A Far Sunset

TEN

He woke up and found that he was trembling. He looked at his surroundings without recognition for a moment, or two, but the disorientation was brief. Over in the comer of the room a string of smoke rippled upwards towards the thatch from the tiny flickering oil lamp set on the miniature phallus of Oruri. One or two flies buzzed lazily. By his side, the naked brown girl slept peacefully with one arm thrown carelessly across his stomach.

He looked at the three stubby fingers and flattened thumb on her small hand. He looked at her face—neat and serene. An alien face, yet perhaps it would have raised no eyebrows in central Africa. Her serenity annoyed him. He shook her into consciousness.

Mylai Tui sat up, bleary-eyed. ‘What is it, my lord? Surely the nine sisters are still flying?’

‘Say it! ’ he commanded. ‘Say my name.’

‘Poul Mer Lo.’

He shook her again. ‘It is not Poul. Say Paul.’

‘Poul.’

‘No. Paul.’

‘Po-el.’ Mylai Tui enunciated the syllables carefully.

He slapped her. ‘Po-el,’ he mimicked. ‘No, not Po-el. Say Paul.’

‘Poel.’

He slapped her again. ‘Paul! Paul! Paul! Say it! ’

‘Pole,’ sobbed Mylai Tui. ‘Pole … My lord, I am trying very hard.’

‘Then you are not trying hard enough, Mylai Tui,’ he snapped brutally. ‘Why should I bother to speak your language when you can’t make a decent sound in mine? Say Paul.’

‘Pol.’

‘That’s better … Paul.’

‘Paul.’

‘That’s good. That’s very good. Now try Paul Marlowe.’

‘Pol Mer Lo.’

Again he hit her. ‘Listen carefully. Paul Marlowe.’

‘Pol Mah Lo.’

‘Paul Marlowe.’

‘Paul Mah Lo.’

‘Paul Marlowe.’

‘Paul … Marlowe.’ By this time Mylai Tui hardly knew what she was saying.

‘You’ve got it!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s it. That’s my name. You are to call me Paul. Understand?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Yes, Paul.’

‘Yes, Paul,’ repeated Mylai Tui obediently. She wiped the tears from her face.

‘It’s important, you understand,’ he babbled. ‘It’s very important. A man has to keep his own name, does he not?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

He raised his hand.

‘Yes, Paul,’ corrected Mylai Tui hastily. Then she added hesitantly: ‘My lord is not afflicted by devils?’

He began to laugh. But the laughter disintegrated. And then tears were streaming down his own face. ‘Yes, Mylai Tui. I am afflicted by devils. It seems that I shall be afflicted by devils as long as I live.’

Mylai Tui nursed his head on her breast, rocking to and fro, rhythmically. ‘There is a great sadness inside you,’ she said at length. ‘O Paul, my lord, it hisses like water over burning stones. Kill me or send me away; but do not let me witness such pain in one to whom I am not destined to bring the first gift of Oruri.’

‘What is the first gift of Oruri?’

‘A child,’ said Mylai Tui simply.

He sat up with a jerk. ‘How do you know that you will not give me a child?’

‘Lord—Paul—you have loved me many times.’

‘Well?’

‘I have not worn the zhivo since I left the Temple of Gaiety and gave up the duties of a noia, Paul. You have loved me many times. If you had been an ordinary Bayani, by now I would have swollen with the fruit of love. I am not swollen. Therefore Oruri withholds his first gift … My Lord, I have sinned. I know not how, but I have sinned… Perhaps you will fare better with another noia.’

He was thunderstruck. For in a terrible moment of clarity he saw that Mylai Tui possessed a wisdom greater than he could ever hope to attain. ‘It is true,’ he said calmly. ‘I want a child, but I did not know that I want a child … There are so many things I do not know … Yet, there is no sin, Mylai Tui. For I think that my blood and yours will not mingle. I think that I can never get a child save with one of my own people. And so I shall not send you away.’

Mylai Tui sighed and smiled. ‘My lord is merciful. If I cannot bear the son of him who came upon a silver bird, I wish to bear the son of no other.’

He took her hands and looked at her silently for a while. ‘What is it that binds us?’ he asked at length.

Mylai Tui could not understand. ‘There is nothing to bind us, Paul,’ she said, ‘save the purpose of Oruri.’