I. The Middle of the Night
Irene stayed with Peter as long as she was able, watching over his pallid, comatose form as the nurses did their best to clean and tend to his wounds, until at last she was chased from the room by Doctor Ayub, who immediately went to work stitching Peter's mangled wrist and repairing the sutures in his abdomen that had come undone in the course of his tangle with the jackals.
In the next room, attended to by a single dreary-eyed nurse, Ashan seemed to be resting on a cot. Irene was too tired by now to disturb either the nurse or Ashan, who was in all likelihood in the same poisoned state suffered by Mohan and Peter.
II. Morning, 25 April 1924
Peter had seemed in grave condition indeed, which is why Irene was surprised when she came to his room the next morning to find him up and about. He and one of the nurses had been conversing about something, but fell silent when they noticed Irene in the doorway. "Come in," Peter said to her before dismissing the nurse, who closed the door on her way out. They were alone. Peter gestured to a chair, inviting Irene to sit, but he remained standing.
"I'm leaving," he declared, his arms crossed.
"I'm... I'm sorry I did not come back for you," he stammered nervously. "I was..."
Sweating.
He wiped his forehead and looked at his shoes. Then he looked up at the ceiling, then toward the window. He seemed to look everywhere, except at Irene.
"I... I'm not a superstitious man. Nor an especially godly man, heaven knows. But there are ungodly things at work here. Last night, at the well... there was a light, and a voice... I swear it was giving the jackals commands... and then I looked within, and there was a face! A man's face, by God!"
His hands were shaking. Peter fumbled for a cigarette. He struggled to hold the match steady long enough to light it.
"I don't know what happened next," he continued. "It was like a dream or vision, in which I was trapped... I was in a library... no, not a library, but something akin to a library, only much more... no, grand is not the right word. Vast? Monstrous... some dark and awful repository of knowledge, Irene, knowledge not of this world. And there was a book of some kind before me, and strange letters on mineral pages... and I couldn't look away, I could only keep reading..."
He extinguished his cigarette, barely smoked, and immediately reached for another.
"I still don't have the words for what I saw in that book. I can only barely grasp it now, and the more I try the more elusive the images and sensations become. But I have no doubt that these things shall be fodder for nightmares for the rest of my days."
"This cult, whoever they are... I am convinced their power is real, Irene, and there is nothing in all my experience or education that has prepared me for it, no logic or reason, nothing in my mind or soul that can defend me against it. And I am afraid, Irene, so afraid that digging into their mysteries will be just like reading that hellish book, and that my life will become a terror from which I cannot awaken, cannot escape..."
"So, I am leaving this accursed land and its damned jackals and death cults," Peter reaffirmed, his voice stronger as he articulated his plans for egress. "I'm going somewhere safe, where perhaps in time my sanity and my spirits will recover. In fact, I shall be departing forthwith; the nurse who was here when you came in will be accompanying me, which is what she and I were discussing. We still have some details to hammer out, so I must regretfully excuse myself. I will return to camp today and collect my effects and perhaps take some notes to occupy me during my travels. I'll wire you once I have arrived, if you like, but I should hope that you not linger here much longer, either."
(text by HomoDM and da solomon)
(End of Act II.
Peter: +8 anthropology, +3 occult, +8 Urdu
Irene: +5 listen, +8 persuade
Please continue freely in this post. Action will resume when the truck arrives from Mohenjo-Daro at noon on the 25th, in a new post.)
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6 comments:
Irene was not trying to be unkind, Peter recognized this much; but it was clear by her words and manner that she was disappointed in him to a degree, as it seemed he now lacked the confidence and passion that she had previously found so admirable. The unspoken implication that he was behaving in the manner of a coward, that he could and should do better than to leave her to unravel these mysteries alone, hung heavily in the hazy air between them.
But none of that was news to Peter, who had come to the same conclusion on his own, though it had not been sufficient to change the course of action upon which he had decided. For there was a fine line between bravery and insanity, and he had been fortunate to cross it and come back more or less intact. He could not be certain that he would be so lucky the next time, and was not willing to take chances.
"Thank you for your understanding," he murmured, "even if you cannot fully understand. I hope, Irene - I pray - that you never do."
He opened the door for her to leave and said, "When we are back at camp, I would like to take a few more notes of the artifacts. Perhaps, when I am feeling more like myself, I can assist from a distance." This, at least, gave Irene a glimmer of hope. "I will also copy down some of what I've collected and give it to you."
"Oh!" He exclaimed, adding, "I had almost forgotten: Ashan brought the antidote for the poison powder that was used to incapacitate Mohan. Please do not fail to collect it from him before we leave here, as I expect you will have greater need for it than I."
"Perhaps," Peter whispered gently, "it would be best for both of us to let this go. To stop pretending that we are detectives, acknowledge that we are in over our heads, and accept that life will go on even if we don't have all the answers."
"Sometimes it is wiser to simply allow a mystery to remain a mystery. And besides, the world surely abounds with mysteries no less compelling, though much less dangerous, than this one."
He smiled. "You are a magnificent woman, Irene, and I cannot imagine that which would make me think any less of you. Though I would not wish it upon you to have to appear on my doorstep anytime soon."
Peter cleared his throat so as not to choke.
"I'll be checking myself into an asylum," he explained, his face reddening with shame. "It is not the kind of environment that would suit you... I, however, need a safe place and the assistance of experts to process.. to get me through this."
"I'll wire you once I arrive," he repeated, eager to change the subject. "Now, shall we check in on Ashan before we pack? The truck will be coming for us in a short while."
A new nurse, a round lady wearing a white sari in lieu of one of the uniforms worn by the others, answered the door. "Ma'am?"
Behind her, Irene could see Ashan on the bed, resting. His belly and his copious beard rose and sank with his breath. The nurse looked over her shoulder. "I think he's resting now."
The nurse stepped to the right and Irene shifted into the doorway, where she could see Ashan's face. His hands were folded easily upon his chest, his mouth was shut, and his lips were relaxed - but his eyes, his eyes were wide open.
And bulging, staring upwards. Past the ceiling.
"Do you want to try to talk to him?" she said, resigned. The woman's affect told Irene that she had little confidence that any conversations were going to take place.
The nurse stepped to Ashan's bedside and dribbled a tiny amount of solution into his eyes.
"Did he have anything upon him?" Peter asked the nurse. "Some herbs, perhaps, or a powder? He said he had brought some medicines with him."
After receiving her answer, he politely asked the nurse to wait outside and give him and Irene a moment alone with Ashan.
Once she had gone, Peter moved to the bedside and sat down, taking one of Ashan's meaty hands into his. "Ji," he murmured sympathetically, "where are you?" He feared he knew the answer only too well.
Peter's eyes glistened with tears. Turning to Irene, he said, "Look at him, Irene, look at what they've done to him! This man, stronger than either of us, wise to the ways of our enemies - if this could happen to him, do you see now the danger we are in by staying here?"
He replaced the wrestler's hand upon his chest and whispered, "Thank you, Ashan-ji, and forgive me for involving you in this. I pray your gods will bring you safely back to this world."
Before the pair left the room, the nurse handed Peter a cloth parcel. Unfolding it, Peter revealed several little packets made from leaves. Instantly Irene and Peter both recognized the objects. "I don't know," the nurse said apologetically, "but perhaps these are his medicines? This is all he had. Do you know how to use?"
Assuming the outlanders' ignorance, she took one in her hand and opened it. The inside of the leaf was sprinkled with white powder and bits of broken nut. "You chew the leaf after the nut." She replaced the packet, half-folded, in Peter's hands. "Mind where you spit. It's just paan. I think the soldiers took two, three."
(New post in 1920s India. But do continue or wrap things up here as you see fit.)
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