Books: Kim

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He waited idly for a few minutes, expecting to see them hurry up
the line girt for action. A light engine slid through the station,
and he caught a glimpse of young Barton in the cab.

'I did that child an injustice. He is not altogether a fool,' said
Mahbub Ali. 'To take a fire-carriage for a thief is a new game!'

When Mahbub Ali came to his camp in the dawn, no one thought it
worth while to tell him any news of the night. No one, at least,
but one small horseboy, newly advanced to the great man's service,
whom Mahbub called to his tiny tent to assist in some packing.

'It is all known to me,' whispered Kim, bending above saddlebags.
'Two Sahibs came up on a te-train. I was running to and fro in the
dark on this side of the trucks as the te-train moved up and down
slowly. They fell upon two men sitting under this truck - Hajji,
what shall I do with this lump of tobacco? Wrap it in paper and put
it under the salt-bag? Yes - and struck them down. But one man
struck at a Sahib with a fakir's buck's horn' (Kim meant the
conjoined black-buck horns, which are a fakir's sole temporal
weapon) - 'the blood came. So the other Sahib, first smiting his
own man senseless, smote the stabber with a short gun which had
rolled from the first man's hand. They all raged as though mad
together.'

Mahbub smiled with heavenly resignation. 'No! That is not so much
dewanee [madness, or a case for the civil court - the word can be
punned upon both ways] as nizamut [a criminal case]. A gun, sayest
thou? Ten good years in jail.'

'Then they both lay still, but I think they were nearly dead when
they were put on the te-train. Their heads moved thus. And there is
much blood on the line. Come and see?'

'I have seen blood before. Jail is the sure place - and assuredly
they will give false names, and assuredly no man will find them for
a long time. They were unfriends of mine. Thy fate and mine seem on
one string. What a tale for the healer of pearls! Now swiftly with
the saddle-bags and the cooking-platter. We will take out the
horses and away to Simla.'

Swiftly - as Orientals understand speed - with long explanations,
with abuse and windy talk, carelessly, amid a hundred checks for
little things forgotten, the untidy camp broke up and led the half-
dozen stiff and fretful horses along the Kalka road in the fresh of
the rain-swept dawn. Kim, regarded as Mahbub Ali's favourite by all
who wished to stand well with the Pathan, was not called upon to
work. They strolled on by the easiest of stages, halting every few
hours at a wayside shelter. Very many Sahibs travel along the Kalka
road; and, as Mahbub Ali says, every young Sahib must needs esteem
himself a judge of a horse, and, though he be over head in debt to
the money-lender, must make as if to buy. That was the reason that
Sahib after Sahib, rolling along in a stage-carriage, would stop
and open talk. Some would even descend from their vehicles and feel
the horses' legs; asking inane questions, or, through sheer
ignorance of the vernacular, grossly insulting the imperturbable
trader.

'When first I dealt with Sahibs, and that was when Colonel Soady
Sahib was Governor of Fort Abazai and flooded the Commissioner's
camping-ground for spite,' Mahbub confided to Kim as the boy filled
his pipe under a tree, 'I did not know how greatly they were fools,
and this made me wroth. As thus -, and he told Kim a tale of an
expression, misused in all innocence, that doubled Kim up with
mirth. 'Now I see, however,' - he exhaled smoke slowly - 'that it
is with them as with all men - in certain matters they are wise,
and in others most foolish. Very foolish it is to use the wrong
word to a stranger; for though the heart may be clean of offence,
how is the stranger to know that? He is more like to search truth
with a dagger.'

'True. True talk,' said Kim solemnly. 'Fools speak of a cat when a
woman is brought to bed, for instance. I have heard them.'

'Therefore, in one situate as thou art, it particularly behoves
thee to remember this with both kinds of faces. Among Sahibs, never
forgetting thou art a Sahib; among the folk of Hind, always
remembering thou art -' He paused, with a puzzled smile.

'What am I? Mussalman, Hindu, Jain, or Buddhist? That is a hard
knot.'

'Thou art beyond question an unbeliever, and therefore thou wilt be
damned. So says my Law - or I think it does. But thou art also my
Little Friend of all the World, and I love thee. So says my heart.
This matter of creeds is like horseflesh. The wise man knows horses
are good - that there is a profit to be made from all; and for
myself- but that I am a good Sunni and hate the men of Tirah - I
could believe the same of all the Faiths. Now manifestly a
Kathiawar mare taken from the sands of her birthplace and removed
to the west of Bengal founders - nor is even a Balkh stallion (and
there are no better horses than those of Balkh, were they not so
heavy in the shoulder) of any account in the great Northern deserts
beside the snow-camels I have seen. Therefore I say in my heart the
Faiths are like the horses. Each has merit in its own country.'

'But my lama said altogether a different thing.'

'Oh, he is an old dreamer of dreams from Bhotiyal. My heart is a
little angry, Friend of all the World, that thou shouldst see such
worth in a man so little known.'

'It is true, Hajji; but that worth do I see, and to him my heart is
drawn.'

'And his to thine, I hear. Hearts are like horses. They come and
they go against bit or spur. Shout Gul Sher Khan yonder to drive in
that bay stallion's pickets more firmly. We do not want a horse-
fight at every resting-stage, and the dun and the black will be
locked in a little . . . Now hear me. Is it necessary to the
comfort of thy heart to see that lama?'

'It is one part of my bond,' said Kim. 'If I do not see him, and if
he is taken from me, I will go out of that madrissah in Nucklao
and, and - once gone, who is to find me again?'

'It is true. Never was colt held on a lighter heel-rope than thou.'
Mahbub nodded his head.

'Do not be afraid.' Kim spoke as though he could have evanished on
the moment. 'My lama has said that he will come to see me at the
madrissah -,

'A beggar and his bowl in the presence of those young Sa -'

'Not all!' Kim cut in with a snort. 'Their eyes are blued and their
nails are blackened with low-caste blood, many of them. Sons of
mehteranees - brothers-in-law to the bhungi [sweeper].'

We need not follow the rest of the pedigree; but Kim made his
little point clearly and without heat, chewing a piece of sugar-
cane the while.

'Friend of all the World,' said Mahbub, pushing over the pipe for
the boy to clean, 'I have met many men, women, and boys, and not a
few Sahibs. I have never in all my days met such an imp as thou
art.'

'And why? When I always tell thee the truth.'

'Perhaps the very reason, for this is a world of danger to honest
men.' Mahbub Ali hauled himself off the ground, girt in his belt,
and went over to the horses.

'Or sell it?'

There was that in the tone that made Mahbub halt and turn. 'What
new devilry?'

'Eight annas, and I will tell,' said Kim, grinning. 'It touches thy
peace.'

'O Shaitan!' Mahbub gave the money.

'Rememberest thou the little business of the thieves in the dark,
down yonder at Umballa?'

'Seeing they sought my life, I have not altogether forgotten. Why?'

'Rememberest thou the Kashmir Serai?'

'I will twist thy ears in a moment - Sahib.'

'No need - Pathan. Only, the second fakir, whom the Sahibs beat
senseless, was the man who came to search thy bulkhead at Lahore. I
saw his face as they helped him on the engine. The very same man.'

'Why didst thou not tell before?'

'Oh, he will go to jail, and be safe for some years. There is no
need to tell more than is necessary at any one time. Besides, I did
not then need money for sweetmeats.'

'Allah kerim!' said Mahbub Ah. 'Wilt thou some day sell my head for
a few sweetmeats if the fit takes thee?'

Kim will remember till he dies that long, lazy journey from
Umballa, through Kalka and the Pinjore Gardens near by, up to
Simla. A sudden spate in the Gugger River swept down one horse
(the most valuable, be sure), and nearly drowned Kim among the
dancing boulders. Farther up the road the horses were stampeded by
a Government elephant, and being in high condition of grass food,
it cost a day and a half to get them together again. Then they met
Sikandar Khan coming down with a few unsaleable screws - remnants
of his string -and Mahbub, who has more of horse-coping in his
little fingernail than Sikandar Khan in all his tents, must needs
buy two of the worst, and that meant eight hours' laborious
diplomacy and untold tobacco. But it was all pure delight - the
wandering road, climbing, dipping, and sweeping about the growing
spurs; the flush of the morning laid along the distant snows; the
branched cacti, tier upon tier on the stony hillsides; the voices
of a thousand water-channels; the chatter of the monkeys; the
solemn deodars, climbing one after another with down-drooped
branches; the vista of the Plains rolled out far beneath them; the
incessant twanging of the tonga-horns and the wild rush of the led
horses when a tonga swung round a curve; the halts for prayers
(Mahbub was very religious in dry-washings and bellowings when time
did not press); the evening conferences by the halting-places, when
camels and bullocks chewed solemnly together and the stolid drivers
told the news of the Road - all these things lifted Kim's heart to
song within him.

'But, when the singing and dancing is done,' said Mahbub Ali,
'comes the Colonel Sahib's, and that is not so sweet.'

'A fair land - a most beautiful land is this of Hind - and the land
of the Five Rivers is fairer than all,' Kim half chanted. 'Into it
I will go again if Mahbub Ali or the Colonel lift hand or foot
against me. Once gone, who shall find me? Look, Hajji, is yonder
the city of Simla? Allah, what a city!'

'My father's brother, and he was an old man when Mackerson Sahib's
well was new at Peshawur, could recall when there were but two
houses in it.

He led the horses below the main road into the lower Simla bazar -
the crowded rabbit-warren that climbs up from the valley to the
Town Hall at an angle of forty-five. A man who knows his way there
can defy all the police of India's summer capital, so cunningly
does veranda communicate with veranda, alley-way with alley-way,
and bolt-hole with bolt-hole. Here live those who minister to the
wants of the glad city - jhampanis who pull the pretty ladies'
'rickshaws by night and gamble till the dawn; grocers, oil-sellers,
curio-vendors, firewood-dealers, priests, pickpockets, and native
employees of the Government. Here are discussed by courtesans the
things which are supposed to be profoundest secrets of the India
Council; and here gather all the sub-sub-agents of half the Native
States. Here, too, Mahbub Ali rented a room, much more securely
locked than his bulkhead at Lahore, in the house of a Mohammedan
cattle-dealer. It was a place of miracles, too, for there went in
at twilight a Mohammedan horseboy, and there came out an hour later
a Eurasian lad - the Lucknow girl's dye was of the best - in badly-
fitting shop-clothes.

'I have spoken with Creighton Sahib,' quoth Mahbub Ali, and a
second time has the Hand of Friendship averted the Whip of
Calamity. He says that thou hast altogether wasted sixty days upon
the Road, and it is too late, therefore, to send thee to any Hill-
school.'

'I have said that my holidays are my own. I do not go to school
twice over. That is one part of my bond.'

'The Colonel Sahib is not yet aware of that contract. Thou art to
lodge in Lurgan Sahib's house till it is time to go again to
Nucklao.'

'I had sooner lodge with thee, Mahbub.'

'Thou dost not know the honour. Lurgan Sahib himself asked for
thee. Thou wilt go up the hill and along the road atop, and there
thou must forget for a while that thou hast ever seen or spoken to
me, Mahbub Ali, who sells horses to Creighton Sahib, whom thou dost
not know. Remember this order.'

Kim nodded. 'Good,' said he, 'and who is Lurgan Sahib? Nay' - he
caught Mahbub's sword-keen glance - 'indeed I have never heard his
name. Is he by chance - he lowered his voice -'one of us?'

'What talk is this of us, Sahib?' Mahbub Ali returned, in the tone
he used towards Europeans. 'I am a Pathan; thou art a Sahib and the
son of a Sahib. Lurgan Sahib has a shop among the European shops.
All Simla knows it. Ask there ... and, Friend of all the World, he
is one to be obeyed to the last wink of his eyelashes. Men say he
does magic, but that should not touch thee. Go up the hill and ask.
Here begins the Great Game.'

Chapter 9

S' doaks was son of Yelth the wise -
Chief of the Raven clan.
Itswoot the Bear had him in care
To make him a medicine-man.

He was quick and quicker to learn -
Bold and bolder to dare:
He danced the dread Kloo-Kwallie Dance
To tickle Itswoot the Bear!

Oregon Legend

Kim flung himself whole-heartedly upon the next turn of the wheel.
He would be a Sahib again for a while. In that idea, so soon as he
had reached the broad road under Simla Town Hall, he cast about for
one to impress. A Hindu child, some ten years old, squatted under a
lamp-post.

Where is Mr Lurgan's house?' demanded Kim.

'I do not understand English,' was the answer, and Kim shifted his
speech accordingly.

'I will show.'

Together they set off through the mysterious dusk, full of the
noises of a city below the hillside, and the breath of a cool wind
in deodar-crowned Jakko, shouldering the stars. The house-lights,
scattered on every level, made, as it were, a double firmament.
Some were fixed, others belonged to the 'rickshaws of the careless,
open-spoken English folk, going out to dinner.

'It is here,' said Kim's guide, and halted in a veranda flush with
the main road. No door stayed them, but a curtain of beaded reeds
that split up the lamplight beyond.

'He is come,' said the boy, in a voice little louder than a sigh,
and vanished. Kim felt sure that the boy had been posted to guide
him from the first, but, putting a bold face on it, parted the
curtain. A black-bearded man, with a green shade over his eyes, sat
at a table, and, one by one, with short, white hands, picked up
globules of light from a tray before him, threaded them on a
glancing silken string, and hummed to himself the while. Kim was
conscious that beyond the circle of light the room was full of
things that smelt like all the temples of all the East. A whiff of
musk, a puff of sandal-wood, and a breath of sickly jessamine-oil
caught his opened nostrils.

'I am here,' said Kim at last, speaking in the vernacular: the
smells made him forget that he was to be a Sahib

'Seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one,' the man counted to himself,
stringing pearl after pearl so quickly that Kim could scarcely
follow his fingers. He slid off the green shade and looked fixedly
at Kim for a full half-minute. The pupils of the eye dilated and
closed to pin-pricks, as if at will. There was a fakir by the
Taksali Gate who had just this gift and made money by it,
especially when cursing silly women. Kim stared with interest. His
disreputable friend could further twitch his ears, almost like a
goat, and Kim was disappointed that this new man could not imitate
him.

'Do not be afraid,' said Lurgan Sahib suddenly.

'Why should I fear?'

'Thou wilt sleep here tonight, and stay with me till it is time to
go again to Nucklao. It is an order.'

'It is an order,' Kim repeated. 'But where shall I sleep?'

'Here, in this room.' Lurgan Sahib waved his hand towards the
darkness behind him.

'So be it,' said Kim composedly. 'Now?'

He nodded and held the lamp above his head. As the light swept
them, there leaped out from the walls a collection of Tibetan
devil-dance masks, hanging above the fiend-embroidered draperies of
those ghastly functions - horned masks, scowling masks, and masks
of idiotic terror. In a corner, a Japanese warrior, mailed and
plumed, menaced him with a halberd, and a score of lances and
khandas and kuttars gave back the unsteady gleam. But what
interested Kim more than all these things - he had seen devil-dance
masks at the Lahore Museum - was a glimpse of the soft-eyed Hindu
child who had left him in the doorway, sitting cross-legged under
the table of pearls with a little smile on his scarlet lips.

'I think that Lurgan Sahib wishes to make me afraid. And I am sure
that that devil's brat below the table wishes to see me afraid.
This place,' he said aloud, 'is like a Wonder House. Where is my
bed?'

Lurgan Sahib pointed to a native quilt in a corner by the loathsome
masks, picked up the lamp, and left the room black.

'Was that Lurgan Sahib?' Kim asked as he cuddled down. No answer.
He could hear the Hindu boy breathing, however, and, guided by the
sound, crawled across the floor, and cuffed into the darkness,
crying: 'Give answer, devil! Is this the way to lie to a Sahib?'

From the darkness he fancied he could hear the echo of a chuckle.
It could not be his soft-fleshed companion, because he was weeping.
So Kim lifted up his voice and called aloud:

'Lurgan Sahib! O Lurgan Sahib! Is it an order that thy servant does
not speak to me?'

'It is an order.' The voice came from behind him and he started.

'Very good. But remember,' he muttered, as he resought the quilt,
'I will beat thee in the morning. I do not love Hindus.'

That was no cheerful night; the room being overfull of voices and
music. Kim was waked twice by someone calling his name. The second
time he set out in search, and ended by bruising his nose against a
box that certainly spoke with a human tongue, but in no sort of
human accent. It seemed to end in a tin trumpet and to be joined by
wires to a smaller box on the floor - so far, at least, as he could
judge by touch. And the voice, very hard and whirring, came out of
the trumpet. Kim rubbed his nose and grew furious, thinking, as
usual, in Hindi.

'This with a beggar from the bazar might be good, but - I am a
Sahib and the son of a Sahib and, whichis twice as much more
beside, a student of Nucklao. Yess' (here he turned to English),
'a boy of St Xavier's. Damn Mr Lurgan's eyes! - It is some sort of
machinery like a sewing-machine. Oh, it is a great cheek of him -
we are not frightened that way at Lucknow - No!' Then in Hindi:
'But what does he gain? He is only a trader - I am in his
shop. But Creighton Sahib is a Colonel - and I think Creighton
Sahib gave orders that it should be done. How I will beat that
Hindu in the morning! What is this?'

The trumpet-box was pouring out a string of the most elaborate
abuse that even Kim had ever heard, in a high uninterested voice,
that for a moment lifted the short hairs of his neck. When the vile
thing drew breath, Kim was reassured by the soft, sewing-machine-
like whirr.

'Chup! [Be still)' he cried, and again he heard a chuckle that
decided him. 'Chup - or I break your head.'

The box took no heed. Kim wrenched at the tin trumpet and something
lifted with a click. He had evidently raised a lid. If there were a
devil inside, now was its time, for - he sniffed -thus did the
sewing-machines of the bazar smell. He would clean that shaitan. He
slipped off his jacket, and plunged it into the box's mouth.
Something long and round bent under the pressure, there was a whirr
and the voice stopped - as voices must if you ram a thrice-doubled
coat on to the wax cylinder and into the works of an expensive
phonograph. Kim finished his slumbers with a serene mind.

In the morning he was aware of Lurgan Sahib looking down on him.

'Oah!' said Kim, firmly resolved to cling to his Sahib-dom. 'There
was a box in the night that gave me bad talk. So I stopped it. Was
it your box?'

The man held out his hand.

'Shake hands, O'Hara,' he said. 'Yes, it was my box. I keep such
things because my friends the Rajahs like them. That one is broken,
but it was cheap at the price. Yes, my friends, the Kings, are very
fond of toys - and so am I sometimes.'

Kim looked him over out of the corners of his eyes. He was a Sahib
in that he wore Sahib's clothes; the accent of his Urdu, the
intonation of his English, showed that he was anything but a Sahib.
He seemed to understand what moved in Kim's mind ere the boy opened
his mouth, and he took no pains to explain himself as did Father
Victor or the Lucknow masters. Sweetest of all - he treated Kim as
an equal on the Asiatic side.

'I am sorry you cannot beat my boy this morning. He says he will
kill you with a knife or poison. He is jealous, so I have put him
in the corner and I shall not speak to him today. He has just tried
to kill me. You must help me with the breakfast. He is almost too
jealous to trust, just now.'

Now a genuine imported Sahib from England would have made a great
to-do over this tale. Lurgan Sahib stated it as simply as Mahbub
Ali was used to record his little affairs in the North.

The back veranda of the shop was built out over the sheer hillside,
and they looked down into their neighbours' chimney-pots, as is the
custom of Simla. But even more than the purely Persian meal cooked
by Lurgan Sahib with his own hands, the shop fascinated Kim. The
Lahore Museum was larger, but here were more wonders - ghost-
daggers and prayer-wheels from Tibet; turquoise and raw amber
necklaces; green jade bangles; curiously packed incense-sticks in
jars crusted over with raw garnets; the devil-masks of overnight
and a wall full of peacock-blue draperies; gilt figures of Buddha,
and little portable lacquer altars; Russian samovars with
turquoises on the lid; egg-shell china sets in quaint octagonal
cane boxes; yellow ivory crucifixes - from Japan of all places in
the world, so Lurgan Sahib said; carpets in dusty bales, smelling
atrociously, pushed back behind torn and rotten screens of
geometrical work; Persian water-jugs for the hands after meals;
dull copper incense-burners neither Chinese nor Persian, with
friezes of fantastic devils running round them; tarnished silver
belts that knotted like raw hide; hairpins of jade, ivory, and
plasma; arms of all sorts and kinds, and a thousand other oddments
were cased, or piled, or merely thrown into the room, leaving a
clear space only round the rickety deal table, where Lurgan Sahib
worked.

'Those things are nothing,' said his host, following Kim's glance.
'I buy them because they are pretty, and sometimes I sell - if I
like the buyer's look. My work is on the table - some of it.'

It blazed in the morning light - all red and blue and green
flashes, picked out with the vicious blue-white spurt of a diamond
here and there. Kim opened his eyes.

'Oh, they are quite well, those stones. It will not hurt them to
take the sun. Besides, they are cheap. But with sick stones it is
very different.' He piled Kim's plate anew. 'There is no one but me
can doctor a sick pearl and re-blue turquoises. I grant you opals -
any fool can cure an opal - but for a sick pearl there is only me.
Suppose I were to die! Then there would be no one ... Oh no! You
cannot do anything with jewels. It will be quite enough if you
understand a little about the Turquoise - some day.'

He moved to the end of the veranda to refill the heavy, porous clay
water-jug from the filter.

'Do you want drink?'

Kim nodded. Lurgan Sahib, fifteen feet off, laid one hand on the
jar. Next instant, it stood at Kim's elbow, full to within half an
inch of the brim - the white cloth only showing, by a small
wrinkle, where it had slid into place.

'Wah!' said Kim in most utter amazement. 'That is magic.' Lurgan
Sahib's smile showed that the compliment had gone home.

'Throw it back.'

'It will break.'

'I say, throw it back.'

Kim pitched it at random. It fell short and crashed into fifty
pieces, while the water dripped through the rough veranda boarding.

'I said it would break.'

'All one. Look at it. Look at the largest piece.'

That lay with a sparkle of water in its curve, as it were a star on
the floor. Kim looked intently. Lurgan Sahib laid one hand gently
on the nape of his neck, stroked it twice or thrice, and whispered:
'Look! It shall come to life again, piece by piece. First the big
piece shall join itself to two others on the right and the left -
on the right and the left. Look!'

To save his life, Kim could not have turned his head. The light
touch held him as in a vice, and his blood tingled pleasantly
through him. There was one large piece of the jar where there had
been three, and above them the shadowy outline of the entire
vessel. He could see the veranda through it, but it was thickening
and darkening with each beat of his pulse. Yet the jar - how slowly
the thoughts came! - the jar had been smashed before his eyes.
Another wave of prickling fire raced down his neck, as Lurgan Sahib
moved his hand.

'Look! It is coming into shape,' said Lurgan Sahib.

So far Kim had been thinking in Hindi, but a tremor came on him,
and with an effort like that of a swimmer before sharks, who hurls
himself half out of the water, his mind leaped up from a darkness
that was swallowing it and took refuge in - the multiplication-
table in English!

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