The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham
She recognised Waddington’s voice.
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘Will you get up at once. I have something to say to you.’
She rose and put on a dressing-gown. She unlocked the door and opened it. Her glance took in Waddington in a pair of Chinese trousers and a pongee coat, the houseboy holding a hurricane lamp, and a little further back three Chinese soldiers in khaki. She started as she saw the consternation on Waddington’s face; his head was tousled as though he had just jumped out of bed.
‘What is the matter?’ she gasped.
‘You must keep calm. There’s not a moment to lose. Put on your clothes at once and come with me.’
‘But what is it? Has something happened in the city?’
The sight of the soldiers suggested to her at once that there had been an outbreak and they were come to protect her.
‘Your husband’s been taken ill. We want you to come at once.’
‘Walter?’ she cried.
‘You mustn’t be upset. I don’t exactly know what’s the matter. Colonel Yü sent this officer to me and asked me to bring you to the Yamen at once.’
Kitty stared at him for a moment, she felt a sudden cold in her heart, and then she turned.
‘I shall be ready in two minutes.’
‘I came just as I was,’ he answered. ‘I was asleep, I just put on a coat and some shoes.’
She did not hear what he said. She dressed by the light of the stars, taking the first things that came to hand; her fingers on a sudden were so clumsy that it seemed to take her an age to find the little clasps that closed her dress. She put round her shoulders the Cantonese shawl she had worn in the evening.
‘I haven’t put a hat on. There’s no need, is there?’
‘No.’
The boy held the lantern in front of them and they hurried down the steps and out of the compound gate.
‘Take care you don’t fall,’ said Waddington. ‘You’d better hang on to my arm.’
The soldiers followed immediately behind them.
‘Colonel Yü has sent chairs. They’re waiting on the other side of the river.’
They walked quickly down the hill. Kitty could not bring herself to utter the question that trembled so horribly on her lips. She was mortally afraid of the answer. They came to the bank and there, with a thread of light at the bow, a sampan was waiting for them.
‘Is it cholera?’ she said then.
‘I’m afraid so.’
She gave a little cry and stopped short.
‘I think you ought to come as quickly as you can.’ He gave her his hand to help her into the boat. The passage was short and the river almost stagnant; they stood in a bunch at the bow, while a woman with a child tied on her hip with one oar impelled the sampan across.
‘He was taken ill this afternoon, the afternoon of yesterday that is,’ said Waddington.
‘Why wasn’t I sent for at once?’
Although there was no reason for it they spoke in whispers. In the darkness Kitty could only feel how intense was her companion’s anxiety.
‘Colonel Yü wanted to, but he wouldn’t let him. Colonel Yü has been with him all the time.’
‘He ought to have sent for me all the same. It’s heartless.’
‘Your husband knew that you had never seen any one with cholera. It’s a terrible and revolting sight. He didn’t want you to see it.’
‘After all he is my husband,’ she said in a choking voice.
Waddington made no reply.
‘Why am I allowed to come now?’
Waddington put his hand on her arm.
‘My dear, you must be very brave. You must be prepared for the worst.’
She gave a wail of anguish and turned away a little, for she saw that the three Chinese soldiers were looking at her. She had a sudden strange glimpse of the whites of their eyes.
‘Is he dying?’
‘I only know the message Colonel Yü gave to this officer who came and fetched me. As far as I can judge collapse has set in.’
‘Is there no hope at all?’
‘I’m dreadfully sorry, I’m afraid that if we don’t get there quickly we shan’t find him alive.’
She shuddered. The tears began to stream down her cheeks.
‘You see, he’s been overworking, he has no powers of resistance.’
She withdrew from the pressure of his arm with a gesture of irritation. It exasperated her that he should talk in that low, anguished voice.
They reached the side and two men, Chinese coolies, standing on the bank helped her to step on shore. The chairs were waiting. As she got into hers Waddington said to her:
‘Try and keep a tight hold on your nerves. You’ll want all your self-control.’
‘Tell the bearers to make haste.’
‘They have orders to go as fast as they can.’
The officer, already in his chair, passed by and as he passed called out to Kitty’s bearers. They raised the chair smartly, arranged the poles on their shoulders, and at a swift pace set off. Waddington followed close behind. They took the hill at a run, a man with a lantern going before each chair, and at the water-gate the gate-keeper was standing with a torch. The officer shouted to him as they approached and he flung open one side of the gate to let them through. He uttered some sort of interjection as they passed and the bearers called back. In the dead of the night those guttural sounds in a strange language were mysterious and alarming. They slithered up the wet and slippery cobbles of the alley and one of the officer’s bearers stumbled. Kitty heard the officer’s voice raised in anger, the shrill retort of the bearer, and then the chair in front hurried on again. The streets were narrow and tortuous. Here in the city was deep night. It was a city of the dead. They hastened along a narrow lane, turned a corner, and then at a run took a flight of steps; the bearers were beginning to blow hard; they walked with long, rapid strides, in silence; one took out a ragged handkerchief and as he walked wiped from his forehead the sweat that ran down into his eyes; they wound this way and that so that it might have been a maze through which they sped; in the shadow of the shuttered shops sometimes a form seemed to be lying, but you did not know whether it was a man who slept to awake at dawn or a man who slept to awake never; the narrow streets were ghostly in their silent emptiness and when on a sudden a dog barked loudly it sent a shock of terror through Kitty’s tortured nerves. She did not know where they went. The way seemed endless. Could they not go faster? Faster. Faster. The time was going and any moment it might be too late.
63
Suddenly, walking along a blank long wall they came to a gateway flanked by sentry boxes, and the bearers set down the chairs. Waddington hurried up to Kitty. She had already jumped out. The officer knocked loudly on the door and shouted. A postern was opened and they passed into a courtyard. It was large and square. Huddled against the walls, under the eaves of the overhanging roofs, soldiers wrapped in their blankets were lying in huddled groups. They stopped for a moment while the officer spoke to a man who might have been a sergeant on guard. He turned and said something to Waddington.
‘He’s still alive,’ said Waddington in a low voice. ‘Take care how you walk.’
Still preceded by the men with lanterns they made their way across the yard, up some steps, through a great doorway and then down into another wide court. On one side of this was a long chamber with lights in it; the lights within shining through the rice paper silhouetted the elaborate pattern of the lattice. The lantern-bearers led them across the yard towards this room and at the door the officer knocked. It was opened immediately and the officer with a glance at Kitty stepped back.
‘Will you walk in,’ said Waddington.
It was a long, low room and the smoky lamps that lit it made the gloom ominous. Three or four orderlies stood about. On a pallet against the wall opposite the door a man was lying huddled under a blanket. An officer was standing motionless at the foot.
Kitty hurried up and leane
‘Walter, Walter,’ she gasped, in a low, terrified tone.
There was a slight movement in the body, or the shadow of a movement,; it was so slight it was like a breath of air which you cannot feel and yet for an instant ruffles the surface of still water.
‘Walter, Walter, speak to me.’
The eyes were opened slowly, as though it were an infinite effort to raise those heavy lids, but he did not look, he stared at the wall a few inches from his face. He spoke; his voice, low and weak, had the hint of a smile in it.
‘This is a pretty kettle of fish,’ he said.
Kitty dared not breathe. He made no further sound, no beginning of a gesture, but his eyes, those dark, cold eyes of his (seeing now what mysteries?) stared at the whitewashed wall. Kitty raised herself to her feet. With haggard gaze she faced the man who stood there.
‘Surely something can be done. You’re not going to stand there and do nothing?’
She clasped her hands. Waddington spoke to the officer who stood at the end of the bed.
‘I’m afraid they’ve done everything that was possible. The regimental surgeon has been treating him. Your husband has trained him and he’s done all that your husband could do himself.’
‘Is that the surgeon?’
‘No, that is Colonel Yü. He’s never left your husband’s side.’
Distracted, Kitty gave him a glance. He was a tallish man, but stockily built, and he seemed ill at ease in his khaki uniform. He was looking at Walter and she saw that his eyes were wet with tears. It gave her a pang. Why should that man with his yellow, flat face have tears in his eyes? It exasperated her.
‘It’s awful to be able to do nothing.’
‘At least he’s not in pain any more,’ said Waddington.
She leaned once more over her husband. Those ghastly eyes of his still stared vacantly in front of him. She could not tell if he saw with them. She did not know whether he had heard what was said. She put her lips close to his ears.
‘Walter, isn’t there something we can do?’
She thought that there must be some drug they could give him which would stay the dreadful ebbing of his life. Now that her eyes were more accustomed to the dimness she saw with horror that his face had fallen. She would hardly have recognised him. It was unthinkable that in a few short hours he should look like another man; he hardly looked like a man at all; he looked like death.
She thought that he was making an effort to speak. She put her ear close.
‘Don’t fuss. I’ve had a rough passage, but I’m all right now.’
Kitty waited for a moment, but he was silent. His immobility rent her heart with anguish; it was terrifying that he should lie so still. He seemed prepared already for the stillness of the grave. Some one, the surgeon or a dresser, came forward and with a gesture motioned her aside; he leaned over the dying man and with a dirty rag wet his lips. Kitty stood up once more and turned to Waddington despairingly.
‘Is there no hope at all?’ she whispered.
He shook his head.
‘How much longer can he live?’
‘No one can tell. An hour perhaps.’
Kitty looked round the bare chamber and her eyes rested for an instant on the substantial form of Colonel Yü.
‘Can I be left alone with him for a little while?’ she asked. ‘Only for a minute.’
‘Certainly, if you wish it.’
Waddington stepped over to the Colonel and spoke to him. The Colonel gave a little bow and then in a low tone an order.
‘We shall wait on the steps,’ said Waddington as they trooped out. ‘You have only to call.’
Now that the incredible had overwhelmed her consciousness, like a drug coursing through her veins, and she realised that Walter was going to die she had but one thought, and that was to make his end easier for him by dragging from his soul the rancour which poisoned it. If he could die at peace with her it seemed to her that he would die at peace with himself. She thought now not of herself at all but only of him.
‘Walter, I beseech you to forgive me,’ she said, leaning over him. For fear that he could not bear the pressure she took care not to touch him. ‘I’m so desperately sorry for the wrong I did you. I so bitterly regret it.’
He said nothing. He did not seem to hear. She was obliged to insist. It seemed to her strangely that his soul was a fluttering moth and its wings were heavy with hatred.
‘Darling.’
A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face. It was less than a movement, and yet it gave all the effect of a terrifying convulsion. She had never used that word to him before. Perhaps in his dying brain there passed the thought, confused and difficultly grasped, that he had only heard her use it, a commonplace of her vocabulary, to dogs and babies and motor-cars. Then something horrible occurred. She clenched her hands, trying with all her might to control herself, for she saw two tears run slowly down his wasted cheeks.
‘Oh, my precious, my dear, if you ever loved me – I know you loved me and I was hateful – I beg you to forgive me. I’ve no chance now to show my repentance. Have mercy on me. I beseech you to forgive.’
She stopped. She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply. She saw that he tried to speak. Her heart gave a great bound. It seemed to her that it would be in a manner a reparation for the suffering she had caused him if at this last moment she could effect his deliverance from that load of bitterness. His lips moved. He did not look at her. His eyes stared unseeing at the white-washed wall. She leaned over him so that she might hear. But he spoke quite clearly.
‘The dog it was that died.’
She stayed as still as though she were turned to stone. She could not understand and gazed at him in terrified perplexity. It was meaningless. Delirium. He had not understood a word she said.
It was impossible to be so still and yet to live. She stared and stared. His eyes were open. She could not tell if he breathed. She began to grow frightened.
‘Walter,’ she whispered. ‘Walter.’
At last, suddenly, she raised herself. A sudden fear seized her. She turned and went to the door.
‘Will you come, please. He doesn’t seem to …’
They stepped in. The Chinese surgeon went up to the bed. He had an electric torch in his hand and he lit it and looked at Walter’s eyes. Then he closed them. He said something in Chinese. Waddington put his arm round Kitty.
‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’
Kitty gave a deep sigh. A few tears fell from her eyes. She felt dazed rather than overcome. The Chinese stood about, round the bed, helplessly, as though they did not quite know what to do next. Waddington was silent. In a minute the Chinese began to speak in a low tone among themselves.
‘You’d better let me take you back to the bungalow,’ said Waddington. ‘He’ll be brought there.’
Kitty passed her hand wearily across her forehead. She went up to the pallet bed and leaned over it. She kissed Walter gently on the lips. She was not crying now.
‘I’m sorry to give you so much trouble.’
The officers saluted as she passed and she gravely bowed. They walked back across the courtyard and got into their chairs. She saw Waddington light a cigarette. A little smoke lost in the air, that was the life of man.
64
Dawn was breaking now, and here and there a Chinese was taking down the shutters of his shop. In its dark recesses, by the light of a taper, a woman was washing her hands and face. In a tea-house at a corner a group of men were eating an early meal. The grey, cold light of the rising day sidled along the narrow lanes like a thief. There was a pale mist on the river and the masts of the crowded junks loomed through it like the lances of a phantom army. It was chilly as they crossed and Kitty huddled herself up in her gay and coloured shawl. They walked up the hill and they were above the mist. The sun shone from an u
‘Wouldn’t you like to lie down?’ said Waddington when they entered the bungalow.
‘No, I’ll sit at the window.’
She had sat at the window so often and so long during the weeks that had passed and her eyes now were so familiar with the fantastic, garish, beautiful and mysterious temple on its great bastion that it rested her spirit. It was so unreal, even in the crude light of midday, that it withdrew her from the reality of life.
‘I’ll get the boy to make you some tea. I’m afraid it will be necessary to bury him this morning. I’ll make all the arrangements.’
‘Thank you.’
65
They buried him three hours later. It seemed horrible to Kitty that he must be put into a Chinese coffin, as though in so strange a bed he must rest uneasily, but there was no help for it. The nuns, learning of Walter’s death as they learned everything that happened in the city, sent by a messenger a cross of dahlias, stiff and formal, but made as though by the accustomed hands of a florist; and the cross, alone on the Chinese coffin, looked grotesque and out of place. When all was ready they had to wait for Colonel Yü who had sent to Waddington to say that he desired to attend the funeral. He came accompanied by an A.D.C. They walked up the hill, the coffin borne by half a dozen coolies, to a little plot of land where lay buried the missionary whose place Walter had taken. Waddington had found among the missionary’s effects an English prayer-book and in a low voice, with an embarrassment that was unusual to him, read the burial service. Perhaps, reciting those solemn but terrible words, the thought hovered in his mind that if he in his turn fell a victim to the pestilence there would be no one now to say them over him. The coffin was lowered into the grave and the grave-diggers began to throw in the earth.
Colonel Yü, who had stood with bared head by the grave-side, put on his hat, saluted Kitty gravely, said a word or two to Waddington and followed by his A.D.C. walked away. The coolies, curious to watch a Christian burial, had lingered and now in a straggling group, their yokes trailing in their hands, sauntered off. Kitty and Waddington waited till the grave was filled and then placed on the mound, smelling of fresh earth, the nuns’ prim dahlias. She had not wept, but when the first shovelful of earth rattled on the coffin she felt a dreadful pang at her heart.