Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (175 page)

  ’An’ since ‘twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,
  Faith, there must ha’been some stingo in the ginger.’

Come back, you maniac. I’m going to take you home, and you’re going to lie down.

CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?

CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.

CAPT. G. (
Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork
.) Sweet state I’m in!

CAPT. M. You are. I’ll get you a peg and you’ll go to sleep.

They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg
.

CAPT. G. O
bus! bus!
It’ll make me as drunk as an owl.

CAPT. M. Curious thing, ‘twon’t have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.

CAPT. G. It’s absurd. I shan’t sleep. I
know
I shan’t!

Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes
. CAPT. M.
watches him tenderly
.

CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy! I’ve seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. ‘Can’t tell how it affects ‘em, though. It’s the thoroughbreds that sweat when they’re backed into double-harness.-And that’s the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (
Leans over
G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal — worse than the guns, isn’t it? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of ‘em-going like the rest of ‘em — -Friend that sticketh closer than a brother — - eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl-eight weeks! And-where’s your friend? (
Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three
.)

CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.

CAPT. G. Already? Isn’t it too soon? Hadn’t I better have a shave?

CAPT. M. NO! You’re all right. (
Aside
.) He’d chip his chin to pieces.

CAPT. G. What’s the hurry?

CAPT. M. You’ve got to be there first.

CAPT. G. To be stared at?

CAPT. M. Exactly. You’re part of the show. Where’s the burnisher? Your spurs are in a shameful state.

CAPT. G. (
Gruffly
) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.

CAPT. M. (
More gruffly.
) Dry up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your spurs, you’re under
my
orders.

CAPT. G.
dresses
. M.
follows suit.

CAPT. M. (
Critically, walking round.
) M’yes, you’ll do. Only don’t look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees — that’s all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we’ll go.

CAPT. G. (
Nervously.
) It’s much too soon. Let’s light up! Let’s have a peg! Let’s —

CAPT. M. Let’s make bally asses of ourselves!

BELLS. (
Without.
) —

      ’Good — peo — ple — all
      To prayers — we call.”

CAPT. M. There go the bells! Come on — unless you’d rather not. (
They ride off.
)

BELLS. —

  ’We honour the King
  And Brides joy do bring —
  Good tidings we tell,
  And ring the Dead’s knell.’

CAPT. G. (
Dismounting at the door of the Church.
) I say, aren’t we much too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren’t we much too late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do?

CAPT. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. (G.
groans as
M.
wheels him into position before three hundred eyes.
)

CAPT. M. (
Imploringly.
) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity’s sake, for the Honour of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look like a man! I’ve got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G.
breaks into a gentle perspiration.
) If you wipe your face I’ll
never
be your best man again. Stand
up!
(G.
trembles visibly.
)

CAPT. M. (
Returning.
) She’s coming now. Look out when the music starts. There’s the organ beginning to clack.

Bride steps out of ‘rickshaw at Church door.
G.
catches a glimpse of her and takes heart.

ORGAN. —

  ’The Voice that breathed o’er Eden,
  That earliest marriage day,
  The primal marriage-blessing,
  It hath not passed away.’

CAPT. M. (
Watching
G.) By Jove! He
is
looking well. ‘Didn’t think he had it in him.

CAPT. G. How long does this hymn go on for?

CAPT. M. It will be over directly. (
Anxiously.
) Beginning to bleach and gulp? Hold on, Gaddy, and think o’ the Regiment.

CAPT. G. (
Measuredly.
) I say, there’s a big brown lizard crawling up that wall.

CAPT. M. My Sainted Mother! The last stage of collapse!

Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to
G.
who is suddenly smitten mad.

CAPT. G. (
To himself again and again.
) Little Featherweight’s a woman — a woman! And I thought she was a little girl.

CAPT. M. (
In a whisper.
) Form the halt — inward
wheel.

CAPT. G.
obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds.

PADRE. . . . only unto her as long as ye both shall live?

CAPT. G. (
His throat useless.
) Ha-hmmm!

CAPT. M. Say you will or you won’t. There’s no second deal here.

Bride gives response with perfect coolness, and is given away by the father.

CAPT. G. (
Thinking to show his learning.
) Jack, give me away now,
quick!

CAPT. M. You’re given yourself away quite enough. Her
right
hand, man! Repeat! Repeat! ‘Theodore Philip.’ Have you forgotten your own name?

CAPT. G.
stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a tremor.

CAPT. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Don’t pull off my glove! Here it is! Great Cupid, he’s found his voice!

G.
repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and turns on his heel.

CAPT. M. (
Desperately.
) Rein back! Back to your troop! ‘Tisn’t half legal yet.

PADRE. . . . joined together let no man put asunder.

CAPT. G.
paralysed with fear jibs after Blessing.

CAPT. M. (
Quickly.
) On your own front — one length. Take her with you. I don’t come. You’ve nothing to say. (CAPT. G.
jingles up to altar.
)

  CAPT. M. (
In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper.
)
  Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian! Kneel!

PADRE. . . . whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not afraid with any amazement.

  CAPT. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel!
  
All troop to vestry. They sign.

CAPT. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy.

CAPT. G. (
Rubbing the ink into his glove.
) Eh! Wha — at?

CAPT. M. (
Taking one pace to Bride.
) If you don’t, I shall.

CAPT. G. (
Interposing an arm.
) Not this journey!

General kissing, in which
CAPT. G.
is pursued by unknown female.

CAPT. G. (
Faintly to
M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?

CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask
Missis
Gadsby.

CAPT. G.
winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake.

CAPT. M. (
At table.
) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.

CAPT. G. (
After three minutes’ agony.
) Ha-hmmm. (
Thunders of applause.
)

CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over — ’the Missus.’ (CAPT. G.
disappears.
CAPT. M.
starts up tearing his hair.
) It’s not
half
legal. Where are the shoes? Get an
ayah.

AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone
band karo
all the
jutis.

CAPT. M. (
Brandishing scabbarded sword.
) Woman, produce those shoes! Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn’t crack Gaddy’s head more than it is. (
Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve.
) Where is the Bride? (
To the company at large.
) Be tender with that rice. It’s a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.

Bride slips out quietly into ‘rickshaw and departs towards the sunset.

CAPT. M. (
In the open.
) Stole away, by Jove! So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this’ll be livelier than Amdheran! Where’s your horse?

CAPT. G. (
Furiously, seeing that the women are out of earshot.
) Where the —  — is my
Wife?

CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You’ll have to ride like
Young Lochinvar.

Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.

CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you brute-you hog-you beast!
Get
round!

Wrenches horse’s head over, nearly breaking lower jaw; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna.

CAPT. M. For your life and your love — ride, Gaddy! — And God bless you!

Throws half a pound of rice at G., who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.

CAPT. M. I’ve lost old Gaddy. (
Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently
): —

  ’You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card,
  That a young man married is a young man marred!’

MISS DEERCOURT. (
From her horse.
) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!

CAPT. M. (
Aside.
) They say marriage is like cholera. ‘Wonder who’ll be the next victim.

White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering.

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

And ye shall be as — Gods!

SCENE. —
Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows.
CAPTAIN GADSBY,
now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Fagoo eagles.
MRS. G.
comes out of bungalow.

MRS. G. My husband!

CAPT. G. (
Lazily, with intense enjoyment.
) Eh, wha-at? Say that again.

MRS. G. I’ve written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 17th.

CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?

MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (
Sitting down by his side.
)
I thought you wouldn’t mind.

CAPT. G. (
With mock sternness.
) I object awf’ly. How did you know that it was yours to keep?

MRS. G. I guessed, Phil.

CAPT. G. (
Rapturously.
)
Lit-tle
Featherweight!

MRS. G. I
won’t
be called those sporting pet names, bad boy.

CAPT. G. You’ll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife?

MRS. G. It has. I haven’t ceased wondering at it yet.

CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn’t. (
Confidently.
) You see, it could have been no one else.

MRS. G. (
Softly.
) No. No one else — for me or for you. It must have been
all
arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care for me.

CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were
you
, you know.

MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!

CAPT. G. (
A twinkle in his eye.
) I did, darling, just at the first.
But only at the very first. (
Chuckles.
) I called you — stoop low and
I’ll whisper — ’a little beast.’ Ho! Ho! Ho!

MRS. G. (
Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.
) ‘A — little — beast!’ Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had the — the — awful cheek to propose to me!

CAPT. G. I’d changed my mind then. And you weren’t a little beast any more.

MRS. G. Thank you, Sir! And when was I ever?

CAPT. G.
Never!
But that first day, when you gave me tea in that peach-coloured muslin gown thing, you looked — you did indeed, dear — such an absurd little mite. And I didn’t know what to say to you.

MRS. G. (
Twisting moustache.
) So you said ‘little beast.’ Upon my word, Sir!
I
called
you
a ‘Crrrreature,’ but I wish now I had called you something worse.

CAPT. G. (
Very meekly.
) I apologise, but you’re hurting me awf’ly. (
Interlude.
) You’re welcome to torture me again on those terms.

MRS. G. Oh,
why
did you let me do it?

CAPT. G. (
Looking across valley.
) No reason in particular, but — if it amused you or did you any good — you might — wipe those dear little boots of yours on me.

MRS. G. (
Stretching out her hands.
) Don’t! Oh, don’t! Philip, my King,
please
don’t talk like that. It’s how
I
feel. You’re so much too good for me. So much too good!