XXXIV

The two partners were sitting together, pulling on their marching boots. They were returning east, to the China Sea coast, and Mr. Parsell would set out for an Indian Ocean beach. Their Chinaman placed beside them their breakfast. Parsell was over with the Malays. He preferred their circle. The last Colet had seen of him the night before was his back against the firelight of the men’s hut, with the Malays about him. The men knew he was different. An odd character; his simplicity had an importunity which compelled you to defer your own affairs, as though it were the appeal of an innocence which, so you guessed, knew more than its blue eyes rumoured. To Colet then the man was an intimidation which could not be ignored, however much he pretended that it was not really there. Something would have to be done. Parsell certainly had recovered. The respite of a few days, and Norrie’s careful feeding, had so changed the man that occasionally he had intervals of jocosity, elfish phases of erudition which, when the other two men had recovered from their start, caused them to laugh a little awkwardly. Norrie, though, said the benefit would only help Parsell into a further and deeper slough; but the idea that he could be persuaded out of his alarming project was abandoned. It was not worth trying. It was an immovable resolution. The man was going.

Norrie stretched his legs; looked round.

“Colet, not a word from you all the morning. Some worm feeding on your bearded damask? Not worrying over the ill we can’t prevent?”

“No. No. Not now. I’ve just given that up. I’ve been thinking it over. Now there’s no option, I think. It seems to me I ought to go with him.”

Norrie drew his legs up. He tapped with his foot for a time before speaking again.

“Say it once more; perhaps I got it wrong.”

“I’m going with him. Put it like that.”

“Not coming my way?”

“I wish I could.”

Norrie did not move. He smiled, for a spell, at the fire. Then he rose, kicked a box out of his way, walked a little distance, and stood with his back to the hut, considering the forest. Colet went over to him.

“What else is there for me to do? You help me out of this.”

“You could let old destiny takes its course.”

“I don’t know destiny when I see it. What is it like?”

Norrie did not answer that. The forest appeared to absorb his attention.

“Is there anything else for me to do? He can’t be allowed to go alone. It is impossible for you to go. I’m free.”

“So is he free, free not to go.”

“I don’t think he is. He’s obsessed.”

“And you are free.”

“Of course. I know what I’m doing.”

“Nothing to argue about?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Who made you his keeper?”

Colet waited, without an answer. The men were beginning to pack. In the woods the bird that whistled like an idle boy was having no success with the tune. The dissolving of the mist uncovered areas of the distant forested hilltops to the young sun; green islands were floating high in the blue. Norrie was contemplating that daily miracle of the morning, the late descent from heaven of the hilltops to join the earth. Then he addressed the hilltops:

“Of all the blether. Of all the sacred, predestined and inevitable Gothamites. Isn’t one enough? What is he going to do? Leave his luck, turn the other way, and toddle after a crank searching for what people won’t look at when it is found.”

“That isn’t it.”

“Then what the devil is it?”

Colet had no answer. Norrie strode farther away, but after a while he turned about as though some of his heat had gone, and faced Colet.

“I might have expected this. I suppose you’re bound to follow your selfish conscience, which is thinking only of its own comfort?”

“I suppose so.”

“Your sort always do. They’re an infernal nuisance to the world. No good talking sense to a noble conscience. That will find all the reasons there are for pleasing itself. You’re as bad as the old fool himself. But don’t forget I’ve got my follies. As it happens, I prefer you to the other loony’s books. And do you know that when you go this morning that will be the last of you? Your enemies will never see you again.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll bear it in mind.”

“I know. But it won’t be enough. You’ll learn that a pure intention is of no special value in a cataract. It won’t even keep off amoebic dysentery or blowflies. You’ll never get that man over the range⁠—and if you do you’ll regret it. Let him be. He’ll fall sick again soon, and the Malays will bring him down to the coast. I’ve reckoned on that.”

“It isn’t their job. We can’t reckon on it. Would you reckon on that in my case?”

“All right. All right. But this is what will happen. You’ll carry him to a place where you can’t get him forward and can’t get him back. Your good intention will do him harm.”

“I’ll watch it. I’ll put it down in the diary when the child is to be kidnapped.”

Norrie began to pace to and fro. He did not look at his friend. He kept up his patrol for so long that Colet began to weaken. One thing was certain. It was impossible to be fair to everybody. Doing the right thing meant that some man would get hurt. But at last, when about to pass him again, Norrie paused behind him, and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. Colet, touched, turned about quickly. But Norrie was not looking at him. He was watching Parsell and the Malays.

“I’ll call this destiny; and there you are. That’s what it means for you. Just look at the fellow. There’s his view of the job in front of him. He’s reciting the mantras to the men, the runes for a safe journey. They think he’s a pawang, a sorcerer⁠ ⁠… and confound him, so he is. He’s conjured something out of me.”

They both watched the play for some minutes. It afforded a composing interval. Norrie then began to move towards the hut again.

“Come along, Colet. No good mooning here, listening to a shaman averting malaria and crocodiles. I’ve got some things to say to you. In any case, we must be off.”

When they had entered the shelter Norrie selected a gun. “Just once more,” he said, “I suppose it is no good talking to you?”

“I don’t want to be persuaded. I might be easily persuaded.”

“Then, you take this gun along, for one thing. I’m pretty sure the ethnologist has got nothing but callipers. That would stop an elephant⁠ ⁠… if you stop the old shaman with it, when his antics look dangerous, you won’t hear a word from this admirer of his. I’ve still got one or two of his books to read⁠—I’ve got some of him untouched, in store⁠—so don’t hesitate on my account.”

He was examining the gun. “I don’t like to lose it, but I suppose it must go. Another little matter, Colet. Parsell isn’t aware of it, but his packs already hold some of our supplies. His medicine chest wasn’t fit to apply to a village dog, and his grub was sketchy. His Malay guide knows where the stuff is. And now that there are two imbeciles instead of one, I’ve got to waste more time over it⁠ ⁠… but perhaps I ought to show some gratitude to you for offering to nurse one of my pets.”

They had the maps spread out on the floor, and kneeled to them. Colet began to come down to some considerations which he had not supposed were in the journey. It looked a formidable distance, on the chart, and the greater length of it was supported by very few names. It would have been a different affair, Colet saw then, to do that with Norrie; who indeed, began to grow interested as he worked it out, as though he were projecting a new and spacious experience for himself. He lost himself in it. They were rolling up the charts, and putting them into rubber bags, when Mr. Parsell began to come their way. Norrie studied him deliberately.

“Listen. Don’t let that man linger. Make him get along, short of breaking him. He’ll want to sit down and become a native. Bully him. Don’t forget. Bully him. Win his respect. It’s the only way to treat a great scientist who doesn’t know where he is. He’ll never listen to reason. Order him about till he cries. If you get down to the coast you know the people who know me.⁠ ⁠… Here, the men are waiting.”

The change in their plans was explained to Mr. Parsell. He gave it, as he listened, an apprehending and friendly nod or two. He raised no objection to Colet leaving the country by the route he himself had chosen.

“You might be of some assistance to me. Do you know anything of ethnology, Mr. Colet?”

Their farewells were perfunctory. Their men had already separated, and were on their divergent trails. When Colet turned, as he was about to enter the woods, Norrie was standing, looking back at him. They lifted their rifles, and Norrie vanished.