Henderson the Rain King (19 page)

XVI

From this small room the door opened into a long gallery screened with thatch. Tatu, the amazon, let us out and then followed us. The king was already far ahead of me down this private gallery of his. I tried to keep up with him, and the necessity of walking faster made me feel how yesterday's cuts had crippled my feet. So I hobbled and shambled while Tatu in her sturdy military stride came behind me. She had bolted the door of the small room from outside so that nobody could follow, and after we had crossed the gallery, which was about fifty feet long, she lifted another heavy wood bolt from the door at that end. This must have weighed like iron, for her knees sank, but the old woman had a powerful build and knew her job. The king went through, and I saw a staircase descending. It was wide enough, but dark--black ahead. A corrupt moldering smell rose from this darkness, which made me choke a little. But the king went right through into the moldering darkness and I thought, "What this calls for is a miner's lamp or a cage of canaries," trying to josh the fears out of my heart. "But okay," I thought, "if I've got to go, down I go. One, two, three, and on your way, Captain Henderson." You see, at such a moment, I would call on my military self. Thus I mastered my anxious feelings, chiefly by making my legs go, and entered this darkness. "King?" I said, when I was in. But there was no answer. My voice had a quaver, I heard it myself, and then I caught the rapid pounding of steps below. I extended both arms, but found no rail or wall. However, by the cautious use of my feet I discovered that the stairs were broad and even. All light from above was cut off when Tatu slammed the door. Next moment I heard a heavy bolt bump into place. Now I had no alternative except to follow downward or to sit down and wait until the king turned back to me. With which alternative I risked the loss of his respect and all the rest that I had gained yesterday by overcoming Mummah. Therefore I continued, while I told myself what a rare and probably great man that king was, how he must be nothing less than a genius, and how astonishing his personal beauty was, how the hum he made reminded me of that power station on 16th Street in New York on a hot night, how we were friends, and bound by a truth-telling agreement; finally, how he predicted that nobility had a greater future than ever. Of all the elements in the catalogue, this last had most appeal to me. Thus I groped with sore feet after him and kept saying to myself, "Have faith, Henderson, it's about time you had some faith." Presently there was some light and the end of the staircase came in view. The width of the stairs was due to the architectural crudeness of the palace. I was now beneath the building. Daylight came from a narrow opening above my head; this light was originally yellow but became gray by contact with stones. In the opening two iron spikes were set to keep even a child from creeping through. Examining my situation I found a small passage cut from the granite which led downward to another flight of stairs, which were of stone too. These were narrower and ran to a great depth, and soon I found them broken, with grass springing and soil leaking out through the cracks. "King," I called, "King, hey, are you down there, Your Highness?" But nothing came from below except drafts of warm air that lifted up the spider webs. "What's the guy's hurry?" I thought, and my cheeks twitched and I continued to go down. Instead of cooling, the air appeared warmer, the light filled up the stony space like a gray and yellow fluid, the surfaces of the wall acting as a filter, for the atmosphere was distributed as evenly as water. I came to the bottom, the last few steps being of earth and the bases of the walls themselves mixed with soil. Which recalled to me the speckled vision of twilight at Banyules-sur-Mer in that aquarium, where I saw that creature, the octopus, pressing its head against the glass. But where I had felt coldness there, here I felt very warm. I proceeded, feeling my apparel--the helmet, of course, but even the green silk pants of the rain king, which were light and flimsy--as excessive, a drag on me. By and by the walls became more spacious and widened into a sort of cave. To the left the tunnel went off into darkness. This I certainly had no intention of entering. The other way, there stood a semicircular wall in which there was a large door barred with wood. It was partly open and on the edge of this door I saw Dahfu's hand. For about the count of twenty, this was as much of him as I saw, but it wasn't necessary now to ask myself where he had been leading me. A low ripping sound behind the door was self-explanatory. It was the lion's den. And because the door was ajar I thought it advisable not to budge. I froze where I was, as there was only the king between me and the animal, of which I now began to see glimpses. This beast was not the one he had to capture. I didn't yet understand exactly what his relations with it were, but I did realize that he himself had no hesitation about entering, but had to prepare the animal for me. I was expected to go into the den with him. There was no question about that. And now when I heard that ripping, soft, dangerous sound the creature made, I felt as if I had got astride a rope. Seemingly it passed between my knees. I was under strict orders to myself to have faith, but as a soldier I had to think of my line of retreat, and here I was in a bad way. If I went up the stairs, at the top I would encounter a bolted door. It would do no good to knock or cry. Tatu would never open, and I could see myself chased all the way up and lying there with the animal washing its face in my blood. I expected the liver to go first, as with beasts of prey it is like that, they eat the most nutritious and valuable organ immediately. My other course lay into that dark tunnel, and this I speculated led to another closed door, probably. So I stood in those sad green pants with the stained jockey shorts under them, trying to steel myself. Meanwhile the snarling and ripping rose and fell and I became also aware of the voice of the king; he was talking to the animal, sometimes in Wariri, and sometimes in English, perhaps for my benefit, in order to reassure me. "Easy, easy, sweetheart. Here, here, my dolly." Thus it was a female, and he spoke low and steadily, calming her, and without raising his voice he said to me, "Henderson-Sungo, she now knows you are there. Gradually you must advance closer--little by little." "Should I, Your Highness?" He raised his hand toward me from the door, and his fingers moved. I came forward one step and I cannot deny that there lay over my consciousness the shadow of the cat I had attempted to shoot under the bridge table. There was little besides the king's arm that I could see. He kept beckoning and I took extremely small steps in my rubber-soled shoes. The snarls of the animal were now as sharp as thorns to me, and blind patches as big as silver dollars came and went before my eyes. Between these opaque interruptions I could see the body of the animal as it flowed back and forth before the opening--the calm, murderous face and clear eyes and the heavy feet. The king reached backward and touched me; he gathered my arm in his fingers and drew me to his side. He now held me in his arm. "King, what do you need me here for?" I said in a whisper. The lioness, in turning, then bumped into me and when I felt her I gave a sigh. The king said, "Make no sign," and he began again to speak to the lioness, saying, "Oh, my sweetheart, dolly girl, this is Henderson." She rubbed herself against him so that I felt the stress of her weight through the medium of his body. She stood well above our hips in height. When he touched her her whiskered mouth wrinkled so that the root of each hair showed black. She then moved off, returned behind us, came back again, and this time began to investigate me. I felt her muzzle touch upward first at my armpits, and then between my legs, which naturally made the member there shrink into the shelter of my paunch. Clasping me and holding me up, the king still talked softly and calmingly to her while her breath blew out the green silk of the Sungo trousers. I was gripping the inside of my cheek with my teeth, including the broken bridgework, while my eyes shut, slowly, and my face became, as I was highly aware, one huge mass of acceptance directed toward fate. Suffering. (Here is all that remains of a certain life--take it away! was implied by my expression.) But the lioness withdrew her head from my crotch and began once more to walk back and forth, the king saying to me (my comforter), "Henderson-Sungo, it is all right. She is going to accept you easily." "How do you know?" I said, dry in the throat. "How do I know!" He spoke with a peculiar stress of confidence. "How do _I__ know?" He gave a low laugh, saying, "Why I know her--this is Atti." "That's swell. It may seem obvious to you," I said, "but me �" My words ended, for she was making her "wing back and I caught a glance from her eyes. They were so great, so clear, like circles of wrath. Then she passed me, rubbing against Dahfu's side; her belly swung softly, and she turned again and plunged her head under his hand, taking a caress from it. She went again to the far side of the den, this large, stone-walled room which filtered the gray and yellow light. She walked back along the walls, and when she snarled the freckles at the base of her whiskers were velvet and dark. The king, in a delighted, playful voice, nasal, African, and songlike, would call out after her, "Atti, Atti." And he said, "Ain't she the most beautiful?" Then he instructed me, "You will stand still, Mr. Henderson-Sungo." I said, whispering fiercely, "No, no, don't move," but he didn't heed me. "King, for Christ's sake," I said. He tried to indicate that I should not worry, but was so taken up with his lioness, showing me how happy relations were between them, that in moving from me his step resembled the bounds he had made in the arena yesterday throwing the skulls. Yes, as he had done yesterday he danced and jumped, in his gold-embroidered white slippers, with powerful legs. There was something so proud and, seemingly, lucky about those legs in the neat, close trousers. Even through intensest fear it reached my mind that a man with such legs must be lucky. I wished that he would not push his luck, however, or demonstrate his relationship with her in just that way, since so much confidence may often be the prelude to a crash, or my experience isn't worth a nickel. Still the lioness trotted near him, keeping her head under his fingers. He led her from me to the far side of the den, where a wooden platform or bench was raised against the wall on heavy posts. Here he sat down, taking her head on his knee, scratching and stroking, while she pretended to box at him. She sat on her haunches while her paws struck. I saw the action of her shoulders while he pulled her ears, which were small and round. Not an inch did I stir from the position I was left in, not even to reset my helmet when it sank over my brows with the wrinkling of my forehead that resulted from the intensity of my concentration. No, I stood there half deaf, half blind, with my throat closing and all the sphincters shut. Meanwhile the king had taken one of those easy positions of his, and was resting on his elbow. He had such a relaxed way about him, and every moment of his earthly life the extra shadow of brilliance was with him--the sign of an intenser gift of being. Atti stood with forepaws on the edge of the trestle, licking his breastbone; her tongue rasped and flexed against his skin and he raised one of his legs and laid it playfully over her back. At which I felt so smothered I almost passed out, and I don't know whether the cause of this was fear for his safety or something else. I don't know what--rapture, maybe. Admiration. He stretched himself out at full length on this platform, and lying down isn't worth speaking of except as this king did it. It was a thing of art with him, and maybe he had not been joking when he said he kept strong by lying down, since it really seemed to add to his vitality. The animal with a soft, deep, ripping noise got set on her great, claw-hiding, hind paws and bounded up beside him. On the trestle she walked up and down, now and then glancing at me as if she were guarding him. When she looked at me it was with that round, clear stare out of the vast background of natural severity. There was no direct threat in this, it lacked anything personal; nevertheless it made my hair, though cramped by the helmet, stir all over my head. I continued to entertain the obscure worry that my intended crime against the cat world might somehow be known here. Also I was anxious about the hour that burst the spirit's sleep. I might have misapprehended the nature of it completely. How did I know that it might not be the judgment hour for me? However, there were no practical alternatives present. I could do nothing but stand. Which I did. Finally the king extended his hand from behind the lioness, who at that time was striding back and forth over him. He pointed to the door, calling, "Please shut it, Mr. Henderson." And he added, "Open door makes her very uneasy." So I asked him, "Is it okay to move?" My throat sounded badly rusted. "Very slow," he said, "but do not worry, as she does what I tell her, precisely." I stole to the door, stepping backward, and when I had reached it in very slow motion I wanted to continue through it and sit down outside to wait. But under no circumstances, come hell or high water, could I afford to weaken my connection with the king. Therefore I leaned against the door and closed it with my weight, sighing inwardly as I sank against it. I was all broken up. I couldn't take crisis after crisis, like this. "Now move forward, Henderson-Sungo," he said. "So far it is admirable. Just a little quicker, only not abrupt. You will be better on closer approach. Lion is far-sighted. Her eyes are meant for viewing at a distance. Come closer." I approached, cursing under my breath, him and his lion both, trembling and watching the tip of her tail as it swiped back and forth as regular as a metronome. In the middle of the floor I had no more support in all of God's world than a stone. "More, more. Nearer," he said, and gestured with two fingers. "She will get used to you." "If I don't die of it," I said. "Oh, no, Henderson, she will have an influence upon you as she has had upon me." When I was within reach he pulled me to him, meanwhile thrusting away the face of the animal with his left hand. With great difficulty I clambered up beside him. Then I wiped my face. Needlessly, for owing to the fever it was entirely dry. Atti paced to the end of the platform and swung back. The king fended