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〃He has also；〃 said Mrs。 Goldbrook； 〃helped her to make the next
biggest mistake of her life … marrying Courtenay Youghal。
CHAPTER XVI
IT was late afternoon by the banks of a swiftly rushing river； a
river that gave back a haze of heat from its waters as though it
were some stagnant steaming lagoon； and yet seemed to be whirling
onward with the determination of a living thing； perpetually eager
and remorseless； leaping savagely at any obstacle that attempted to
stay its course； an unfriendly river； to whose waters you committed
yourself at your peril。 Under the hot breathless shade of the
trees on its shore arose that acrid all…pervading smell that seems
to hang everywhere about the tropics； a smell as of some monstrous
musty still…room where herbs and spices have been crushed and
distilled and stored for hundreds of years； and where the windows
have seldom been opened。 In the dazzling heat that still held
undisputed sway over the scene； insects and birds seemed
preposterously alive and active； flitting their gay colours through
the sunbeams； and crawling over the baked dust in the full swing
and pursuit of their several businesses； the flies engaged in
Heaven knows what； and the fly…catchers busy with the flies。
Beasts and humans showed no such indifference to the temperature；
the sun would have to slant yet further downward before the earth
would become a fit arena for their revived activities。 In the
sheltered basement of a wayside rest…house a gang of native
hammock…bearers slept or chattered drowsily through the last hours
of the long mid…day halt； wide awake； yet almost motionless in the
thrall of a heavy lassitude； their European master sat alone in an
upper chamber； staring out through a narrow window…opening at the
native village； spreading away in thick clusters of huts girt
around with cultivated vegetation。 It seemed a vast human ant…
hill； which would presently be astir with its teeming human life；
as though the Sun God in his last departing stride had roused it
with a careless kick。 Even as Comus watched he could see the
beginnings of the evening's awakening。 Women； squatting in front
of their huts； began to pound away at the rice or maize that would
form the evening meal； girls were collecting their water pots
preparatory to a walk down to the river； and enterprising goats
made tentative forays through gaps in the ill…kept fences of
neighbouring garden plots； their hurried retreats showed that here
at least someone was keeping alert and wakeful vigil。 Behind a hut
perched on a steep hill…side； just opposite to the rest…house； two
boys were splitting wood with a certain languid industry； further
down the road a group of dogs were leisurely working themselves up
to quarrelling pitch。 Here and there； bands of evil…looking pigs
roamed about； busy with foraging excursions that came unpleasantly
athwart the border…line of scavenging。 And from the trees that
bounded and intersected the village rose the horrible； tireless；
spiteful…sounding squawking of the iron…throated crows。
Comus sat and watched it all with a sense of growing aching
depression。 It was so utterly trivial to his eyes； so devoid of
interest； and yet it was so real； so serious； so implacable in its
continuity。 The brain grew tired with the thought of its unceasing
reproduction。 It had all gone on； as it was going on now； by the
side of the great rushing swirling river； this tilling and planting
and harvesting； marketing and store…keeping； feast…making and
fetish…worship and love…making； burying and giving in marriage；
child…bearing and child…rearing； all this had been going on； in the
shimmering； blistering heat and the warm nights； while he had been
a youngster at school； dimly recognising Africa as a division of
the earth's surface that it was advisable to have a certain nodding
acquaintance with。
It had been going on in all its trifling detail； all its serious
intensity； when his father and his grandfather in their day had
been little boys at school； it would go on just as intently as ever
long after Comus and his generation had passed away； just as the
shadows would lengthen and fade under the mulberry trees in that
far away English garden； round the old stone fountain where a
leaden otter for ever preyed on a leaden salmon。
Comus rose impatiently from his seat； and walked wearily across the
hut to another window…opening which commanded a broad view of the
river。 There was something which fascinated and then depressed one
in its ceaseless hurrying onward sweep； its tons of water rushing
on for all time； as long as the face of the earth should remain
unchanged。 On its further shore could be seen spread out at
intervals other teeming villages； with their cultivated plots and
pasture clearings； their moving dots which meant cattle and goats
and dogs and children。 And far up its course； lost in the forest
growth that fringed its banks； were hidden away yet more villages；
human herding…grounds where men dwelt and worked and bartered；
squabbled and worshipped； sickened and perished； while the river
went by with its endless swirl and rush of gleaming waters。 One
could well understand primitive early races making propitiatory
sacrifices to the spirit of a great river on whose shores they
dwelt。 Time and the river were the two great forces that seemed to
matter here。
It was almost a relief to turn back to that other outlook and watch
the village life that was now beginning to wake in earnest。 The
procession of water…fetchers had formed itself in a long chattering
line that stretched river…wards。 Comus wondered how many tens of
thousands of times that procession had been formed since first the
village came into existence。 They had been doing it while he was
playing in the cricket…fields at school； while he was spending
Christmas holidays in Paris； while he was going his careless round
of theatres； dances； suppers and card…parties； just as they were
doing it now； they would be doing it when there was no one alive
who remembered Comus Bassington。 This thought recurred again and
again with painful persistence； a morbid growth arising in part
from his loneliness。
Staring dumbly out at the toiling sweltering human ant…hill Comus
marvelled how missionary enthusiasts could labour hopefully at the
work of transplanting their religion； with its homegrown accretions
of fatherly parochial benevolence； in this heat…blistered； fever…
scourged wilderness； where men lived like groundbait and died like
flies。 Demons one might believe in； if one did not hold one's
imagination in healthy check； but a kindly all…managing God； never。
Somewhere in the west country of England Comus had an uncle who
lived in a rose…smothered rectory and taught a wholesome gentle…
hearted creed that expressed itself in t