Kim (14 page)

‘What matter, Holy One?—but remember it is only for a night or two. Remember, I can change swiftly. It will all be as it was when I first spoke to thee under Zam-Zammah the great gun——’

‘As a boy in the dress of white men—when I first went to the Wonder House. And a second time thou wast a Hindu. What shall the third incarnation be?’ He chuckled drearily. ‘Ah,
chela
, thou has done a wrong to an old man because my heart went out to thee.’

‘And mine to thee. But how could I know that the Red Bull would bring me to this business?’

The lama covered his face afresh, and nervously rattled the rosary. Kim squatted beside him and laid hold upon a fold of his clothing.

‘Now it is understood that the boy is a Sahib?’ he went on in a muffled tone. ‘Such a Sahib as was he who kept the images in the Wonder House.’ The lama’s experience of white men was limited. He seemed to be repeating a lesson. ‘So then it is not seemly that he should do other than as the Sahibs do. He must go back to his own people.’

‘For a day and a night and a day,’ Kim pleaded.

‘No, ye don’t!’ Father Victor saw Kim edging towards the door, and interposed a strong leg.

‘I do not understand the customs of white men. The Priest of the Images in the Wonder House in Lahore was more courteous than the thin one here. This boy will be taken from me. They will make a Sahib of my disciple? Woe to me! How shall I find my River? Have
they
no disciples? Ask.’

‘He says he is very sorree that he cannot find the River now any more. He says, Why have you no disciples, and stop bothering him? He wants to be washed of his sins.’

Neither Bennett nor Father Victor found any answer ready.

Said Kim in English, distressed for the lama’s agony: ‘I think if you will let me go now we will walk away quietly and not steal. We will look for that River like before I was caught. I wish I did not come here to find the Red Bull and all that sort of thing. I do not want it.’

‘It’s the very best day’s work you ever did for yourself, young man,’ said Bennett.

‘Good heavens, I don’t know how to console him,’ said Father Victor, watching the lama intently. ‘He can’t take the boy away with him, and yet he’s a good man—I’m sure he’s a good man. Bennett, if you give him that rupee he’ll curse you root and branch!’

They listened to each other’s breathing—three—five full minutes. Then the lama raised his head, and looked forth across them into space and emptiness.

‘And I am a Follower of the Way,’ he said bitterly. ‘The sin is mine and the punishment is mine. I made believe to myself—for now I see it was but make-belief—that thou wast sent to me to aid in the Search. So my heart went out to thee for thy charity and thy courtesy and the wisdom of thy little years. But those who follow the Way must permit not the fire of any desire or attachment, for that is all Illusion. As says . . .’ He quoted an old, old Chinese text, backed it with another, and reinforced these with a third. ‘I stepped aside from the Way, my
chela
. It was no fault of thine. I delighted in the sight of life, the new people upon the roads, and in thy joy at seeing these things. I was pleased with thee who should have considered my Search and my Search alone. Now I am sorrowful because thou art taken away and my River is far from me. It is the Law which I have broken!’

‘Powers of Darkness below!’ said Father Victor, who, wise in the confessional, heard the pain in every sentence.

‘I see now that the sign of the Red Bull was a sign for me as well as for thee. All Desire is red—and evil. I will do penance and find my River alone.’

‘At least go back to the Kulu woman,’ said Kim, ‘otherwise thou wilt be lost upon the roads. She will feed thee till I run back to thee.’

The lama waved a hand to show that the matter was finally settled in his mind.

‘Now,’—his tone altered as he turned to Kim,—‘what will they do with thee? At least I may, acquiring merit, wipe out past ill.’

‘Make me a Sahib—so they think. The day after tomorrow I return. Do not grieve.’

‘Of what sort? Such an one as this or that man?’ He pointed to Father Victor. ‘Such an one as those I saw this evening—men wearing swords and stamping heavily?’

‘Maybe.’

‘That is not well. These men follow desire and come to emptiness. Thou must not be of their sort.’

‘The Umballa priest said that my Star was War,’ Kim interjected. ‘I will ask these fools—but there is truly no need. I will run away this night, for all I wanted to see the new things.’

Kim put two or three questions in English to Father Victor, translating the replies to the lama.

Then: ‘He says, “You take him from me and you cannot say what you will make him.” He says, “Tell me before I go, for it is not a small thing to make a child.” ’

‘You will be sent to a school. Later on, we shall see. Kimball, I suppose you’d like to be a soldier?’

‘
Gorah-log
(white-folk). No-ah! No-ah!’ Kim shook his head violently. There was nothing in his composition to which drill and routine appealed. ‘I will
not
be a soldier.’

‘You will be what you’re told to be,’ said Bennett; ‘and you should be grateful that we’re going to help you.’

Kim smiled compassionately. If these men lay under the delusion that he would do anything that he did not fancy, so much the better.

Another long silence followed. Bennett fidgeted with impatience, and suggested calling a sentry to evict the
fakir
.

‘Do they give or sell learning among the Sahibs? Ask them,’ said the lama, and Kim interpreted.

‘They say that money is paid to the teacher—but that money the Regiment will give. . . . What need? It is only for a night.’

‘And—the more money is paid the better learning is given?’ The lama disregarded Kim’s plans for an early flight. ‘It is no wrong to pay for learning. To help the ignorant to wisdom is always a merit.’ The rosary clicked furiously as an abacus. Then he faced his oppressors.

‘Ask them for how much money do they give a wise and suitable teaching? And in what city is that teaching given?’

‘Well,’ said Father Victor in English, when Kim had translated, ‘that depends. The Regiment would pay for you all the time you are at the Military Orphanage; or you might go on the Punjab Masonic Orphanage’s list (not that he or you ’ud understand what that means); but the best schooling a boy can get in India is, of course, at St Xavier’s in Partibus at Lucknow.’ This took some time to interpret, for Bennett wished to cut it short.

‘He wants to know how much?’ said Kim placidly.

‘Two or three hundred rupees a year.’ Father Victor was long past any sense of amazement. Bennett, impatient, did not understand.

‘He says: “Write that name and the money upon a paper and give it him.” And he says you must write your name below, because he is going to write a letter in some days to you. He says you are a good man. He says the other man is a fool. He is going away.’

The lama rose suddenly. ‘I follow my Search,’ he cried, and was gone.

‘He’ll run slap into the sentries,’ cried Father Victor, jumping up as the lama stalked out; ‘but I can’t leave the boy.’ Kim made swift motion to follow, but checked himself. There was no sound of challenge outside. The lama had disappeared.

Kim settled himself composedly on the Chaplain’s cot. At least the lama had promised that he would stay with the Rajput woman from Kulu, and the rest was of the smallest importance. It pleased him that the two padres were so evidently excited. They talked long in undertones, Father Victor urging some scheme on Mr Bennett, who seemed incredulous. All this was very new and fascinating, but Kim felt sleepy. They called men into the tent—one of them certainly was the Colonel, as his father had prophesied—and they asked him an infinity of questions, chiefly about the woman who looked after him, all of which Kim answered truthfully. They did not seem to think the woman a good guardian.

After all, this was the newest of his experiences. Sooner or later, if he chose, he could escape into great, grey, formless India, beyond tents and padres and colonels. Meantime, if the Sahibs were to be impressed, he would do his best to impress them. He too was a white man.

After much talk that he could not comprehend, they handed him over to a sergeant, who had strict instructions not to let him escape. The Regiment would go on to Umballa, and Kim would be sent up, partly at the expense of the Lodge and in part by subscription, to a place called Sanawar.

‘It’s miraculous past all whooping, Colonel,’ said Father Victor, when he had talked without a break for ten minutes. ‘His Buddhist friend has levanted after taking my name and address. I can’t quite make out whether he’ll pay for the boy’s education or whether he is preparing some sort of witchcraft on his own account.’ Then to Kim: ‘You’ll live to be grateful to your friend the Red Bull yet. We’ll make a man of you at Sanawar—even at the price o’ making you a Protestant.’

‘Certainly—most certainly,’ said Bennett.

‘But you will not go to Sanawar,’ said Kim.

‘But we
will
go to Sanawar, little man. That’s the order of the Commander-in-Chief, who’s a trifle more important than O’Hara’s son.’

‘You will not go to Sanawar. You will go to thee War.’

There was a shout of laughter from the full tent.

‘When you know your own Regiment a trifle better you won’t confuse the line of march with line of battle, Kim. We hope to go to “thee War” sometime.’

‘Oah, I know all thatt.’ Kim drew his bow again at a venture. If they were not going to the war, at least they did not know what he knew of the talk in the veranda at Umballa.

‘I know you are not at thee war now; but I tell
you
that as soon as you get to Umballa you will be sent to the war—the new war. It is a war of eight thousand men, besides the guns.’

‘That’s explicit. D’you add prophecy to your other gifts? Take him along, sergeant. Take up a suit for him from the Drums, an’ take care he doesn’t slip through your fingers. Who says the age of miracles is gone by? I think I’ll go to bed. My poor mind’s weakening.’

At the far end of the camp, silent as a wild animal, an hour later sat Kim, newly washed all over, in a horrible stiff suit that rasped his arms and legs.

‘A most amazin’ young bird,’ said the sergeant. ‘He turns up in charge of a yellow-headed buck-Brahmin priest, with his father’s Lodge certificates round his neck, talkin’ God knows what all of a red bull. The buck-Brahmin evaporates without explanations, an’ the bhoy sets cross-legged on the Chaplain’s bed prophesyin’ bloody war to the men at large. Injia’s a wild land for a God-fearin’ man. I’ll just tie his leg to the tent-pole in case he’ll go through the roof. What did ye say about the war?’

‘Eight thousand men, besides guns,’ said Kim. ‘Very soon you will see.’

‘You’re a consolin’ little imp. Lie down between the Drums an’ go to bye-bye. Those two boys will watch your slumbers.’

Now I remember comrades—
    Old playmates on new seas—
Whenas we traded orpiment
    Among the savages.
Ten thousand leagues to southward,
    And thirty years removed—
They knew not noble Valdez,
    But me they knew and loved.
            — Song of Diego Valdez

Very early
in the morning the white tents came down and disappeared as the Mavericks took a side-road to Umballa. It did not skirt the resting-place, and Kim, trudging beside a baggage-cart under fire of comments from soldiers’ wives, was not so confident as overnight. He discovered that he was closely watched—Father Victor on the one side, and Mr Bennett on the other.

In the forenoon the column checked. A camel-orderly handed the Colonel a letter. He read it, and spoke to a Major. Half a mile in the rear, Kim heard a hoarse and joyful clamour rolling down on him through the thick dust. Then someone beat him on the back, crying: ‘Tell us how ye knew, ye little limb of Satan? Father dear, see if ye can make him tell.’

A pony ranged alongside, and he was hauled on to the priest’s saddle-bow.

‘Now, my son, your prophecy of last night has come true. Our orders are to entrain at Umballa for the Front tomorrow.’

‘What is thatt?’ said Kim, for ‘
front
’ and ‘
entrain
’ were newish words to him.

‘We are going to “thee War,” as you called it.’

‘Of course you are going to thee War. I said last night.’

‘Ye did; but, Powers o’ Darkness, how did ye know?’

Kim’s eyes sparkled. He shut his lips, nodded his head, and looked unspeakable things. The Chaplain moved on through the dust, and privates, sergeants, and subalterns called one another’s attention to the boy. The Colonel, at the head of the column, stared at him curiously. ‘It was probably some bazar rumour,’ he said; ‘but even then——’ He referred to the paper in his hand. ‘Hang it all, the thing was only decided within the last forty-eight hours.’

‘Are there many more like you in India?’ said Father Victor, ‘or are you by way o’ being a
lusus naturæ
?’

‘Now I have told you,’ said the boy, ‘will you let me go back to my old man? If he has not stayed with that woman from Kulu, I am afraid he will die.’

‘By what I saw of him he’s as well able to take care of himself as you. No. Ye’ve brought us luck, an’ we’re goin’ to make a man of you. I’ll take ye back to your baggage-cart and ye’ll come to me this evening.’

For the rest of the day Kim found himself an object of distinguished consideration among a few hundred white men. The story of his appearance in camp, the discovery of his parentage, and his prophecy, had lost nothing in the telling. A big, shapeless white woman on a pile of bedding asked him mysteriously whether he thought her husband would come back from the war. Kim reflected gravely, and said that he would, and the woman gave him food. In many respects, this big procession that played music at intervals—this crowd that talked and laughed so easily—resembled a festival in Lahore city. So far, there was no sign of hard work, and he resolved to lend the spectacle his patronage. At evening there came out to meet them bands of music, and played the Mavericks into camp near Umballa railway station. That was an interesting night. Men of other regiments came to visit the Mavericks. The Mavericks went visiting on their own account. Their pickets hurried forth to bring them back, met pickets of strange regiments on the same duty; and, after a while, the bugles blew madly for more pickets with officers to control the tumult. The Mavericks had a reputation for liveliness to live up to. But they fell in on the platform next morning in perfect shape and condition; and Kim, left behind with the sick, women, and boys, found himself shouting farewells excitedly as the trains drew away. Life as a Sahib was amusing so far; but he touched it with a cautious hand. Then they marched him back in charge of a drummer-boy to empty, lime-washed barracks, whose floors were covered with rubbish and string and paper, and whose ceilings gave back his lonely footfall. Native-fashion, he curled himself up on a stripped cot and went to sleep. An angry man stumped down the veranda, woke him up, and said he was a schoolmaster. This was enough for Kim, and he retired into his shell. He could just puzzle out the various English Police notices in Lahore city, because they affected his comfort; and among the many guests of the woman who looked after him had been a queer German who painted scenery for the Parsee travelling theatre. He told Kim that he had been ‘on the barricades in ‘Forty-eight,’ and therefore—at least that was how it struck Kim—he would teach the boy to write in return for food. Kim had been kicked as far as single letters, but did not think well of them.