Father.
Yes? The priest gave an impatient sigh, leaning closer. He hoped for a moment that at last he had got the man started on some meagre train of sorrow.
You take my gun, father. See what I mean? Under my arm
I haven't any use for a gun.
Oh, yes, you have. The man detached one hand from his stomach and began to move it slowly up his body. So much effort: it was unbearable to watch. The priest said sharply: Lie still. It's not there. He could see the holster empty under the armpit: it was the first definite indication that they and the half-caste were not alone.
Bastards, the man said, and his hand lay wearily where it had got to, over his heart; he imitated the prudish attitude of a female statue: one hand over the breast and one upon the stomach. It was very hot in the hut: the heavy light of the storm lay over them.
Listen, father ... The priest sat hopelessly at the man's side: nothing now would shift that violent brain towards peace: once, hours ago perhaps, when he wrote the message-but the chance had come and gone. He was whispering now something about a knife. There was a legend believed by many criminals that dead eyes held the picture of what they had last seen-a Christian could believe that the soul did the same, held absolution and peace at the final moment, after a lifetime of the most hideous crime: or sometimes pious men died suddenly in brothels unabsolved and what had seemed a good life went out with the permanent stamp on it of impurity. He had heard men talk of the unfairness of a deathbed repentance-as if it was an easy thing to break the habit of a life whether to do good or evil. One suspected the good of the life that ended badly-or the viciousness that ended well. He made another desperate attempt. He said: You believed once. Try and understand-his is your chance. At the last moment. Like [180] the thief. You have murdered men-children perhaps, he added, remembering the little black heap under the cross. But that need not be so important. It only belongs to this life, a few years-it's over already. You can drop it all here, in this hut, and go on for ever ... He felt sadness and longing at the vaguest idea of a life he couldn't lead himself ... words like peace, glory, love.
Father, the voice said urgently, you let me be. You look after yourself. You take my knife ... The hand began its weary march again-this time towards the hip. The knees crooked up in an attempt to roll over, and then the whole body gave up the effort, the ghost, everything.
The priest hurriedly whispered the words of conditional absolution, in case, for one second before it crossed the border, the spirit had repented-but it was more likely that it had gone over still seeking its knife, bent on vicarious violence. He prayed: O merciful God, after all he was thinking of me, it was for my sake ... but he prayed without conviction. At the best, it was only one criminal trying to aid the escape of another-whichever way you looked, there wasn't much merit in either of them.
Chapter Three
A VOICE said: Well, have you finished now?
The priest got up and made a small scared gesture of assent. He recognized the police officer who had given him money at the prison, a dark smart figure in the doorway with the storm-light glinting on his leggings. He had one hand on his revolver and he frowned sourly in at the dead gunman. You didn't expect to see me, he said.
Oh, but I did, the priest said. I must thank you-
Thank me, what for?
For letting me stay alone with him.
I am not a barbarian, the officer said. Will you come out now, please? It's no use at all your trying to escape. You can [181] see that, he added, as the priest emerged and looked round at the dozen armed men who surrounded the hut.
I've had enough of escaping, he said. The half-caste was no longer in sight: the heavy clouds were piling up the sky: they made the real mountains look like little bright toys below them. He sighed and giggled nervously. What a lot of trouble I had getting across those mountains, and now ... here I am ...
I never believed you would return.
Oh, well, lieutenant, you know how it is. Even a coward has a sense of duty. The cool fresh wind which sometimes blows across before a storm breaks touched his skin. He said with badly affected ease: Are you going to shoot me now?
The lieutenant said again sharply: I am not a barbarian. You will be tried ... properly.
What for?
For treason.
I have to go all the way back there?
Yes. Unless you try to escape. He kept his hand on his gun as if he didn't trust the priest a yard. He said: I could swear that somewhere …
Oh, yes, the priest said. You have seen me twice. When you took a hostage from my village ... you asked my child: 'Who is he?' She said: 'My father,' and you let me go. Suddenly the mountains ceased to exist: it was as if somebody had dashed a handful of water into their faces.
Quick, the lieutenant said, into that hut. He called out to one of the men. Bring us some boxes so that we can sit. The two of them joined the dead man in the hut as the storm came up all round them. A soldier dripping with rain carried in two packing-cases. A candle, the lieutenant said. He sat down on one of the cases and took out his revolver. He said: Sit down, there, away from the door, where I can see you. The soldier lit a candle and stuck it in its own wax on the hard earth floor, and the priest sat down, close to the American: huddled up in his attempt to get at his knife he gave an effect of wanting to reach his companion, to have a word or two in private. …They looked two of a kind, dirty and unshaved: the lieutenant seemed to belong to a different class altogether. He said with contempt: So you have a child?
Yes, the priest said.
[182] You-a priest.
You mustn't think they are all like me. He watched the candlelight blink on the bright buttons. He said: There are good priests and bad priests. It is just that I am a bad priest.
Then perhaps we will be doing your Church a service …
Yes.
The lieutenant looked sharply up as if he thought he was being mocked. He said: You told me twice. That I had seen you twice.
Yes, I was in prison. And you gave me money.
I remember. He said furiously: What an appalling mockery! To have had you and then to let you go. Why, we lost two men looking for you. They'd be alive today. … The candle sizzled as the drops of rain came through the roof. This American wasn't worth two lives. He did no real harm.
The rain poured ceaselessly down. They sat in silence. Suddenly the lieutenant said: Keep your hand away from your pocket.
I was only feeling for a pack of cards. I thought perhaps it would help to pass the time ...
I don't play cards, the lieutenant said harshly.
No, no. Not a game. Just a few tricks I can show you. May I?
All right. If you wish to.
Mr. Lehr had given him an old pack of cards. The priest said: Here, you see, are three cards. The ace, the king, and the Jack. Now -he spread them fanwise out on the floor -tell me which is the ace.
This, of course, the lieutenant said grudgingly, showing no interest.
But you are wrong, the priest said, turning it up. That is the jack.
The lieutenant said contemptuously: A game for gamblers-or children.
There is another trick, the priest said, called Fly-Away Jack. I cut the pack into three-so. And I take this jack of hearts and I put it into the centre pack-so. Now I tap the three packs -his face lit up as he spoke: it was such a long time since he had handled cards: he forgot the storm, the dead man, and the stubborn unfriendly face opposite him- I say: [183] 'Fly away, Jack' -he cut the left-hand pack in half and disclosed the jack- and there he is.