She did not quite say that it would then be their duty to leave the pleasant hill station and come back and fetch him, but David caught the overtones.
“You have no idea how the snakes and poisonous insects abound once the rains begin,” she went on.
“I have no idea,” he agreed, “and that is why I shall stay and see what it’s like.”
They had gone at last, unwillingly, with servants and mounds of baggage and bedding, and he had seen them off and had returned to the empty house, where only the cook’s son was left to care for him. He had expected to find it lonely, and instead had found it pleasantly filled with peace. Here he had pursued his solitary life, spending the hours of morning and evening in study with his tall Marathi, and in the hot hours alone, he stayed with his books. On one of these days Darya had come to see him.
“David,” he said, impetuous with the purpose of his visit, “I have never received you into the inner part of my own house. Come with me today, my friend, and let me show you my children and my wife. You are such a gentle fellow that you won’t frighten her. She has never seen a white man or woman, though I don’t keep her in purdah, as her parents did. Still, she has the habit of shyness.”
“If you wish it, I shall be happy,” David said. Here was God’s leading, plain! He knew that if he did not go away, if he stayed here waiting, he would be shown reason for obedience.
“Come with me now,” Darya commanded him. “The day is still early. I think my house is cooler than yours.”
David obeyed, his feet guided, or so he thought, and soon the two young men walked together down the blazing street. “I envy you your garments, Darya.”
“Then why not wear them?” Darya asked in his lively fashion.
“I suppose I had better keep my pale skin covered,” David said. “At least that is what I am told. Am I wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Darya replied. “How can I know? I am brown.”
It was a small thing, an interchange almost childish, and yet David, sensitive to his friend, felt it a slight barrier between them. The truth, which he had not spoken, was that he could not feel at ease were he to uncover himself, to make bare his arms and legs and feet, to wear a twist of white cloth about his loins and a length of white cloth over his shoulder, and walk in sandals as Darya did. And would not the people stare to see a white man in this dress? Darya’s dark skin did not look bare, but white skin would be naked indeed.
They had reached the great carved stone gate, and with a careless gesture to the watchman Darya entered, David following. Inside the gardens were beautiful and green.
“How have you managed this?” David exclaimed.
“My father employs many water carriers,” Darya said with the same carelessness. “And more than that, we have a stream of water flowing through the house, a natural fountain.”
Darya led the way through one gate and another and then by winding paths to a part of the house which belonged to him and his wife and children. There he opened the door into a large pillared hall, through which flowed a quiet stream, lined with green tiles. Potted palms and trees were set against the walls and low couches stood here and there.
As they entered two small naked boys climbed out of the water to run away and a young woman drew her sari over her head.
“Leilamani!” Darya called in his own Marathi tongue. “Please do not go away.”
She stopped, the silken garment held across her face.
David stood waiting while Darya went to his wife and said in a manner most gentle and coaxing, “Leilamani, here is my dear friend, in whose house I stayed while I was in America. I was in his house and now I have asked him to come to mine. Is this not what I should do?”
His little naked sons came back and clung to their mother’s flowing skirts, sucking their wet forefingers while they stared at the stranger their father had brought into their house.
She did not reply, and at last, very gently and as though she, too, were a child, Darya pulled at the silk across her face and drew it away. He held her hand as in a caress and he put his arm about her shoulders and coaxed her to walk with him, though she was very unwilling, until they came within ten feet or so of David, who stood waiting and smiling, and there Darya stopped, while his young wife drooped her head and let her long black lashes curl against her cheek.
“David, this is Leilamani, the mother of my children, and this, Leilamani, is David. He is my brother and you must not think he is like any other white man, but only my brother.”
“Do not make her stay,” David said in Marathi. It was pleasant to be able to speak that language which she could understand.
“Hear him,” Darya said in delight, “he speaks as we do, Leilamani, and have you ever heard a white man speak so well like us before?”
She raised her head at this and gave him a shy lovely look and now she let the silk stuff fall and she put her hands on the shoulders of her sons, but still she was speechless.
“Another day,” Darya said for her, “another day, David, she will speak to you. It is enough today that she did not run with the children. Go now, my dove, and bid the servants bring us limes and lemons and cold boiled water and honey. The children may stay and play in the stream. It is too hot elsewhere.”
She leaned and spoke to the boys then in a low voice, bidding them, as David could hear, to be obedient to their father, and she raised her hands to David in greeting and farewell and drew the silk over her head again and went away, her sandaled feet noiseless upon the polished tiles of the floor.
“Sit down on this couch,” Darya commanded.
David sank on the low couch. The children, silent and graceful, slipped into the water again and played with small stones. Servants came in soon with trays of sweetmeats arranged on fresh green leaves. The sudden coolness, the soft sibilance of the water slipping over the stones created an atmosphere so new, so restful after the intense heat and the anxiety of the continued dryness, that he felt sleep creep over him as he relaxed. He had not slept well for many nights, even upon the thin straw mat which for coolness had replaced the sheet over his mattress.
“Rest,” Darya said in his caressing voice. “I can see you are weary. You have grown very thin, David. Eat, my friend, and drink this fruit juice. It is sweetened with honey and that too will restore you.” And while they ate and drank Darya fixed his shrewdly seeing eyes upon David and he said, “David, you do wrong to try to be a saint. Why do you not marry? Where is Olivia? Have you forgotten her? It is not necessary for a Christian to be a sadhu. In our religion, yes, the priests must be holy and they do not marry, but it is better for you to marry. You do not look well. Now you know, David, some men can be celibate, they carry life within themselves, but you, my friend, must find a source of life outside yourself. You are a transmitter, and from Olivia you would draw strength.”
“I have not forgotten her,” David said. The dainty morsel of sweet in his mouth, the fluff of sugared pastry, went suddenly dry. Even Darya had no right to pierce the secret of his heart.
“Have you asked her to marry you?” Darya inquired with fond and pressing interest.
“Yes,” David said abruptly.
“And she refused you?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, that was foolish of her,” Darya said warmly, “She should have seen not only that you need her but that she needs you. Her only hope of peace as a woman is to marry a man who is gentle like you, David. You could teach her to be mild, and she would teach you to be strong, through love. It is the other way in my marriage, I acknowledge it. It is necessary for me to have a gentle wife, one who is obedient, who is silent when I am angry. Well, then, the foolish Olivia! But try again, David. You must not continue alone, it is the mistake Englishmen make when they allow their wives to go and live in England. The climate here is more than hot, it is fecund, our weakness and our strength. Ask her again to be your wife, David.”