CHAPTER IV
An Odd Tale
MANY thousand years ago the lands of Central America were covered by the ocean. At that time our moon was not in the sky. Another star then encircled the earth as
nightly luminant, and it was much closer than the present moon. By its attraction it pulled the oceans of the earth together at the equator and heaped them up into a mighty flood which rose higher and higher, the closer the satellite came to the earth. Only mountain peaks and very high plateaus rose above the floods. You know the Indian myth, very wide-spread in Central America, of the great water of prehistoric times. It was then that there were made the puzzling holes and inscriptions in steep rocky walls inaccessible today.
“Closer and closer came the satellite, red as glowing iron. The mountains shook and the seas boiled. Horror seized mankind, and with sacrifices and prayers men tried to banish the evil spirit which had come from space to devour the earth. But the gods remained deaf to their pleas.
“Closer came the speeding star in its path around the earth, until the mutual attraction became so great that it burst into fragments. A hot scorching storm swept over the lands and seas of the tropics, the light of the sun grew pale, and an ocean of blood and flame filled the sky. A hail of fire fell incessantly and destroyed all living things.
“The masses of water heaped up at the equator, now free from the attraction of the shattered satellite, flooded the earth to the poles, its deluge destroying in the north and south what had been spared by the conflagration in the tropics.”
Burns stopped, lighted a cigar, and leaned back in his chair. He slowly blew the fragrant smoke into the night air.
Mrs. Stulp was softly clicking her knitting needles. Now and then she moved uneasily on her chair and squinted over at the old full-blooded Indian woman who sitting apart in the grass in stoic indolence stared at the dwelling house.
Isabella lay idly in the hammock, listening attentively to the scientist's story.
“Three human beings,” he went on, “were surprised by the frightful catastrophe in the open, far from any settlement. They were a tall white-bearded old man, a little seven-year old girl, and a young woman carrying an unborn child. The old man kept spying about for a place of refuge. As far as he could see, an immeasurable sea of flame was rushing toward him. At the foot of a gnarled evergreen oak a spring came from the hot soil, sending its water high into the top of the mighty tree and thus protecting it from the scorching heat.
“The girl suddenly pointed to the spring. Amid her tears a cry of childish joy escaped her trembling mouth. A long shiny adder slipped through the withered grass to the spring, until it disappeared in a small dark hole between the mossy roots of the oak. Right after it a she-wolf sprang howling past the human beings, enlarged the hole with her claws, and forced her way in.
“A ray of hope came to the old man. With his hands he widened the opening, crept into the depths, and found a spacious cave, its walls moist from the water of the neighboring spring. Scarcely had he drawn in the woman and the girl when a hot blast swept across the opening. The sea of fire had reached the spring. Outside the world was all white hot; the reflection of the world-wide conflagration cast ghostly flickers on the rocky walls of the dark cavern.
“In this night of terror the woman gave birth to a child. While mankind was being destroyed, a boy came into life in the dark hole in the earth. For a moment the eyes of the mother rested proudly on her son—then they closed forever.
“The old man crept out of the cavern to fetch water. Flames were still gleaming over the field of ashes. Only the oak by the spring was still green. As the old man quickly filled his hat with the precious liquid, a glowing stone struck his face and put out his right eye. He did not heed the pain. On his old shoulders rested the responsibility for the lives of the children.“The baby boy cried for food. The cold breast of the dead mother could not quiet him. In despair the old man looked about, and then he saw that the shewolf's udder was full and hung down to the earth. He made the venture and let the child nurse there. Common trouble had banished all fear from the wolf, and she willingly permitted it. Thus the she-wolf became the foster-mother of the founder of the new human race. The old man and the girl stilled their hunger with the edible fruits of the evergreen oak, which by a miracle had escaped destruction.
“They remained in the cave until the reflection of the burning world paled and went out. Then they climbed up to the light of day. The moon was no longer in the sky. Out of the field of ashes new life was sprouting, and the time of eternal spring had begun. The boy and the girl grew up under the protection of the old man and through their children founded the new human race.”
Burns was silent. His glance rested on the dress of Isabella, shining brightly in the moonlight, and the glowing end of her cigarette.
“That was very pretty, Sir William!” said the voice of the girl a trifle wearily. “I never heard this story before.”
“What have I just told you, Señorita,” replied the Englishman seriously, “is not merely a story—it is the tradition of all the nations on earth. In it we find many old acquaintances—Adam and Jesus; Noah and the suffering mother of the Savior; one-eyed Wotan; the spring of Urd; the sacred tree Ygdrasil of the Eddas; the tree of life of your Mayas; Lake Iquaque; the wolf as symbol of the eternal city of Rome; even the German Christmas tree, which is nothing but the glorification of the life-giving tree at the fountain of youth. Am I right, Mrs. Stulp? You hadn't suspected, had you?”
“Gracious!” said the German lady in astonishment. “How do you know all this?”
Burns smiled. “From the old myths and tales of the nations. What terrible cataclysms of nature must have occurred, that their memory should be able to survive through tens of thousands of years and up to the present day! The passing of thousands of years has of course changed the versions of these tales. According to the conditions of life of the peoples, the stories took on varied form, and the events were placed in later times. But it is one and the same root from which these manifold far-traveled stories come. To investigate this parent stock is my vocation.”
“I understand nothing of your science,” remarked Mrs. Stulp modestly, “but what you told was beautiful. The poor children and the good old man!”
Isabella's Anger
“WON'T you tell us something of your discoveries of today?” put in Isabella with a certain sharpness. Burns was struck by the totally uncalled-for haughtiness in the tone of this question.
“My experiences of to-day are closely connected with the story of the first Aryan couple, Señorita! To-day I was seeking the place in the temple court of an old pyramid where I recently had a—a meeting that was unusually romantic, according to present standards.”
He glanced searchingly at the girl, who had half sat up in the hammock and suddenly betrayed great interest.
“A high evergreen oak stands alone there among the ruins. By its strange form it reminded me of the miraculous tree of the white savior. Surely you know the story, Señorita Isabella?”
“Yes. What did you find?”
“At sight of the holy tree my imagination became active. I recalled the story of the world conflagration. I thought of the old life-giving oak, the cave by the spring of life, the snake which showed the way to the protecting refuge. Just then there was a rustling at my feet. A brilliant coral snake crawled up to the tree and vanished into a hole in the ground! You might imagine my amazement, it—if you were not a Mexican girl.”
“And did you do the same thing as the old man of Lake Iquaque?” Isabella shot out the question hastily, as though in secret anxiety.
“I couldn't resist,” replied Burns. “I opened the hole...”
Isabella breathed harder. “At the foot of the tree of life? On the east side?” she cried quickly.
“Quite right!” The growing excitement of the usually cool Mexican girl did not escape Burns. “I dug and made an interesting find.”
A shrill scream cut short the words of the archaeologist. With a bound like a beast of prey Isabella left the hammock.
“Don't you dare to dig there any more! Don't you dare!” she hissed, and her dark panther-eyes glowed as if in incipient insanity. Her slim fingers clutched the Englishman's shoulders like claws.
“For Heaven's sake, Señorita!” stammered Burns, quite beside himself. “What's the matter?” Involuntarily he grasped the slender brown wrists.
“The revenge of Zeos will fall upon the desecrator of graves!”
With a shriek the raving girl twisted under the firm grip of the man. Then, bending as quick as lightning, her strong white teeth flashed for a moment as she broke loose. With a dull groan Burns let his arms fall. Before he could master his confusion, the strange creature had vanished into the shrubbery.
* * * * *
Mrs. Stulp paced back and forth in excitement. “Horrible!” she lamented. “What a hateful episode! This is my punishment for failing to heed Don Pedro's words.” She fell again into her chair and despairingly ran her hands through her greying hair.
Burns silently regarded his right hand, which bore the marks of a severe bite.
“Terrible!” continued the old lady tearfully. “Don Pedro will dismiss me, he'll send me shamefully out of the house, and—and...” the words were lost in heartbreaking sobs.
“Now, madam, it won't be so bad as that!” said Burns, trying to comfort her, while he bound up his painful hand with his handkerchief.
“You don't know Don Pedro, sir! He is frightful in his anger. He ordered me to keep Señorita Isabella^ away from the guests. I shouldn't have given in to her. She's always doing unexpected things, and I'm so sorry for her, poor Señorita!”
As best he could, Burns sought to quiet the excited little lady. “Have you been long at the hacienda?” he asked, to make her think of other things.
Mrs. Stulp Speaks
“I'VE been here a little over a year. I used to live in the city. As long as my husband was alive, everything went well. He was an official in the international travel bureau. We made a living, and I earned a little extra money by piano lessons. But when Alfred died, things were hard for me. I was supposed to get a little pension, but you know how things are in Mexico. I am still waiting for it. It's hard, sir, for a woman who's no longer young to get on all alone here in this country. I had made some connections through my piano lessons, and I finally got a position in a girls' school in Mexico City as chaperone and music teacher. Señorita Isabella was one of my pupils. She was a wild little miss, but surprisingly clever and wide-awake. In spite of her mad tricks I won the affection of the orphaned girl and cared for her. What more is there to tell? One day, Don Pedro came to fetch his sister home. At Isabella's request he took me also. I didn't want to enter this unhealthful fever-district. But Don Pedro made me an attractive offer, and, besides, I was attached to the girl.”
Sorrow ran through this simple tale of disappointed hopes, bitter trouble, and hard struggle for life. The fate of the emigrant!
“You are a brave woman!” said Burns warmly.
“It would have been better for me to have remained in Mexico City,” went on Mrs. Stulp sadly. “You don't know all. I should have left this house long ago, if it were not so hard for an old woman like myself to find other means of support.”
“What! You wanted to leave the Señorita?”
“It's true I'm fond of the girl, and she needs a gentle restraining woman's hand. Still——” her voice sank to a whisper——” “I'm afraid of her. She's so strangely different from what she used to be in the city. She often runs off in a quite impossible garment and wanders about in the woods for days. And when she comes back, she acts as if she were bewitched. She rolls her eyes and talks all sorts of nonsense as though in a dream—speaking in the strange Maya tongue, which I could never learn. She has to be put to bed and have her body massaged, until she finally falls asleep, covered with perspiration. The next morning she generally knows nothing of what happened on the previous day. At any rate she is wholly rational and normal again for some time. It's uncanny, sir! Besides, she is so—inconsistent. She can be the sweetest little girl in the world; then suddenly she's wild again, unapproachable, as proud as—I can't find the right words to tell you. It seems as if there are two souls in her. You saw it just now.”
“Mrs. Stulp,” said Burns slowly, “I don't yet see quite clearly. But I believe that in a little while I can at least partially solve the riddles involving the young lady.”
Mrs. Stulp started. “You? You, a stranger, who first saw her today? How can you see through a mystery which I've been puzzling over for many months and which weighs on me like the sultriness of a gathering storm? I'm afraid of the people here, but I do pity the poor creature. I always think there must be some cure somewhere for her sick brain.”
“Then you think Isabella insane? Does Don Pedro think so?”
“No one can tell what he thinks! He's as moody as our German April. Sometimes he treats the Señorita like a slave. Once he took a whip to her, and it was enough to make your hair stand on end. Oh, dear! I wish I had never come into this house!”
Burns bit his lips. “In Mexico City did you ever notice anything of this ‘insanity' in her?”
“Never!” replied Mrs. Stulp quickly. “That's Just what worries me so now. I think her only salvation is in getting away from here.”
“Well!” said the Englishman. “I want to ask you one thing more, madam. Have you ever heard the name ‘Tuxtla'?” he asked with forced calm.
Mrs. Stulp stretched out both hands in a defensive gesture. “Tuxtla?” she repeated in visible terror. “Oh yes, I know the word.
When the girl has these terrible attacks, and lies in bed with her pupils turned upward, Don Pedro very softly whispers ‘Tuxtla' to her. Then the convulsion leaves her, and she goes to sleep, smiling like a child. But good Heavens, sir, where did you learn this word?”
“I heard it in the ruins of Uxmal, madam—at the very spot where I to-day found something, the mention of which so excited the young lady just now.”
“What was it you found, sir? Is it all right to ask?”
“Why not? I was digging between the hard, gnarled roots of the oak. It was slow work, and I haven't finished it yet. But at any rate there's no doubt that not very long ago a human body found a peculiar and romantic burial place in the maze of roots. Judging from the bones, the body can't have been there more than three or four years.”
Mrs. Stulp listened with interest. “Then the tree of life is serving as a gravestone?”
“Yes. This fact alone would not have interested me so very much, though it is certainly surprising. But along with the body a number of singular objects, very valuable to the archaeologist, seem to have been buried. I found ornaments of the time prior to the Spanish invasion, goblets of pure gold, the remains of a chain made of tiny animals' teeth, which could not possibly have come from any sort of beast living to-day. Unfortunately the coming of night interrupted my work. Tomorrow, however, I hope to bring to light still more interesting things from the mysterious grave.”
“Strange,” murmured the German woman. “We live so close to the ruins and don't suspect what treasures they hide. Have you any idea about the source of these things?”
“Well, it's a well-known custom of the Indians to put into the grave along with the dead bodies their weapons and ornaments. Since I found no weapons, this is probably the body of a woman, which has found its last resting place at the strange oak. Apparently the relatives of the dead person did not suspect what treasures they were burying in the earth with the dead. I hope I can find out the heirs of the dead person, so that I may negotiate with them in the name of the Archaeological Institute for the purchase of the objects.”
Mrs. Stulp gathered together her knitting and drew her cloak over her thin shoulders with a shudder.
“Where do you suppose the young lady is now?'^ asked Burns on the way back to the hacienda.
Mrs. Stulp twisted her hands nervously. “Mingo must look for her. She may be...” The words died away into an inaudible whisper.
From the woods sounded the short hoarse bark of the puma seeking its prey.
* * * * *
What Don Pedro Saw
LATE in the night Don Pedro returned from Ticul. He sat unsteadily in his saddle. At the great cockfight in the posada he had taken part in the heavy excited betting, and to cool off he had poured glass after glass of pulque down his throat, hoarse from shouting. He was totally oblivious of time and space. Luckily he, had already arranged the business beforehand. The dark-skinned Don Manuel Canoza had shown himself indeed a true caballero. He had at once understood the wishes of his powerful business friend.
“Yes, yes, Don Pedro!” the Creole had said in his mixture of Spanish and English, at the close of the tiresome discussion. “My coffee plantation on the southern border is very lonely, and my mother can well have some young company. Well! Before the first hurricanes commence the rainy season, I shall set out, and—damn it!—the little girl shall go with me. And you will pay me for the raw sisal two reals a ton above the market quotation in Merida. Goodbye!”
Thereupon the good man had spat in a graceful curve over two tables and had left the posada, to get a narrow gold bracelet from the local jeweler. “For the pretty little girl!” as he said.
Nothing further had been said. Yes, Don Manuel was a caballero—and certainly not an inveterate bachelor. Perhaps something might come of the visit! Who could, tell?
Don Pedro's horse whinnied and threw up its head. Scenting the stable not far off, it began to trot. The moon had set, and deep darkness Surrounded horse and rider. The animal knew the way perfectly. Countless times it had carried its master home over the long road from Ticul, after gay sessions at the posada by the plaza.
Already the workmen's huts could be made out on both sides of the road like dark shadows. All was in deep repose. A pale light in the eastern sky was the first indication of approaching dawn.
Don Pedro drew his woolen cloak closer about his bony body. Even in the warm late summer night he felt cold.
He noticed a faint shimmer of light from one of the clay huts. “The scamps should sleep, so they can work by day!” he grumbled, while he rode nearer to the hut. “I suppose they are again spending the night gambling and drinking.” He bent in his saddle and peered through the low unglazed window into the interior of the hut. An amazing sight met his eyes!
Around a dimly burning candle-end squatted four motionless ragged figures. In the uncertain light the dirty, sharp-featured faces with their broad foreheads and coal-black eyes resembled grinning devils. If they had not occasionally clasped their pipes in their claw-like fingers and taken them from between their yellow teeth, they might more easily have passed for stone images than for living beings.
Amid the strange-looking Indians stood erect the slim, graceful form of Isabella! In muffled tones, but with violent gestures, she was passionately addressing the stolid red men, who occasionally contributed harsh sounds to the conversation.
Don Pedro got off his horse and stole close to the window. He could make nothing of the conversation: languages had never interested him. The rogues had to learn Spanish, if they wanted anything of him!
“Another new and crazy whim of the girl,” he thought. “Well, birds of a feather flock together! It is at any rate better than to have her sit with the English caballeros and tell her foolish stories!”
He got his long slender body partly through the window. “Isabella, my little dove!” he called, still under the influence of his drinks. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
The girl stared. The Indians turned their heads and stared indifferently at the intruder. Isabella whispered a few more words to the red men, in a threatening tone, and then slipped through the low doorway into the open air. Don Pedro grasped her arm.
“Isabella, let us go home!” he said gently, almost tenderly.
Isabella turned her head stubbornly to one side and walked silently beside her half-brother, who was leading his horse by the bridle.
“Well, my little sister pays strange visits!” he chattered on. “What sort of mysterious seance was that? Those fellows are supposed to sleep at night instead of chatting with pretty young girls!”
Isabella did not seem to be listening to his words. But when the haciendero began to sing in a drunken voice; “Alma de mi vida—soul of my life—” she interrupted him with the brief and pointed question, “When are the Englishmen leaving?”
Pedro started. “As soon as the rainy season begins, I believe!” he replied, adding mischievously, “And so you will soon lose your cavalier, poor girl!”
“Send Senor Burns away at once!” said the mestiza calmly.
Don Pedro stopped in surprise. “What do you mean? At once? Why so?”
Isabella looked at the ground. “I hate him!”
“You hate him? Ha, ha, that's good! But didn't he fasten your boot, Señorita Isabella de la Cosa?” He slapped his boot with his riding crop and laughed rudely. “Didn't I always tell you that English lords were no fit society for Indian girls? Now he has insulted you. Ha, ha, I see!”
“Then you will send him away?” insisted Isabella.
“Caramba! Are you crazy, girl? A Mexican of Castilian blood does not send his guests from his house.”
Isabella pressed her hand to her heart and drew a deep breath, as though struggling with some resolution. “Pedro, I beg of you!” she finally said.
“You beg of me? That hasn't happened for a long time.” Then Don Pedro seemed to soften. “I can't, little girl—but—” For a moment he hesitated: then he told her of his business friend Don Manuel and his plantation on the border.
“He is inviting you to pay a visit over the rainy season. You will not insult the caballero with a refusal!”
Isabella knew the creole. A harmless, good-natured soul in a rough husk. He was a matter of absolute indifference to her. “I shall go with Don Manuel,” she said wearily, “when the Englishmen are gone, if you promise me not to receive any more guests who go digging in Xlapakh.”
A yellowish red light shone in the eastern sky, as Don Pedro and Isabella entered the cactus gate of the hacienda. Mrs. Stulp, who had not closed her eyes, was much amazed to see the brother and sister approach the house chatting so pleasantly. Then she went sighing back to her room, to get a few hours of sleep.