The gates of Cathay opened and closed behind us, the watchmen hiding their faces in the dust.
“Kotikokura, it is no longer necessary to hide our lips with hair, We must not belong too conspicuously to any country.”
XXIX: ISPAHAN PLAYS CHESS—THE PRINCESS SALOME HAS NO LORD—SALOME CLAPS HER HAND—ORGY—THE ULTIMATE PORTAL—KOTIKOKURA’S ADVENTURE—THE GOD LI-BI-DO
A CROWD gathered about the two players, who, sitting on small carpets, their legs underneath them, were twisting their long beards, meditating. Some of the spectators whispered to one another, pointing with their fingers to a board. Chess had recently been invented by one of the prisoners of the Shah, and Ispahan, the capital, had forgotten about her story-tellers and jugglers and mummers in her enthusiasm for the new game. The narrow roads were blocked by players and watchers, and mule and elephant drivers complained in vain to the city authorities for relief. The authorities promised to attend to the matter but, being themselves enamored of the game, were too sympathetic with the violators of the traffic, to interfere with their pleasure.
“Make way! Make way!” a dark-skinned driver shouted. No one paid heed to him. A few grumbled, “Take another road.”
“Make way for my mistress!” the man insisted. I looked up. Upon a tall elephant, royally caparisoned, reclined a woman. Her eyes were half-closed, as if in meditation or in voluptuous revery. Her forehead was encircled by a gold band studded with jewels, and her cheeks were partially hidden by heavy tresses of red hair. I could not tell her age. I remembered To Fo’s remark: ‘As old as the Black Mountain and as young as the first ray of dawn.’
“Make way!”
“Take another road, fool!” several exclaimed.
I approached the driver and placed a coin into his half-closed palm. “Who is your mistress?”
“Princess Salome.”
“Make way!”
I slipped another coin into his hand. “Where does she live?”
“Yonder. This side of the palm trees.”
“Make way!”
I dropped a third coin. “Who is her lord?”
“Princess Salome has no lord.”
“Checkmate!” one of the players called out. The crowd dispersed, and Princess Salome, still dreaming or thinking, rode slowly past me, rocking lightly on her giant animal.
Kotikokura beat a monotonous tune upon a kettle, like the white-haired man of his native tribe.
“You, too, Kotikokura? You, too, yearn for your youth? Must man revert forever to his pristine lusts? Is there nothing in life, except the ghost of the past?”
Kotikokura continued to beat upon the kettle.
“Stop! We have no time to lose. Go, hire the finest animal. This very evening we shall be the guests of Princess Salome!”
The eunuch, watching the gate, was a colossal mass of flesh, motionless as a stone. His semicircular sword glittered like an evil eye. I placed a purse into his hand. “Tell your mistress, Princess Salome, that His Highness Prince Cartaphilus begs for the favor of an audience with her.” He took the money, but did not budge. I tried to put him to sleep, but his small black eyes opened and closed, unperturbed. I dipped my fingers into the chemical which accompanied me on all my journeys. My hands dazzled like stars, but he was unmoved.
“Inform your mistress that Prince Cartaphilus is at her gate,” I repeated angrily.
He did not stir.
“You evidently do not know who Prince Cartaphilus is. Here—” I waved before his eyes the letter with the seal of the Imperial Dragon. He looked at the curious characters on the parchment, which of course he could not decipher.
I whispered, “A message from the Shah.” He dropped upon his hands, like a lifeless thing. “Rise,” I commanded, “and announce my arrival!”
The palace was surrounded by a garden, in the center of which a tall fountain rose and fell silently, like a stream of light. A flock of peacocks first screeched at our approach, then spread slowly like magnificent fans their luxurious tails. Several small monkeys climbed rapidly the giant palm trees, and crouching upon the tips of the branches, glared at Kotikokura, whose uncovered teeth shone like whetted knives.
Salome was reclining upon a low sofa, covered with a silk canopy, embroidered with one enormous eagle, whose wings of red gold seemed to flap in the glitter. I kissed her hand. She bade me sit apposite her.
“I am Cartaphilus, gracious Princess.”
“Do not speak in Hebrew, I pray you, Cartaphilus. I hate words that gurgle in the throat. Speak in Greek. Greek undulates like a river, which is stirred by the breezes.”
She understood Hebrew,—that was what I wished to know, to ascertain if she was indeed Salome. “It is natural to dislike the language of the vanquished, Princess, and Greek is certainly more beautiful.”
She patted gently the spotted back of a leopard cub asleep at her side. We were silent. Was she really the Princess who once upon a time praised the subtle and impersonal love of flowers, but accepted the personal embrace of a swarthy Nubian? Was she the reincarnation of the most delightful and most detestable Princess, or a composite of the women I had known? She partook of each; but was different nevertheless. Was she Salome, Princess of Judea, or the Perfect Woman? Was she all things, being still herself?
She guessed my thoughts. “The body is a house wherein dwells a multitude of beings,” she remarked.
I did not know how to begin the conversation, and Salome refused to help me.
“I have traversed the land of Cathay to meet the incomparable Princess.”
She nodded.
“Have you also visited that marvelous land, whose walls encircle so much wisdom and beauty?”
“It may be. I have traveled much.”
“The poets of the Celestial Empire sing of Princess Salome rapturously. She is the magnificent goddess, appearing every hundred years in incomparable glory.”
Salome smiled. “Poets.”
“Poets, Princess, see beyond the walls that encircle others—”
“They deal in symbols.”
“Are not all things symbols?”
We remained silent again for some time. The cub opened its eyes, yawned, and licked the hand of his mistress.
“What does the Shah desire?”
“The Shah?”
“Yes. Did you not show my slave a letter from the Shah?”
I smiled. “It was the only way I could gain admittance.”
She looked at me angrily.
“I beg your forgiveness, Madam, but is not any strategem lawful, in love and war?”
“So the proverb goes, but I dislike proverbs. It is a facile manner of thinking.”
“Quite true, Princess. The letter, however, is from a monarch greater than the Shah,—it is a missive from the Son of Heaven. Do you care to read it?”
She shook her head slowly, and patted the young leopard. I wondered whether she refused to see it because she did not know Chinese.
“The Chinese language,” she said, answering my thought, “is not as difficult as people believe. With a little imagination, and the ability to draw, one can master it within five or ten years.”
“Princess Salome must be well versed in it, then, I am certain.” She did not answer. I was making no impression. My words seemed unconvincing and futile.
‘It is she, Cartaphilus!’ I thought, ‘and once again, she treats you as a Princess treats a commoner.’ My hand itched, as it had itched centuries before, to penetrate the armor of her insolence if not with my love, at least with my sword.
The cub opened wide his mouth. Salome placed the tips of her fingers between his jaws.
“Even the wild beasts adore your beauty.”
She lifted slightly her left brow, as Poppaea had been in the habit of doing, when disdainful.
“In my travels, O Princess, I have mastered the secret laws of love.”
She smiled.
“I have been as a bee that gathers the perfume from a thousand flowers that its honey may taste the sweeter.”