The Lotus And The Bottle
Willard Greddie, consul for the United States in Coralio, was workingleisurely on his yearly report. Goodwin, who had strolled in as hedid daily for a smoke on the much coveted porch, had found him soabsorbed in his work that he departed after roundly abusing theconsul for his lack of hospitality.
"I shall complain to the civil service department," said Goodwin;--"or is it a department?--perhaps it's only a theory. One gets neithercivility nor service from you. You won't talk; and you won't set outanything to drink. What kind of a way is that of representing yourgovernment?"
Goodwin strolled out and across to the hotel to see if he could bullythe quarantine doctor into a game on Coralio's solitary billiardtable. His plans were completed for the interception of thefugitives from the capital; and now it was but a waiting game thathe had to play.
The consul was interested in his report. He was only twenty-four;and he had not been in Coralio long enough for his enthusiasm to coolin the heat of the tropics--a paradox that may be allowed betweenCancer and Capricorn.
So many thousand bunches of bananas, so mnay thousand oranges andcoconuts, so many ounces of gold dust, pounds of rubber, coffee,indigo and sarparilla--actually, exports were twenty per cent greaterthan for the previous year!
A little thrill of satisfaction ran through the consul. Perhaps,he thought, the State Department, upon reading his introduction,would notice--and then he leaned back in his chair and laughed.He was getting as bad as the others. For the moment he had forgottenthat Coralio was an insignificant republic lying along the by-waysof a second-rate sea. He thought of Gregg, the quarantine doctor,who subscribed for the London ~Lancet~, expecting to find it quotinghis reports to the home Board of Health concerning the yellow fevergerm. The consul knew that not one in fifty of his acquaintances inthe States had ever heard of Coralio. He knew that two men, at anyrate, would have to read his report--some underling in the StateDepartment and a compositor in the Public Printing Office. Perhapsthe typesticker would note the increase of commerce in Coralio, andspeak of it, over the cheese and beer, to a friend.
He had just written: "Most unaccountable is the supineness of thelarge exporters in the United States in permitting the French andGerman houses to practically control the trade interests of thisrich and productive country"--when he heard the hoarse notes ofa steamer's siren.
Geddie laid down his pen and gathered his Panama hat and umbrella.By the sound he knew it to be the ~Valhalla~, one of the line offruit vessels plying for the Vesuvius Company. Down to ~ninos~ offive years, every one in Coralio could name you each incoming steamerby the note of her siren.
The consul sauntered by a roundabout, shaded way to the beach.By reason of long practice he gauged his stroll so accurately thatby the time he arrived on the sandy shore the boat of the customsofficials was rowing back from the steamer, which had been boardedand inspected according to the laws of Anchuria.
There is no harbor at Coralio. Vessels of the draught of the~Valhalla~ must ride at anchor a mile from shore. When they take onfruit it is conveyed on lighters and freighter sloops. At Solitas,where there was a fine harbor, ships of many kinds were to be seen,but in the roadstead off Coralio scarcely any save the fruiterspaused. Now and then a tramp coaster, or a mysterious brig fromSpain, and then a tramp coaster, or a mysterious brig from Spain,or a saucy French barque would hang innocently for a few days inthe offing. Then the custom-house crew would become doubly vigilantand wary. At night a sloop or two would be making strange trips inand out along the shore; and in the morning the stock of Three-StarHennessey, wines and drygoods in Coralio would be found vastlyincreased. It has also been said that the customs officials jingledmore silver in the pockets of their red-striped trousers, and thatthe record books showed no increase in import duties received.
The custom's boat and the ~Valhalla~ gig reached the shore at thesame time. When they grounded in the shallow water there was stillfive yards of rolling surf between them and dry sand. Then half-clothed Caribs dashed into the water, and brought in on their backsthe ~Valhalla's~ purser, and the little native officials in theircotton undershirts, blue trousers with red stripes, and flappingstraw hats.
At college Geddie had been a treasure as a first-baseman. He nowclosed his umbrella, stuck it upright in the sand, and stooped,with his hands resting upon his knees. The purser, burlesquingthe pitcher's contortions, hurled at the consul the heavy roll ofnewspapers, tied with a string, that the steamer always brought forhim. Geddie leaped high and caught the roll with a sounding "thwack."The loungers on the beach--about a third of the population of thetown--laughed and applauded delightedly. Every week they expectedto see that roll of papers delivered and received in that samemanner, and they were never disappointed. Innovations did notflourish in Coralio.
The consul re-hoisted his umbrella and walked back to the consulate.
This home of a great nation's representative was a wooden structureof two rooms, with a native-built gallery of poles, bamboo andnipa palm running on three sides of it. One room was the officialapartment, furnished chastely with a flat-top desk, a hammock, andthree uncomfortable cane-seated chairs. Engravings of the first andlatest president of the country represented hung against the wall.The other room was the consul's living apartment.
It was eleven o'clock when he returned from the beach, and thereforebreakfast time. Chanca, the Carib woman who cooked for him, was justserving the meal on the side of the gallery facing the sea--a spotfamous as the coolest in Coralio. The breakfast consisted of shark'sfin soup, stew of land crabs, breadfruit, a boiled iguana steak,aquacates, a freshly cut pineapple, claret and coffee.
Geddie took his seat, and unrolled with luxurious laziness his bundleof newspapers. Here in Coralio for two days or longer he would readthe goings-on in the world very much as we of the world read thosewhimsical contributions to inexact science that assume to portray thedoings of the Martians. After he had finished with the papers theywould be sent on the rounds of the other English-speaking residentsof the town.
The paper that came first to his hand was one of those bulkymattresses of printed stuff upon which the readers of certainNew York journals are supposed to take their Sabbath literary nap.Opening this the consul rested it upon the table, supporting itsweight with the aid of the back of a chair. Then he partook of hismeal deliberately, turning the leaves from time to time and glancinghalf idly at the contents.
Presently he was struck by something familiar to him in a picture--a half-page, badly printed reproduction of a photograph of a vessel.Languidly interested, he leaned for a nearer scrutiny and a view ofthe florid headlines of the column next to the picture.
Yes; he was not mistaken. The engraving was of the eight-hundred-tonyacht ~Idalia~, belonging to "that prince of good fellows, Midas ofthe money market, and society's pink of perfection, J. Ward Tolliver."
Slowly sipping his black coffee, Geddie read the column of print.Following a listed statement of Mr. Tolliver's real estate and bonds,came a description of the yacht's furnishings, and then the grain ofnews no bigger than a mustard seed. Mr. Tolliver, with a party offavored guests, would sail the next day on a six weeks' cruise alongthe Central American and South American coasts and among the BahamaIslands. Among the guests were Mrs. Cumberland Payne and Miss IdaPayne, of Norfolk.
The writer, with the fatuous presumption that was demanded of himby his readers, had concocted a romance suited to their palates.He bracketed the names of Miss Payne and Mr. Tolliver until he hadwell-nigh read the marriage ceremony over them. He played coyly andinsinuatingly upon the strings of "~on dit~" and "Madame Rumor" and"a little bird" and "no one would be surprised," and ended withcongratulations.
Geddie, having finished his breakfast, took his papers to the edgeof the gallery, and sat there in his favorite steamer chair with hisfeet on the bamboo railing. He lighted a cigar, and looked out uponthe sea. He felt a glow of satisfaction at finding he was so littledisturbed by what he had read. He told himself that he had conqueredthe distress that had sent him, a voluntary exile, to this far landof the lotus. He could never forget Ida, of course; but there wasno longer any pain in thinking about her. When they had had thatmisunderstanding and quarrel he had impulsively sought thisconsulship, with the desire to retaliate upon her by detachinghimself from her world and presence. He had succeeded thoroughlyin that. During the twelve months of his life in Coralio no word hadpassed between them, though he had sometimes heard of her through thedilatory correspondence with the few friends to whom he still wrote.Still he could not repress a little thrill of satisfaction at knowingthat she had not yet married Tolliver or any one else. But evidentlyTolliver had not yet abandoned hope.
Well, it made no difference to him now. He had eaten of the lotus.He was happy and content in this land of perpetual afternoon. Thoseold days of life in the States seemed like an irritating dream. Hehoped Ida would be as happy as he was. The climate as balmy as thatof distant Avalon; the fetterless, idyllic round of enchanted days;the life among this indolent, romantic people--a life full of music,flowers, and low laughter; the influence of the imminent sea andmountains, and the many shapes of love and magic and beauty thatbloomed in the white tropic nights--with all he was more thancontent. Also, there was Paula Brannigan.
Geddie intended to marry Paula--if, of course, she would consent;but he felt rather sure that she would do that. Somehow, he keptpostponing his proposal. Several times he had been quite near to it;but a mysterious something always held him back. Perhaps it was onlythe unconscious, instinctive conviction that the act would sever thelast tie that bound him to his old world.
He could be very happy with Paula. Few of the native girls could becompared with her. She had attended a convent school in New Orleansfor two years; and when she chose to display her accomplishments noone could detect any difference between her and the girls of Norfolkand Manhattan. But it was delicious to see her at home dressed, asshe sometimes was, in the native costume, with bare shoulders andflowing sleeves.
Bernard Brannigan was the great merchant of Coralio. Besides hisstore, he maintained a train of pack mules, and carried on a livelytrade with the interior towns and villages. He had married a nativelady of high Castilian descent, but with a tinge of Indian brownshowing through her olive cheek. The union of the Irish and theSpanish had produced, as it so often has, an offshoot of rare beautyand variety. They were very excellent people indeed, and the upperstory of the house was ready to be placed at the service of Geddieand Paula as soon as he should make up his mind to speak about it.
By the time two hours were whiled away the consul tired of reading.The papers lay scattered about him on the gallery. Reclining there,he gazed dreamily out upon an Eden. A clump of banana plantsinterposed their broad shields between him and the sun. The gentleslope from the consulate to the sea was covered with the dark-greenfoliage of lemon-trees and orange-trees just bursting into bloom.A lagoon pierced the land like a dark, jagged crystal, and above it apale ceiba-tree rose almost to the clouds. The waving coconut palmson the beach flared their decorative green leaves against the slateof an almost quiescent sea. His senses were cognizant of brilliantscarlet and ochres and the vert of the coppice, of odors of fruit andbloom and the smoke from Chanca's clay oven under the calabash-tree;of the treble laughter of the native women in their huts, the song ofthe robin, the salt taste of the breeze, the diminuendo of the faintsurf running along the shore--and, gradually, of a white speck,growing to a blur, that intruded itself upon the drab prospect ofthe sea.
Lazily interested, he watched this blur increase until it becamethe ~Idalia~ steaming at full speed, coming down the coast. Withoutchanging his position he kept his eyes upon the beautiful white yachtas she drew swiftly near, and came opposite to Coralio. Then, sittingupright, he saw her float steadily past and on. He had seen thefrequent splash of her polished brass work and the stripes of herdeck-awnings--so much, and no more. Like a ship on a magic lanternslide the ~Idalia~ had crossed the illuminated circle of the consul'slittle world, and was gone. Save for the tiny cloud of smoke thatwas left hanging over the brim of the sea, she might have been animmaterial thing, a chimera of his idle brain.
Geddie went into his office and sat down to dawdle over his report.If the reading of the article in the paper had left him unshaken,this silent passing of the ~Idalia~ had done for him still more.It had brought the calm and peace of a situation from which alluncertainty had been erased. He knew that men sometimes hope withoutbeing aware of it. Now, since she had come two thousand miles andhad passed without a sign, not even his unconscious self need clingto the past any longer.
After dinner, when the sun was low behind the mountains, Geddiewalked on the little strip of beach under the coconuts. The windwas blowing mildly landward, and the surface of the sea was rippledby tiny wavelets.
A miniature breaker, spreading with a soft "swish" upon the sandbrought with its something round and shiny that rolled back againas the wave receded. The next influx beached it clear, and Geddiepicked it up. The thing was a long-necked wine bottle of colorlessglass. The cork had been driven in tightly to the level of themouth, and the end covered with dark-red sealing-wax. The bottlecontained only what seemed to be a sheet of paper, much curled fromthe manipulation it had undergone while being inserted. In thesealing-wax was the impression of a seal--probably of a signet-ring,bearing the initials of a monogram; but the impression had beenhastily made, and the letters were past anything more certain thana shrewd conjecture. Ida Payne had always worn a signet-ring inpreference to any other finger decoration. Geddie thought he couldmake out the familiar "I P"; and a queer sensation of disquietudewent over him. More personal and intimate was this reminder ofher than had been the sight of the vessel she was doubtless on.He walked back to his house, and set the bottle on his desk.
Throwing off his hat and coat, and lighting a lamp--for the night hadcrowded precipitately upon the brief twilight--he began to examinehis piece of sea salvage.
By holding the bottle near the light and turning it judiciously, hemade out that it contained a double sheet of note-paper filled withclose writing; further, that the paper was of the same size and shadeas that always used by Ida; and that, to the best of his belief, thehandwriting was hers. The imperfect glass of the bottle so distortedthe rays of light that he could read no word of the writing; butcertain capital letters, of which he caught comprehensive glimpses,were Ida's, he felt sure.
There was a little smile both of perplexity and amusement in Geddie'seyes as he set the bottle down, and laid three cigars side by sideon his desk. He fetched his steamer chair from the gallery, andstretched himself comfortably. He would smoke those three cigarswhile considering the problem.
For it amounted to a problem. He almost wished that he had not foundthe bottle; but the bottle was there. Why should it have drifted infrom the sea, whence come so many disquieting things, to disturb hispeace?
In this dreamy land, where time seemed so redundant, he had falleninto the habit of bestowing much thought upon even trifling matters.
He bagan to speculate upon many fanciful theories concerning thestory of the bottle, rejecting each in turn.
Ships in danger of wreck or disablement sometimes cast forth suchprecarious messengers calling for aid. But he had seen the ~Idalia~not three hours before, safe and speeding. Suppose the crew hadmutinied and imprisoned the passengers below, and the message was onebegging for succor! But, premising such an improbable outrage, wouldthe agitated captives have taken the pains to fill four pages ofnote-paper with carefully penned arguments to their rescue.
Thus by elimination he soon rid the matter of the more unlikelytheories, and was reduced--though aversely--to the less assailableones that the bottle contained a message to himself. Ida knew hewas in Coralio; she must have launched the bottle while the yachtwas passing and the wind blowing fairly toward the shore.
As soon as Geddie reached this conclusion a wrinkle came between hisbrows and a stubborn look settled around his mouth. He sat lookingout through the doorway at the gigantic fire-flies traversing thequiet streets.
If this was a message to him from Ida, what could it mean save anoverture at reconciliation? And if that, why had she not used thesame methods of the post instead of this uncertain and even flippantmeans of communication? A note in an empty bottle, cast into thesea! There was something light and frivolous about it, if notactually contemptuous.
The thought stirred his pride, and subdued whatever emotions had beenresurrected by the finding of the bottle.
Geddie put on his coat and hat and walked out. He followed a streetthat led him along the border of the little plaza where a band wasplaying and people were rambling, care-free and indolent. Sometimorous ~senoritas~ scurrying past with fire-flies tangled in thejetty braids of their hair glanced at him with shy, flattering eyes.The air was languorous with the scent of jasmin and orange-blossoms.
The consul stayed his steps at the house of Bernard Brannigan. Paulawas swinging in a hammock on the gallery. She rose from it like abird from its nest. The color came to her cheeck at the sound ofGeddie's voice.
He was charmed at the sight of her costume--a flounced muslin dress,with a little jacket of white flannel, all made with neatness andstyle. He suggested a stroll, and they walked out to the old Indianwell on the hill road. They sat on the curb, and there Geddie madethe expected but long-deferred speech. Certain though he had beenthat she would not say him nay, he was still thrilled at thecompleteness and sweetness of her surrender. Here was surely a heartmade for love and steadfastness. Here was no caprice or questioningsor captious standards of convention.
When Geddie kissed Paula at her door that night he was happier thanhe had ever been before. "Here in this hollow lotus land, everto live and lie reclined" seemed to him, as it has seemed to manymariners, the best as well as the easiest. His future would bean ideal one. He had attained a Paradise without a serpent. HisEve would be indeed a part of him, unbeguiled, and therefore morebeguiling. He had made his decision tonight, and his heart was fullof serene, assured content.
Geddie went back to his house whistling that finest and saddest lovesong, "La Golondrina." At the door his tame monkey leaped down fromhis shelf, chattering briskly. The consul turned to his desk to gethim some nuts he usually kept there. Reaching in the half-darkness,his hand struck against the bottle. He started as if he had touchedthe cold rotundity of a serpent.
He had forgotten that the bottle was there.
He lighted the lamp and fed the monkey. Then, very deliberately,he lighted a cigar, and took the bottle in his hand, and walked downthe path to the beach.
There was a moon, and the sea was glorious. The breeze had shifted,as it did each evening, and was now rushing steadily seaward.
Stepping to the water's edge, Geddie hurled the unopened bottle farout into the sea. It disappeared for a moment, and then shot upwardtwice its length. Geddie stood still, watching it. The moonlightwas so bright that he could see it bobbing up and down with thelittle waves. Slowly it receded from the shore, flashing and turningas it went. The wind was carrying it out to sea. Soon it became amere speck, doubtfully discerned at irregular intervals; and then themystery of it was swallowed up by the greater mystery of the ocean.Geddie stood still upon the beach, smoking and looking out upon thewater.
"SimonWake up there, Simon!" bawled a sonorous voiceat the edge of the water.
Old Simon Cruz was a half-breed fisherman and smuggler who lived in ahut on the beach. Out of his earliest nap Simon was thus awakened.
He slipped on his shoes and went outside. Just landing from one ofthe ~Valhalla's~ boats was the third mate of that vessel, who was anacquaintance of Simon's, and three sailors from the fruiter.
"Go up, Simon," called the mate, "and find Doctor Gregg or Mr.Goodwin or anybody that's a friend to Mr. Geddie, and bring 'em hereat once."
"Saints of the skies!" said Simon, sleepily, "nothing has happenedto Mr. Geddie?"
"He's under that tarpauling," said the mate, pointing to the boat,"and he's rather more than half drowned. We seen him from thesteamer nearly a mile out from shore, swimmin' like mad after abottle that was floatin' in the water, outward bound. We lowered thegig and started for him. He nearly had his hand on the bottle, whenhe gave out and went under. We pulled him out in time to save him,maybe; but the doctor is the one to decide that."
"A bottle?" said the old man, rubbing his eyes. He was not yet fullyawake. "Where is the bottle?"
"Driftin' along out there some'eres," said the mate, jerking histhumb toward the sea. "Get on with you, Simon."
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