"Now? Oh, no--why do you ask that? Did I not listen to you in
the wood before we started, and you also promised to do what I
wished? See, the rain is over and the moon shines
brightly. Why
should I wait? Perhaps from the
summit I shall see my people's
country. Are we not near it now?"
"Oh, Rima, what do you expect to see? Listen--you must listen,
for I know best. From that
summit you would see nothing but a
vast dim desert, mountain and forest, mountain and forest, where
you might
wander for years, or until you
perished of
hunger or
fever, or were slain by some beast of prey or by
savage men; but
oh, Rima, never, never, never would you find your people, for
they exist not. You have seen the false water of the mirage on
the savannah, when the sun shines bright and hot; and if one were
to follow it one would at last fall down and
perish, with never a
cool drop to
moisten one's parched lips. And your hope,
Rima--this hope to find your people which has brought you all the
way to Riolama--is a mirage, a
delusion, which will lead to
destruction if you will not
abandon it."
She turned to face me with flashing eyes. "You know best!" she
exclaimed. "You know best and tell me that! Never until this
moment have you
spoken falsely. Oh, why have you said such
things to me--named after this place, Riolama? Am I also like
that false water you speak of--no
divine Rima, no sweet Rima? My
mother, had she no mother, no mother's mother? I remember her,
at Voa, before she died, and this hand seems real--like yours;
you have asked to hold it. But it is not he that speaks to
me--not one that showed me the whole world on Ytaioa. Ah, you
have wrapped yourself in a
stolen cloak, only you have left your
old grey beard behind! Go back to the cave and look for it, and
leave me to seek my people alone!"
Once more, as on that day in the forest when she prevented me
from killing the
serpent, and as on the occasion of her meeting
with Nuflo after we had been together on Ytaioa, she appeared
transformed and
instinct with
intense resentment--a beautiful
human wasp, and every word a sting.
"Rima," I cried, "you are
cruellyunjust to say such words to me.
If you know that I have never
deceived you before, give me a
little credit now. You are no
delusion--no mirage, but Rima,
like no other being on earth. So
perfectlytruthful and pure I
cannot be, but rather than mislead you with falsehoods I would
drop down and die on this rock, and lose you and the sweet light
that shines on us for ever."
As she listened to my words,
spoken with
passion, she grew pale
and clasped her hands. "What have I said? What have I said?"
She spoke in a low voice charged with pain, and all at once she
came nearer, and with a low, sobbing cry sank down at my feet,
uttering, as on the occasion of
finding me lost at night in the
forest near her home, tender,
sorrowful expressions in her own
mysterious language. But before I could take her in my arms she
rose again quickly to her feet and moved away a little space from
me.
"Oh no, no, it cannot be that you know best!" she began again.
"But I know that you have never sought to
deceive me. And now,
because I falsely accused you, I cannot go there without
you"--pointing to the
summit--"but must stand still and listen to
all you have to say."
"You know, Rima, that your
grandfather has now told me your
history--how he found your mother at this place, and took her to
Voa, where you were born; but of your mother's people he knows
nothing, and
therefore he can now take you no further."
"Ah, you think that! He says that now; but he
deceived me all
these years, and if he lied to me in the past, can he not still
lie, affirming that he knows nothing of my people, even as he
affirmed that he knew not Riolama?"
"He tells lies and he tells truth, Rima, and one can be
distinguished from the other. He spoke
truthfully at last, and
brought us to this place, beyond which he cannot lead you."