own fault that I leave you."

"It will be my fault if you do leave me."

He pushed her on to the mattress and held her there.

"Let us talk," he said.

For a few minutes there was silence, and then he continued:

"Amos is dead, and our debts are paid."

"How did you pay them?"

"With this," and as he spoke he touched the handle of his knife. "Don't
shudder; he deserved it, and I shall be safe in a few days. These
affairs are quickly forgotten. Besides, there is another reason why we
should not live as we have lately been living."

Xantippe opened her eyes as she asked, "What reason?"

Gregorio relaxed his hold, for the memory of his loss shook him with
sobs. Cat-like, Xantippe had waited her opportunity and sprang away from
his grasp. The movement brought the man to his senses. He rushed at her
with an oath, waving the knife in his hand. Xantippe prepared to defend
herself. They stood, desperate, before each other, neither daring to
begin the struggle. Through the awful silence came the sound of sobs and
a plaintive voice crying:

"Gregorio, come back, leave her; I love you."

"Is Madam Marx outside?" hissed Xantippe.

"Yes."

"Then go to her. I tell you I hate you." She pointed to the half-filled
box--"I was going to leave here to-night. I will never return to you."

"You were going with the Englishman?"

"He is a man."

Gregorio paused a moment, then in a suppressed voice, half choking at
the words, said:

"Our son--do you know what has happened to him? You shall not leave me."

"I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil
influence. Let me pass." Xantippe moved toward the door, but Gregorio
seized her by the throat.

"You are glad our son is killed; you helped Amos to kill him."

Rage and despair impelled him. Laughing brutally, he struck her on the
breast, and, as he tottered, sent his knife deep into her heart. For a
few seconds he stood over her exulting, and then opened the door. Madam
Marx, white with fear, rushed into the room. Seeing the murdered woman,
a look of triumph came into her eyes. But it was a momentary triumph,
for she realised at once the gravity of the crime. She had little pity
or sorrow to waste on the dead, but she was full of concern for the
safety of the murderer.

"This is a bad night's work, Gregorio."

"Is it? She deserved death. I am glad I killed her. God, how peacefully
I shall sleep tonight!"

"This is a worse matter than the other, my friend; you must get away
from here at once."

"Let us leave the corpse; I am thirsty," Gregorio answered, callously.
With a last look at Xantippe dead upon the floor, the two left the room
and made fast the bolt before descending the stairs. As they emerged
from the doorway into the street, some police rode by, and Gregorio
trembled a little as he stood watching them.

"I want a drink; I am trembling," he said, huskily, and followed Madam
Marx into the shop.

The sun was beginning to rise, and already signs of a new life were
stirring. The day-workers appeared at the windows and in the streets.

"You must get away at night, Gregorio, and keep hidden all day."

"All right. Give me some wine. I can arrange better when my thirst is
satisfied."

After drinking deeply he turned and laughed. "It has been a busy time
since sunset."

Then, as if a new idea suddenly struck him, he queried cunningly, "There
will be a reward offered?"

"I suppose so."

"Then you will be a rich woman."

Madam Marx flung herself at his feet and wept bitterly. The blow was a
cruel one indeed. Eagerly she entreated him to retract his words. She
reminded him of all she had done for him, of all she would still do. A
sort of eloquence came to her as she pleaded her cause, and Gregorio,
weary with excitement, kissed her as he asked:

"But why should you not give me up?"

"Because I love you."

Neither blood nor cruelty could stain him in her eyes.

At last her passion spent itself; calmed and soothed by Gregorio's
caress she realised again the danger her lover ran. Vainly were plans
discussed; no fair chance of escape seemed open. At last Gregorio said:

"I shall leave here to-night for Ramleh and live in the desert for a
time. If you help me we can manage easily. When my beard is grown I can
get back here safely enough, and the matter will be forgotten. You must
collect food and take it by train to the last station, and get the box
buried by Ahmed near the palace. I can creep toward it at night unseen."

"But I will come to you at night and bring food and drink."

"No. That would only attract attention. You must not leave your
customers. But the drink is the worst part of the matter. I must have
water. Get as many ostrich-eggs as you can, and fill them with water,
and seal them. Hide these with the food, and I will carry some of them
into the farther desert and bury them there."

"Gregorio, if all comes right you will not be sorry you killed her?"

"She hated me. I shall not be sorry."

And Madam Marx smiled and forgot her fears.




XII--IN THE DESERT AND ON THE SEA

By the last train leaving Alexandria for Ramleh, the next evening,
Gregorio sought to escape his pursuers. He had heard from Ahmed on
the platform, just before starting, that Xantippe's body had been
discovered, and that already the police were on his track. He sat in
a corner of a third-class carriage closely muffled, and eyeing his
neighbours suspiciously. He sighed with relief as the train moved out
of the station and began to pass by the sand-hills and white villas,
showing ghost-like in the damp mist.

When he reached St. Antonio he saw the lights of the casino blazing
cheerfully, and the pure clear desert air invigorated him. Fascinated
by the glare, he strolled toward the casino and decided, in spite of
the risk, to enter. He watched from a corner the players, and greedily
coveted the masses of gold and silver piled in pyramids behind the
croupiers. He heard the violins playing Suppe's overture, and the
remembrance came vividly to him of the Paradiso and the fair girl with
whom the Englishman talked. The exciting events following that evening
passed before him--a lurid panorama.

An hour fled quickly away; then he sought the solitude of the desert,
and, having collected into a bag as much food and as many eggs as he
could carry, he walked away over the sands.

Under the stars he dug holes wherein to bury the eggs, and marked the
spots with stones; then, wrapping himself in his cloak, lay down to
sleep. All next day he loitered idly about, shunning the gaze of every
wandering Arab. When evening came he drew near to the palace to seek for
food. To his horror, the box had not been refilled. At first he hardly
realised how awful was his plight. Then the truth dawned upon him. Ahmed
and Madam Marx must have been arrested. He drew near to the casino and
stood under the open windows listening. A cold shudder ran down his
back, his face grew pale, and his lips trembled, for he heard two men
discussing the murder and the capture of his friends. An involuntary
smile lighted up the gloom of his features for a moment as one remarked
that the chief offender, the woman's husband, had eluded pursuit. Then
he crept back into the desert and waited for the dawn.

The sun rose, fiery and relentless, glittering on the waters of Aboukir,
and the cloudless heaven blazed like a prairie on fire. At midday, when
its rays fell straight upon him, his thirst became intense, and with
feverish fingers he dug up an egg. It was empty. He tossed it away and
dragged himself to another hole. The second egg was empty. In turn
he dug up all his eggs, and all alike were empty. Improperly sealed,
scantily covered by the sand, the water had evaporated. A great despair
seized him; he called on God in his anguish, and the silence of the
desert terrified him. In a fit of desolate anger he pulled off his cap,
and summoned all the saints, Christ, and God Himself, to enter it, and
then trampled on it, laughing wildly. Then he flung himself upon the
sand, his head still left bare to the pitiless sun. He knew the end had
come, but there was not any regret in his heart for his crimes, only
an impotent dismay and anger at his solitary condition. The thirst
increased every minute, and he gripped the sand with his fingers in his
agony. His last word was an oath.

At sunset he was dead.

Two days later Madam Marx left Alexandria by train for Ramleh. There was
no evidence against her, and she had soon been released. Her own trouble
scarcely disconcerted her; she had feared only for the Greek in the
desert. The thought of his agony, his hunger, goaded her nearly to
madness; but she was a little comforted when she remembered the eggs.
There was enough water in them to last him two or three days. It was the
hour of sunset when she arrived, and she instantly set out desertward,
carrying a basket containing wine and food. She had determined to live
at the hotel until the days of persecution were past. The heavy sand
made it hard to proceed rapidly, but she struggled on bravely, and when
far enough from civilisation called aloud the signal-word agreed on.
But no one answered. All through the night she wandered, searching,
till within an hour of sunrise; then she gave way and sat weeping on the
sand. With daylight she rose to her feet, determined to find her lover,
but had scarcely gone twenty yards before, with a low cry of grief, she
knelt beside the body of a dead man. In the half-eaten, decayed features
she recognised Gregorio and knew she had come too late. Undeterred by
the hideous spectacle, she kissed him tenderly and lay beside him.

The sun mounted slowly in the heavens.

The living figure lay as lifeless as the dead. But after a while the
woman rose and dug with her hands a hollow in the sand. She heeded not
the heat, nor the flight of time, and by evening her work was done.

Raising the body in her arms, she carried it to the hollow and laid it
gently down, then tearfully shovelled back the sand till it was hidden.
So Gregorio found a tomb. Nor did it remain unconsecrated, for beside
it Madam Marx knelt and spoke with faltering lips the remnants of the
prayers she had learned when a child. As she prayed she watched vaguely
a steamer disappear behind the horizon.


The khedival mail-boat _Ramses_ sped swiftly over the unruffled surface
of the sea. At the stern a tall fair Englishman sat looking on the level
shores of Egypt and the minarets of Alexandria. With a sad smile he
turned to the child who called to him by his name. They were a strange
pair, for the boy was dark, and foreign-looking, and there was something
of cunning in his restless black eyes. The man's large hand rested
softly on the raven curls of the youngster as he muttered to himself:

"For her sake I will watch over you, and you shall grow up to be a true
man."

So Xantippe's life had not been lived in vain, for she had loved and
been loved, and her memory was sweet to her lover. Moreover, Gregorio's
dreams of wealth for his son were to find fulfilment, and the sand of
the desert, maybe, lies lightly on him.