Chapter LV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Mr. Coutras was an old Frenchman of great stature andexceeding bulk. His body was shaped like a huge duck's egg;and his eyes, sharp, blue, and good-natured, rested now andthen with self-satisfaction on his enormous paunch. Hiscomplexion was florid and his hair white. He was a man toattract immediate sympathy. He received us in a room thatmight have been in a house in a provincial town in France, andthe one or two Polynesian curios had an odd look. He took myhand in both of his -- they were huge -- and gave me a heartylook, in which, however, was great shrewdness. When he shookhands with Capitaine Brunot he enquired politely afterMadame et les enfants. For some minutes there was anexchange of courtesies and some local gossip about the island,the prospects of copra and the vanilla crop; then we came tothe object of my visit.I shall not tell what Dr. Coutras related to me in his words,but in my own, for I cannot hope to give at second hand anyimpression of his vivacious delivery. He had a deep, resonantvoice, fitted to his massive frame, and a keen sense of thedramatic. To listen to him was, as the phrase goes, as goodas a play; and much better than most.It appears that Dr. Coutras had gone one day to Taravao inorder to see an old chiefess who was ill, and he gave a vividpicture of the obese old lady, lying in a huge bed, smokingcigarettes, and surrounded by a crowd of dark-skinned retainers.When he had seen her he was taken into another roomand given dinner -- raw fish, fried bananas, and chicken --que sais-je, the typical dinner of the indigene --and while he was eating it he saw a young girl being drivenaway from the door in tears. He thought nothing of it, butwhen he went out to get into his trap and drive home, he sawher again, standing a little way off; she looked at him with awoebegone air, and tears streamed down her cheeks. He askedsomeone what was wrong with her, and was told that she hadcome down from the hills to ask him to visit a white man whowas sick. They had told her that the doctor could not bedisturbed. He called her, and himself asked what she wanted.She told him that Ata had sent her, she who used to be at theHotel de la Fleur, and that the Red One was ill. She thrustinto his hand a crumpled piece of newspaper, and when heopened it he found in it a hundred-franc note."Who is the Red One?" he asked of one of the bystanders.He was told that that was what they called the Englishman, apainter, who lived with Ata up in the valley seven kilometresfrom where they were. He recognised Strickland by thedescription. But it was necessary to walk. It was impossiblefor him to go; that was why they had sent the girl away."I confess," said the doctor, turning to me, "that Ihesitated. I did not relish fourteen kilometres over a badpathway, and there was no chance that I could get back toPapeete that night. Besides, Strickland was not sympatheticto me. He was an idle, useless scoundrel, who preferred tolive with a native woman rather than work for his living likethe rest of us. Mon Dieu, how was I to know that one daythe world would come to the conclusion that he had genius?I asked the girl if he was not well enough to have come down tosee me. I asked her what she thought was the matter with him.She would not answer. I pressed her, angrily perhaps, but shelooked down on the ground and began to cry. Then I shruggedmy shoulders; after all, perhaps it was my duty to go, and ina very bad temper I bade her lead the way."His temper was certainly no better when he arrived, perspiringfreely and thirsty. Ata was on the look-out for him, and camea little way along the path to meet him."Before I see anyone give me something to drink or I shall dieof thirst," he cried out. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, get me acocoa-nut."She called out, and a boy came running along. He swarmed up atree, and presently threw down a ripe nut. Ata pierced a holein it, and the doctor took a long, refreshing draught.Then he rolled himself a cigarette and felt in a better humour."Now, where is the Red One?" he asked."He is in the house, painting. I have not told him you werecoming. Go in and see him.""But what does he complain of? If he is well enough to paint,he is well enough to have come down to Taravao and save methis confounded walk. I presume my time is no less valuablethan his."Ata did not speak, but with the boy followed him to the house.The girl who had brought him was by this time sitting on theverandah, and here was lying an old woman, with her back tothe wall, making native cigarettes. Ata pointed to the door.The doctor, wondering irritably why they behaved so strangely,entered, and there found Strickland cleaning his palette.There was a picture on the easel. Strickland, clad only in apareo, was standing with his back to the door, but heturned round when he heard the sound of boots. He gave thedoctor a look of vexation. He was surprised to see him, andresented the intrusion. But the doctor gave a gasp, he wasrooted to the floor, and he stared with all his eyes.This was not what he expected. He was seized with horror."You enter without ceremony," said Strickland. "What can I dofor you?"The doctor recovered himself, but it required quite an effortfor him to find his voice. All his irritation was gone, andhe felt -- eh bien, oui, je ne le nie pas -- he felt anoverwhelming pity."I am Dr. Coutras. I was down at Taravao to see the chiefess,and Ata sent for me to see you.""She's a damned fool. I have had a few aches and pains latelyand a little fever, but that's nothing; it will pass off.Next time anyone went to Papeete I was going to send forsome quinine.""Look at yourself in the glass."Strickland gave him a glance, smiled, and went over to a cheapmirror in a little wooden frame, that hung on the wall."Well?""Do you not see a strange change in your face? Do you not seethe thickening of your features and a look -- how shall Idescribe it? -- the books call it lion-faced. Mon pauvre ami,must I tell you that you have a terrible disease?""I?""When you look at yourself in the glass you see the typicalappearance of the leper.""You are jesting," said Strickland."I wish to God I were.""Do you intend to tell me that I have leprosy?""Unfortunately, there can be no doubt of it."Dr. Coutras had delivered sentence of death on many men, andhe could never overcome the horror with which it filled him.He felt always the furious hatred that must seize a mancondemned when he compared himself with the doctor, sane andhealthy, who had the inestimable privilege of life.Strickland looked at him in silence. Nothing of emotion couldbe seen on his face, disfigured already by the loathsomedisease."Do they know?" he asked at last, pointing to the persons onthe verandah, now sitting in unusual, unaccountable silence."These natives know the signs so well," said the doctor."They were afraid to tell you."Strickland stepped to the door and looked out. There musthave been something terrible in his face, for suddenly theyall burst out into loud cries and lamentation. They lifted uptheir voices and they wept. Strickland did not speak.After looking at them for a moment, he came back into the room."How long do you think I can last?""Who knows? Sometimes the disease continues for twenty years.It is a mercy when it runs its course quickly."Strickland went to his easel and looked reflectively at thepicture that stood on it."You have had a long journey. It is fitting that the bearerof important tidings should be rewarded. Take this picture.It means nothing to you now, but it may be that one day youwill be glad to have it."Dr. Coutras protested that he needed no payment for hisjourney; he had already given back to Ata the hundred-francnote, but Strickland insisted that he should take the picture.Then together they went out on the verandah. The natives weresobbing violently. "Be quiet, woman. Dry thy tears," saidStrickland, addressing Ata. "There is no great harm.I shall leave thee very soon.""They are not going to take thee away?" she cried.At that time there was no rigid sequestration on the islands,and lepers, if they chose, were allowed to go free."I shall go up into the mountain," said Strickland.Then Ata stood up and faced him."Let the others go if they choose, but I will not leave thee.Thou art my man and I am thy woman. If thou leavest me Ishall hang myself on the tree that is behind the house.I swear it by God."There was something immensely forcible in the way she spoke.She was no longer the meek, soft native girl, but a determinedwoman. She was extraordinarily transformed."Why shouldst thou stay with me? Thou canst go back toPapeete, and thou wilt soon find another white man. The oldwoman can take care of thy children, and Tiare will be glad tohave thee back.""Thou art my man and I am thy woman. Whither thou goest Iwill go, too."For a moment Strickland's fortitude was shaken, and a tearfilled each of his eyes and trickled slowly down his cheeks.Then he gave the sardonic smile which was usual with him."Women are strange little beasts," he said to Dr. Coutras."You can treat them like dogs, you can beat them till your armaches, and still they love you." He shrugged his shoulders."Of course, it is one of the most absurd illusions ofChristianity that they have souls.""What is it that thou art saying to the doctor?" asked Atasuspiciously. "Thou wilt not go?""If it please thee I will stay, poor child."Ata flung herself on her knees before him, and clasped hislegs with her arms and kissed them. Strickland looked at Dr.Coutras with a faint smile."In the end they get you, and you are helpless in their hands.White or brown, they are all the same."Dr. Coutras felt that it was absurd to offer expressions ofregret in so terrible a disaster, and he took his leave.Strickland told Tane, the boy, to lead him to the village.Dr. Coutras paused for a moment, and then he addressed himselfto me."I did not like him, I have told you he was not sympathetic tome, but as I walked slowly down to Taravao I could not preventan unwilling admiration for the stoical courage which enabledhim to bear perhaps the most dreadful of human afflictions.When Tane left me I told him I would send some medicine thatmight be of service; but my hope was small that Stricklandwould consent to take it, and even smaller that, if he did,it would do him good. I gave the boy a message for Ata thatI would come whenever she sent for me. Life is hard, and Naturetakes sometimes a terrible delight in torturing her children.It was with a heavy heart that I drove back to my comfortablehome in Papeete."For a long time none of us spoke."But Ata did not send for me," the doctor went on, at last,"and it chanced that I did not go to that part of the islandfor a long time. I had no news of Strickland. Once or twiceI heard that Ata had been to Papeete to buy paintingmaterials, but I did not happen to see her. More than twoyears passed before I went to Taravao again, and then it wasonce more to see the old chiefess. I asked them whether theyhad heard anything of Strickland. By now it was knowneverywhere that he had leprosy. First Tane, the boy, had leftthe house, and then, a little time afterwards, the old womanand her grandchild. Strickland and Ata were left alone withtheir babies. No one went near the plantation, for, as youknow, the natives have a very lively horror of the disease,and in the old days when it was discovered the sufferer was killed;but sometimes, when the village boys were scrambling aboutthe hills, they would catch sight of the white man, withhis great red beard, wandering about. They fled in terror.Sometimes Ata would come down to the village at night andarouse the trader, so that he might sell her various things ofwhich she stood in need. She knew that the natives lookedupon her with the same horrified aversion as they looked uponStrickland, and she kept out of their way. Once some women,venturing nearer than usual to the plantation, saw herwashing clothes in the brook, and they threw stones at her.After that the trader was told to give her the message that ifshe used the brook again men would come and burn down her house.""Brutes," I said."Mais non, mon cher monsieur, men are always the same.Fear makes them cruel.... I decided to see Strickland, andwhen I had finished with the chiefess asked for a boy to showme the way. But none would accompany me, and I was forced tofind it alone."When Dr. Coutras arrived at the plantation he was seized witha feeling of uneasiness. Though he was hot from walking, heshivered. There was something hostile in the air which madehim hesitate, and he felt that invisible forces barred his way.Unseen hands seemed to draw him back. No one would gonear now to gather the cocoa-nuts, and they lay rotting on theground. Everywhere was desolation. The bush was encroaching,and it looked as though very soon the primeval forest wouldregain possession of that strip of land which had beensnatched from it at the cost of so much labour. He had thesensation that here was the abode of pain. As he approachedthe house he was struck by the unearthly silence, and at firsthe thought it was deserted. Then he saw Ata. She was sittingon her haunches in the lean-to that served her as kitchen,watching some mess cooking in a pot. Near her a small boy wasplaying silently in the dirt. She did not smile when she saw him."I have come to see Strickland," he said."I will go and tell him."She went to the house, ascended the few steps that led to theverandah, and entered. Dr. Coutras followed her, but waitedoutside in obedience to her gesture. As she opened the doorhe smelt the sickly sweet smell which makes the neighbourhoodof the leper nauseous. He heard her speak, and then he heardStrickland's answer, but he did not recognise the voice.It had become hoarse and indistinct. Dr. Coutras raised hiseyebrows. He judged that the disease had already attacked thevocal chords. Then Ata came out again."He will not see you. You must go away."Dr. Coutras insisted, but she would not let him pass. Dr. Coutrasshrugged his shoulders, and after a moment's rejection turned away.She walked with him. He felt that she too wanted to be rid of him."Is there nothing I can do at all?" he asked."You can send him some paints," she said. "There is nothingelse he wants.""Can he paint still?""He is painting the walls of the house.""This is a terrible life for you, my poor child."Then at last she smiled, and there was in her eyes a look ofsuperhuman love. Dr. Coutras was startled by it, and amazed.And he was awed. He found nothing to say."He is my man," she said."Where is your other child?" he asked. "When I was here lastyou had two.""Yes; it died. We buried it under the mango."When Ata had gone with him a little way she said she must turnback. Dr. Coutras surmised she was afraid to go farther incase she met any of the people from the village. He told heragain that if she wanted him she had only to send and he wouldcome at once.