Shadows of Ecstasy by Charles Williams (best books to read txt) 📖
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“Anything for a quiet life,” his friend answered. “Even to conducting
a Christian lion to a Zulu victim. What a world! And Rosenberg found
it uninteresting. But I dare say he didn’t know many Christians. I
warn you, Ian,” he went on as they left the room, “that if Considine’s
there I shall pretend I don’t know you, and that I’ve come back for a
cigarette case presented to me by grateful patients. Because if he
isn’t the High Executive-”
“And if he is?” Caithness asked. “If he is?”
“That,” Sir Bernard said, “is my only hope of an excuse for driving
you. O no, no taxis, thank you. If I have to help abduct a king, let
me do it in my own car, so as to have a right to put up a gold plate:
‘In this car His Majesty the King of the Zulus once fled from the
conquest of death.’ Why don’t you like the conquest of death, Ian?”
“That’s all been done,” Caithness said, and Sir Bernard, as they came
to the garage, gave a little moan. “Not in Considine’s sense it
hasn’t,” he said. “You’re just confused. O wel—but I think you’d
probably like Considine if you could ever get to know him. Get in, and
we’ll try.”
It was a little after midnight when they ran through Hampstead. Sir
Bernard stopped the car at the corner of the road, and the two of them
walked up it. There were more windows lit up than was usual, owing to
the raid, but Considine’s house was in darkness. They went up the
steps and Caithness rang. In a few minutes he rang again, and again.
“He’s probably directing the raid,” Sir Bernard said. “Or flying up to
meet the planes. Levitation, I think they call it; some of your saints
used to do it. Similar to the odour of sanctity.”
Caithness said: “We shall have to find a window.”
Sir Bernard sighed happily. “What a night we’re having!” he said,
following his friend. “No, Ian, not that one: it’s too near the road.
Somewhere away at the back. One takes off one’s coat, I believe, and
presses it against the glass before striking a sharp blow in the
centre. We ought really to have treacle and brown paper. You wouldn’t
care to wait while I went and knocked up the nearest grocer for some
golden syrup? We could use the rest of the tin as an excuse for
calling. I wonder if at his age Considine can eat golden syrup without
getting himself all sticky? That’d almost be worth living for.”
But since at the back of the house there was at least one window a
little open there was no need to resort to these more uncertain
methods. The two gentlemen pushed it up, very quietly, and entered.
Sir Bernard, scrambling in, thought to himself, “‘I will encounter
darkness as a bride,’ I hope she likes me.” Within all was silent.
They found their way cautiously along, and emerged at last in the
hall, where Sir Bernard assumed direction. Either the house was for
the time empty or everyone was asleep. The second alternative was so
unlikely that they permitted themselves to assume the first.
They did not, however, relax their caution until they came at last to
the room where they had heard the music and seen Nielsen, and left the
king in his sleep and Considine in his triumph. Sir Bernard felt that
they were not treading so delicately but that one heard them; he
seemed to see Considine standing far off, his head a little turned,
listening to them, and he wondered if there would be some sudden
interference in some unknown manner. But though the suspense endured
it did not increase, and in the light of the room they saw Inkamasi
still sitting in his chair.
Caithness went quietly across the room towards the Zulu, Sir Bernard
paused by the door, listening for footsteps, and watching what went
on. The priest kneeled down by the chair, and, after studying the
African’s face for a few minutes, said in a low voice of energy,
“Inkamasi, what are you doing here?”
The Zulu stirred under that intense regard and intense voice and
answered, “Inkamasi waits for him who caused sleep.”
Sir Bernard jerked suddenly, for the voice was more like Considine’s
own than the Zulu’s, yet fainter than either, as if from a distance
the master of substitution interposed between the priest and the
sleeper. Caithness said, “Do you sleep by your own will?”
“I watch by the will of him that rules me,” the other answered
monotonously. “Inkamasi is hidden within me. It’s I yet not I that
sleep.”
“In the name of the Maker of. Inkamasi,” Caithness said with superb
and deep confidence, “in the Name of the Eternal and Everlasting, in
the Name of Immanuel, I bid you awake.”
“I do not know them,” the sleeper answered, “and I keep their sound
from Inkamasi lest he hear.”
“By the virtue in created life, by the union of Man with God, by the
Mother of God in the world and in the soul, I command you to wake,”
Caithness said.
“I do not know them, and I keep their sound from Inkamasi lest he
hear,” the sleeper answered.
“In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be silent and
go out of him,” Caithness exclaimed, making the sign of the cross over
the Zulu. “Inkamasi, Inkamasi, by the faith you hold, by the baptism
and the Body of Christ, I bid you wake.”
The sleeper did not answer but he did not move. As if some closed
powers hung, poised and equal, over or within him he lay silent. Sir
Bernard remembered how, but a little before, he had seen Considine
standing in front of the azure profundity of the curtain, which still
hung there, as in the depth of space, and it seemed to him as if from
the spectral image of that figure and from the kneeling priest two
separate currents of command impinged upon the king and in the moment
of meeting neutralized their strength. The central heart of the Zulu
beat beyond those conflicting and equal intensities, in oblivion of
the outer world yet perhaps in liberty. He waited to see what more
Caithness could do. But though the priest concentrated his will and
intention, though he tried once or twice to speak, the stillness was
prolonged. He had silenced the speaker in Inkamasi, but the very
effort held him also silent. He strove to impose his determination
upon the Zulu, but he could not pass beyond the gate which he had
succeeded in reaching; he could not call the other back through it. He
knelt praying by the chair and the minutes went by.
Sir Bernard thought, “We can’t possibly stop here. We don’t know where
Considine’s gone, we don’t know whether he’s coming back, and I should
hate him to have to worry the exalted imagination with such a detail
as what to do with us. He might want us for some new experiment in the
conquest of death. I wonder whether-” He peered out through the door;
nothing was happening. He turned back into the room. “If Ian and
Considine are locked in a spiritual chest-to-chest wrestle,” he
thought, “perhaps it’s time for a mere intellectualist to have a word.
A timid tentative word.”
He went across the room and round the back of the chair. His eyes met
the priest, and by the force of old friendship communicated something
of his purpose. Caithness, still silent and intent, moved his hands
from where they rested on the Zulu’s shoulders. Sir Bernard put his
hand very gently under an arm, and as gently lifted it forward. It
yielded easily to his pressure and when that pressure was removed
dropped back again. Fearful of speaking lest some rash word should
bring down the balance against him, Sir Bernard went lightly to the
front of the chair, and picked up the Zulu’s hands. He drew them
gently, gently forward and upward, he pulled them towards him till the
arms were extended, he pulled with the least little extra firmness,
and easily as the hands moved the body moved also. The king rose to
his feet, following that physical direction, and Sir Bernard took a
step backward towards the door. Inkamasi followed him. Caithness,
still caught in spiritual combat, also rose, but he made no movement
to assist; he left that visible action to his ally. Sir Bernard,
taking another step backward, waited till the Zulu was in movement,
then he slipped to one side and, still holding the left hand in his
own left, put his right fingers on Inkamasi’s back. He pressed gently;
as if automatically the Zulu moved op. Slowly they passed to the door,
Sir Bernard on one side, Caithness on the other. They went in front of
that hanging curtain of blue, and for a moment Sir Bernard could have
believed that they were drawing Inkamasi out of its influence and
depth, could have wondered whether indeed he were doing well thus to
interfere on behalf of one magic against another. “What doest thou
here, Gehazi?” he said to himself. “Do I really want to save a
jungle-king for Ian’s passion? One religion or another, it’s all the
same—‘She comes, she comes, the sable throne behold, Of Night
primeval and of Chaos old.’ I suspect I’m just getting a little of my
own back on Considine. Never mind; it’s too late to change now. Round
the corner—so.”
They moved on, that curious mingling of intention directing the
passive African, through the still house, down the steps, to the
waiting car. Still in silence, Sir Bernard made the other two get in
at the back and himself returned to the driving wheel. Once more they
ran through London, and in the cold October night brought the sleeper
to Colindale Square. There at last, once in the library, Sir Bernard
turned to Caithness. “And now what?” he said. “Because I can’t
personally conduct this Christian of yours about the world for the
rest of my life. And I don’t, just at the moment, see what you propose
to do.”
“I know what I shall do,” Caithness said. “Do you notice he moves more
of his own will since we brought him out of the house?”
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Sir Bernard said, “but he needs less
direction. It is a kind of hypnotism, I suppose.”
“It’s like a locking up of the outer faculties in his master’s will,”
Caithness said. “But the others are there, only they can’t hear us.
They may hear a greater than us. Tomorrow a voice shall call to him
that no tyrant shall silence.”
“Meaning-” Sir Bernard said. “My dear Ian, you’ve no idea of how like
Mr. Considine’s conversation yours is.”
“Tomorrow”, Caithness said, “I will offer the soul and mind of this
man to our Lord in the operation of the Mass. The Archbishop will let
us use the chapel at Lambeth.”
“And you think that will help him?” Sir Bernard asked with interest.
“Subject always to the will of God,” Caithness answered.
“O quite,” Sir Bernard assented. “The will of God, of course. Heads I
win, tails you lose. However—And now do you think we dare go to
bed?”
“I shan’t myself,” Caithness said. “I’ll watch by him tonight. But
you go on.”
Sir Bernard looked dubious. “I don’t think I should feel quite
comfortable,” he said. “Suppose the High Executive suggested to him a
little exalted imagination of freedom, I don’t know that you could
stop him. I think, Ian, we’ll both settle
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