One day while Mr. Todd was engaged in filling some cartridges, a Pie-wie came to him with the news that a white man was approaching through the forest, alone and very sick. He closed the cartridge and loaded his gun with it, put those that were finished into his pocket and set out in the direction indicated.
The man was already clear of the bush when Mr. Todd reached him, sitting on the ground, clearly in a very bad way. He was without hat or boots, and his clothes were so torn that it was only by the dampness of his body that they adhered to it; his feet were cut and grossly swollen; every exposed surface of skin was scarred by insect and bat bites; his eyes were wild with fever. He was talking to himself in delirium but stopped when Todd approached and addressed him in English.
``You're the first person who's spoken to me for days,'' said Tony. ``The others won't stop. They keep bicycling by ... I'm tired ... Brenda was with me at first but she was frightened by a mechanical mouse, so she took the canoe and went off. She said she would come back that evening but she didn't. I expect she's staying with one of her new friends in Brazil ... You haven't seen her have you?''
``You are the first stranger I have seen for a very long time.''
``She was wearing a top hat when she left. You can't miss her.'' Then he began talking to someone at Mr. Todd's side, who was not there.
``Do you see that house over there? Do you think you can managed to walk to it? If not I can send some Indians to carry you.''
Tony squinted across the savannah at Mr. Todd's hut. ``Architecture harmonizing with local character,'' he said; ``indigenous material employed throughout. Don't let Mrs. Beaver see it or she will cover it with chromium plating.''
``Try and walk.'' Mr. Todd hoisted Tony to his feet and supported him with a stout arm.
``I'll ride your bicycle. It was you I passed just now on a bicycle wasn't it? ... except that your beard is a different colour. His was green ... green as mice.''
Mr. Todd led Tony across the hummocks of grass towards the house.
``It is a very short way. When we get there I will give you something to make you better.''
``Very kind of you ... rotten thing for a man to have his wife go away in a canoe. That was a long time ago. Nothing to eat since.'' Presently he said, ``I say, you're English. I'm English too. My name is Last.''
``Well, Mr. Last, you aren't to bother about any thing more. You're ill and you've had a rough journey. I'll take care of you.''
Tony looked round him.
``Are you all English?''
``Yes, all of us.''
``That dark girl married a Moor ... It's very lucky I met you all. I suppose you're some kind of cycling club?''
``Yes.''
``Well, I feel too tired for bicycling ... never liked it much ... you fellows ought to get motor bicycles you know, much faster and noisier ... Let's stop here.''
``No, you must come as far as the house. It's not very much further.''
``All right ... I suppose you would have some difficulty getting petrol here.''
They went very slowly, but at length reached the house.
``Lie there in the hammock.''
``That's what Messinger said. He's in love with John Beaver.''
``I will get something for you.''
``Very good of you. Just my usual morning tray--coffee, toast, fruit. And the morning papers. If her ladyship has been called I will have it with her ...''
Mr. Todd went into the back room of the house and dragged a tin canister from under a heap of skins. It was full of a mixture of dried leaf and bark. He took a handful and went outside to the fire. When he returned his guest was bolt upright astride the hammock, talking angrily.
``... You would hear better and it would be more polite if you stood still when I addressed you instead of walking round in a circle. It is for your own good that I am telling you ... I know you are friends of my wife and that is why you will not listen to me. But be careful. She will say nothing cruel, she will not raise her voice, there will be no hard words. She hopes you will be great friends afterwards as before. But she will leave you. She will go away quietly during the night. She will take her hammock and her rations of farine ... Listen to me. I know I am not clever but ... that is no reason why we should forget courtesy. Let us kill in the gentlest manner. I will tell you what I have learned in the forest, where time is different. There is no City. Mrs. Beaver has covered it with chromium plating and converted it into flats. Three guineas a week with a separate bathroom. Very suitable for base love. And Polly will be there. She and Mrs. Beaver under the fallen battlements ...''
Mr. Todd put a hand behind Tony's head and held up the concoction of herbs in the calabash. Tony sipped and turned away his head.
``Nasty medicine,'' he said, and began to cry.
Mr. Todd stood by him holding the calabash. Presently Tony drank some more, screwing up his face and shuddering slightly at the bitterness. Mr. Todd stood beside him until the draught was finished; then he threw out the dregs on to the mud floor. Tony lay back in the hammock sobbing quietly. Soon he fell into a deep sleep.
Tony's recovery was slow. At first, days of lucidity alternated with delirium; then his temperature dropped and he was conscious even when most ill. The days of fever grew less frequent, finally occurring in the normal system of the tropics, between long periods of comparative health. Mr. Todd dosed him regularly with herbal remedies.
``It's very nasty,'' said Tony, ``but it does do good.''
``There is medicine for everything in the forest,'' said Mr. Todd; ``to make you well and to make you ill. My mother was an Indian and she taught me many of them. I have learned others from time to time from my wives. There are plants to cure you and give you fever, to kill you and send you mad, to keep away snakes, to intoxicate fish so that you can pick them out of the water with your hands like fruit from a tree. There are medicines even I do not know. They say that it is possible to bring dead people to life after they have begun to stink, but I have not seen it done.''
``But surely you are English?''
``My father was--at least a Barbadian. He came to Guiana as a missionary. He was married to a white woman but he left her in Guiana to look for gold. Then he took my mother. The Pie-wie women are ugly but very devoted. I have had many. Most of the men and women living in this savannah are my children. That is why they obey--for that reason and because I have the gun. My father lived to a great age. It is not twenty years since he died. He was a man of education. Can you read?''
``Yes, of course.''
``It is not everyone who is so fortunate. I cannot.''
Tony laughed apologetically. ``But I suppose you haven't much opportunity here.''
``Oh yes, that is just it. I have a great many books. I will show you when you are better. Until five years ago there was an Englishman--at least a black man, but he was well educated in Georgetown. He died. He used to read to me every day until he died. You shall read to me when you are better.''
``I shall be delighted to.''
``Yes, you shall read to me,'' Mr. Todd repeated, nodding over the calabash.
During the early days of his convalescence Tony had little conversation with his host; he lay in the hammock staring up at the thatched roof and thinking, about Brenda. The days, exactly twelve hours, each, passed without distinction. Mr. Todd retired to sleep at sundown, leaving a little lamp burning--a hand-woven wick drooping from a pot of beef fat--to keep away vampire bats.