“Kotikokura, my friend, this is the most delicious bit of irony I have witnessed for some time,—not the desire of the two brothers to kill each other. That is as old as Cain and Abel…”
I examined the ground.
He looked at me puzzled.
“Wait…first let me ascertain if I am right.”
I scrutinized the stars, studied a map, made some calculations on a piece of parchment.
“Yes, this is it.”
Kotikokura tied our horses to trees.
“Help me roll away this small rock. And now, Kotikokura, you will see why I told you to bring a spade. Clear off this mud and dust. We can work with perfect freedom here. Nobody, save two silly brothers trying to murder each other for a silver coin, would think of passing this way.”
The mud and dust was so deep that for awhile I thought I had made an error in my calculations. At last, however, the spade struck something metallic. I was elated.
“Kotikokura, what if rocks become as overgrown with mud and debris, during the course of years as people with superstitions and prejudices? The stars are at their ancient posts, and mathematics is eternal. We shall be guided by both. We cannot but find what you will see presently.”
I inserted a key into the iron trapdoor, which opened readily in spite of its rust.
“Follow me, Kotikokura.”
We descended a few steps.
“Pull this cord. The door will shut over us. We must not take any useless risk.”
We descended a few more steps, and turned to the right. Guided by the light of my lamp, we finally reached an alcove. I turned a knob, and a small door opened. I pushed my hand within it, and brought out three iron boxes, which I unlocked. Kotikokura’s mouth opened wide, as if his lower jaw had suddenly dropped away from the rest of his face.
“Look, Kotikokura!” I raised and dropped fistfuls of jewels. “Diamonds and sapphires, and pearls and rubies that blind your eye and burn your hand! Play with them awhile, Kotikokura. It is a delicious sensation. What skin of woman rejoices as much as this?”
He touched the stones lightly as if afraid of being burned indeed.
“In this third box, I have gold coins. They are of far less value than the jewels just now, but when they become ancient enough, they may surpass them. He who lives long enough can never be poor, Kotikokura.”
Kotikokura’s eyes continued to be riveted upon the jewels.
“Those two brothers nearly killed each other for one silver coin, while underneath their feet, there was the wealth of a dozen kings!” I took only one of the coffers. “We shall leave the others here. We may need them some day. I shall teach you how to find this spot and others, Kotikokura. You may have to ransom me some day, or save a precious part of your own precious skin.”
He grinned.
We returned, Kotikokura covered the trapdoor with the debris, and stamped upon it. He smoothed the place with a spade. Everything was peaceful. Only our horses were impatient. We mounted them and galloped away.
XLVII: THE ISLE OF BLISS—I MEET AN ARMENIAN BISHOP—KOTIKOKURA GROWLS—MY HEART IS IN MY MOUTH—THE ILL-TEMPERED SON OF AN IRASCIBLE FATHER
“WHAT trees! What flowers! What a sky! The moon must be three times the size of all other moons I have ever seen,—and the people, Kotikokura, how generous, how kind, how honest! They never asked us who we are, where we come from, why we stop here. They offered us this little house and a bower of a thousand flowers. They have given us food and these garlands and leaves, which they call cloves. Tomorrow, we shall be given each a beautiful virgin as a wife.”
Kotikokura danced, his head upon his chest like a goat.
“You have known the joy of woman, Kotikokura, but you have never known the comfort of a wife. A good wife is the very bread of life. A bad wife…nothing is quite comparable to her. But can you imagine a shrew among these charming people?”
He shook his head.
“Alas, whether a woman be good or bad, she must inevitably become old. The lips that were red and full as cherries become pale and thin like parchment; the teeth that dazzled like small pearls in the sun turn yellow and drop out; the breasts that just filled the cupped hand, hang heavy and loose or become shrivelled and wrinkled. Alas, Kotikokura, that is the fate of a wife.”
Kotikokura’s eyes glistened, one tear in each.
“It is very fortunate, however, my friend, that women resemble one another very much, and one may supplant the other.”
Kotikokura grinned.
“Have you noticed, my friend, that these people have no religion, no churches, no bishops, or high priests? They greet the rising and the setting sun—symbols of Life and Death—a most beautiful and rational habit. Hail Life! Farewell Life!”
Kotikokura continued his goat-like dance. I took his hand, and we danced together. Many natives gathered about us, clapped their hands, kept time with their feet, and soon formed a large circle about us, imitating us.
How long did we live upon this island? Was it centuries or merely years? I could not tell. Our days passed on as smoothly, as noiselessly, as the river that faced our home. I had forgotten everything,—even Salome, even Jesus. It was like an exquisite dream that barely touches our sleep, but which makes us sleep longer and more profoundly.
One day, however, as I was sitting on my threshold, I was awakened with a start, as if someone had struck my head a violent blow. On the side of one of the hills, I saw the shadows of three men and three large crucifixes.
“Kotikokura, we are not destined, it seems, to live here peacefully forever, like those great trees which no one, for the last twenty generations, has ever remembered as young saplings bent by winds. Look! “
Kotikokura rose, his head forward. I pulled him down.
“The Christian Church, not content with the misery and ignorance and cruelty it has brought upon the people of Europe, must spread cruelty and misery everywhere—even upon this beautiful little island, uncharted on any map.”
Kotikokura placed his head between his palms, and his elbows on his knees.
“But we shall not let them spoil these people, Kotikokura. We shall tell our friends to beware of them, to shun them like leprosy.”
Kotikokura opened and closed his fists.
“I fear, however, that our struggle will be futile, for after the visit of the monks, the Pope always sends armies. If the people are not persuaded by sermons, they must accept the eloquence of the sword!”
I warned the gentle natives not to listen to the words of the missionaries,—a bishop from Armenia accompanied by two monks. I told them that they were more ferocious than tigers, and sooner or later, they would destroy their homes and kill them. The people hid themselves in their houses or in bushes, and ran away at the sight of the Christians. I watched intently the movements of the Bishop. He was a man of about fifty or sixty, dressed in a white silk robe, in the manner of the Orientals, and wore a headgear that was nearly a turban. He reminded me of Mung-Ling and Apollonius, except that his eyes were clouded and sad, and his mouth too thin. Because of this resemblance, I suspected a good deal of kindness and intelligence in the man.
I sat on the threshold of my house one evening. The Bishop, unaccompanied by the monks, approached me. He greeted me very cordially, and began to speak to me with his hands, uttering at the same time sounds that he had learned from the people. He believed he was addressing me in an intelligible language, but the words he uttered were devoid of all meaning. His efforts to make himself explicit seemed so ludicrous that I could not help laughing.
He was not irritated, but on the contrary, laughed with me. I liked him. He seemed so different from the dignitaries of the Church I had known. He seated himself next to me and pointed to the moon, which was unusually beautiful. He made gestures to indicate how happy that made him. I remembered how Apollonius had loved the moon.