“Tokay, tokay!..” at first powerful, then dipping and weakening…
The nightwatchman out front on the main road, where the sleeping market lay with its now empty stalls, struck eleven strokes on his hollow block of wood, and when a belated cart came by he shouted in a hoarse voice, “Who goes there?”
The night was a canopy of soft velvet, descending languidly from the sky, like an abundant mystery, a frightening future threat. But in that mystery, beneath the plucked black tufts of cotton wool, the frayed plush of the cemaras was like an inescapable summons to love in the windless night, like a whispered exhortation not to let this moment pass… True, the tokay kept pestering with its drily comic call, and the nightwatchman startled everyone with his “Who goes there?”, but the wood pigeons cooed softly and the whole night was like an eiderdown, like one great alcove curtained by the plush of the cemaras, while the sultriness of the distant rain clouds — which had been on the horizon all month — swirled around with an oppressive magic. Mystery and enchantment floated through the downy night, descending into the alcove where twilight was falling, melting away all thought and spirit, and presenting warm visions to the senses…
The tokay was silent, the night attendant nodded off: the velvety night reigned over all, like an enchantress crowned with the crescent moon. They approached slowly, two youthful figures, arms around each other’s waists, mouth seeking mouth with rapturous compulsion. Their forms were shadowy under the unravelled velvet of the cemaras, and in their white clothes they emerged as the eternal pair of lovers, always the same, everywhere. Here especially, the pair of lovers was inevitable in the magical night, seemed to be one with the night, summoned by the ruling enchantress; here it was predestined, blossoming as a double flower of fateful love, in the muffled mystery of the compelling skies.
And the Seducer seemed like the son of that inexorable queen of the night, who swept the weak girl along. To her ears the night seemed to be singing with his voice; her little soul melted, full of its own weakness amid the magical powers. She walked touching his side, feeling the warmth of his body penetrating her yearning maidenhood; her liquid gaze enveloped him with the longings of her sparkling irises, diamond-like against her black pupils. He, drunk with the power of the night — the enchantress that resembled his mother — was at first determined to take her further. Losing sight of all reality, losing all respect for her, unafraid of anyone, he was determined to take her further, past the night watchman who was nodding off, across the main road into the native quarter that was hidden away among the stately plumes of the coconut palms, a canopy for their love — to take her to a hideaway, a house he knew, a bamboo hut, which they would open up for him.
Suddenly she stopped, gripped his arm and pressed even closer to him and begged him not to. She was afraid…
“Why?” he asked softly, with his silky-smooth voice, as deep and downlike as the night. Why not tonight, tonight at last, there would be no danger…
But she trembled, shuddered and begged: “Addy, Addy, no… no… I don’t dare go any further… I’m frightened the attendant will see us, and look… there he is… a haji in a white turban…”
He looked towards the road. On the other side awaited the village under the canopy of coconut palms, with the bamboo hut that they would open up…
“A pilgrim?… Where, Doddy? I can’t see anyone…”
“He was walking down the road, he looked round, he saw us, I saw his eyes glittering and he went behind those trees into the village…”
“Darling, I didn’t see anything…”
“He was there, he was there. I don’t dare, Addy. Please, let’s go back!”
His handsome Moorish face clouded: he could already see the hut being opened by the old woman, whom he knew and who adored him as all women adored him, from his mother to his little nieces.
And once again he tried to persuade her, but she refused, and stopped and would not move an inch. Then they went back, and the clouds were even sultrier, low on the horizon, and the soft, blanketing night was as dense as snow, only warm; the ragged outlines of the cemaras were blacker and fuller. The dim shape of the mansion appeared, unlit, deeply asleep. And he begged her, he implored her not to leave him that night, that he would die that night without her… She was on the point of giving in, and promising, with her arms round his neck… when she started again and again cried out: “Addy… Addy… there, again… that white figure!..”
“You seem to be seeing pilgrims everywhere!” he said sarcastically.
“Well, look then…”
He looked, and really did see a white figure approaching along the front veranda. But it was a woman.
“Mama!” cried Doddy in alarm.
It was indeed Léonie, and she came slowly towards them.
“Doddy,” she said softly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was so frightened. I didn’t know where you were. Why do you go for walks so late at night? Addy…” she continued, with motherly affection, as if speaking to two children. “How can you be so silly, out walking with Doddy so late. You really mustn’t do it again! I know it’s nothing, but what if someone saw you! Will you promise me never to do it again?”
She entreated them sweetly, in engagingly reproachful tones; implying that she understood very well that they were burning with love for each other in the magical, velvety night, and by her tone of voice immediately forgiving them. She looked like an angel, with her round, white face set amid the loose wavy hair, in the white silk kimono that hung around her in supple folds. And she pulled Doddy towards her, and kissed the child, and wiped her tears away. Then, gently, she pushed Doddy away, to her room in the outbuildings, where she slept safely among so many rooms full of daughters and grandchildren of the old Mrs De Luce. And as Doddy left for the loneliness of that room, weeping softly, Léonie went on talking to Addy, gently reproaching him, then again warning him sweetly like a sister, while he, a handsome brown Moor, stood there before her shyly, putting a brave face on it. They were in the dim light of the front veranda; the night air perfumed the irresistible clouds of sensuality, of love, of muffled mystery. She reproached and warned and said that Doddy was a child, and he must not take advantage of her… He shrugged his shoulders, defended himself, putting a brave face on it; his words struck her like gold dust, his eyes sparkled like a tiger’s. Persuading him to spare poor Doddy in future, she took his hand — his hand that she adored — his fingers, his palm, which this morning, in her confusion, she could have kissed — and she squeezed that hand and was almost in tears, and begged him to spare Doddy… He suddenly realized, and flashed his wild-animal look at her and saw her beauty and her female attraction, milky-white, and he knew she was a priestess with secret knowledge… And he also spoke of Doddy, coming closer to her, feeling her touch, pressing her two hands between his, making her understand that he understood. And still pretending to weep and implore, she led him away and opened the door to her room. He saw a faint light and her maid, Urip, who went out through the front door and settled down to sleep outside on a mat like a faithful animal. Then she laughed in greeting, and he, the Seducer, was amazed at the warmth of the smile of this white blond seductress, who threw off her silk kimono and stood before him like a statue, naked, arms open wide…