Sword Blades and Poppy Seed Part 13

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"Why, Max! Stop, Max!" And out they came pell-mell, His old companions. "Max, where have you been?

Not drink with us? Indeed you serve us well!

How many months is it since we have seen You here? Jan, Jan, you slow, old doddering goat!

Here's Mynheer Breuck come back again at last, Stir your old bones to welcome him. Fie, Max.

Business! And after hours! Fill your throat; Here's beer or brandy. Now, boys, hold him fast.

Put down your cane, dear man. What really vicious whacks!"

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They forced him to a seat, and held him there, Despite his anger, while the hideous joke Was tossed from hand to hand. Franz poured with care A br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s of whiskey. "Here, we've broke Into a virgin barrel for you, drink!

Tut! Tut! Just hear him! Married! Who, and when?

Married, and out on business. Clever Spark!

Which lie's the likeliest? Come, Max, do think."

Swollen with fury, struggling with these men, Max cursed hilarity which must needs have a mark.

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Forcing himself to steadiness, he tried To quell the uproar, told them what he dared Of his own life and circ.u.mstance. Implied Most urgent matters, time could ill be spared.

In jesting mood his comrades heard his tale, And scoffed at it. He felt his anger more Goaded and bursting;--"Cowards! Is no one loth To mock at duty--" Here they called for ale, And forced a pipe upon him. With an oath He s.h.i.+vered it to fragments on the earthen floor.

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Sobered a little by his violence, And by the host who begged them to be still, Nor injure his good name, "Max, no offence,"

They blurted, "you may leave now if you will."

"One moment, Max," said Franz. "We've gone too far.

I ask your pardon for our foolish joke.

It started in a wager ere you came.

The talk somehow had fall'n on drugs, a jar I brought from China, herbs the natives smoke, Was with me, and I thought merely to play a game.

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Its properties are to induce a sleep Fraught with adventure, and the flight of time Is inconceivable in swiftness. Deep Sunken in slumber, imageries sublime Flatter the senses, or some fearful dream Holds them enmeshed. Years pa.s.s which on the clock Are but so many seconds. We agreed That the next man who came should prove the scheme; And you were he. Jan handed you the crock.

Two whiffs! And then the pipe was broke, and you were freed."

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"It is a lie, a d.a.m.ned, infernal lie!"

Max Breuck was maddened now. "Another jest Of your befuddled wits. I know not why I am to be your b.u.t.t. At my request You'll choose among you one who'll answer for Your most unseasonable mirth. Good-night And good-by,--gentlemen. You'll hear from me."

But Franz had caught him at the very door, "It is no lie, Max Breuck, and for your plight I am to blame. Come back, and we'll talk quietly.

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You have no business, that is why we laughed, Since you had none a few minutes ago.

As to your wedding, naturally we chaffed, Knowing the length of time it takes to do A simple thing like that in this slow world.

Indeed, Max, 'twas a dream. Forgive me then.

I'll burn the drug if you prefer." But Breuck Muttered and stared,--"A lie." And then he hurled, Distraught, this word at Franz: "Prove it. And when It's proven, I'll believe. That thing shall be your work.

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I'll give you just one week to make your case.

On August thirty-first, eighteen-fourteen, I shall require your proof." With wondering face Franz cried, "A week to August, and fourteen The year! You're mad, 'tis April now.

April, and eighteen-twelve." Max staggered, caught A chair,--"April two years ago! Indeed, Or you, or I, are mad. I know not how Either could blunder so." Hilverd.i.n.k brought "The Amsterdam Gazette", and Max was forced to read.

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"Eighteen hundred and twelve," in largest print; And next to it, "April the twenty-first."

The letters smeared and jumbled, but by dint Of straining every nerve to meet the worst, He read it, and into his pounding brain Tumbled a horror. Like a roaring sea Foreboding s.h.i.+pwreck, came the message plain: "This is two years ago! What of Christine?"

He fled the cellar, in his agony Running to outstrip Fate, and save his holy shrine.

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The darkened buildings echoed to his feet Clap-clapping on the pavement as he ran.

Across moon-misted squares clamoured his fleet And terror-winged steps. His heart began To labour at the speed. And still no sign, No flutter of a leaf against the sky.

And this should be the garden wall, and round The corner, the old gate. No even line Was this! No wall! And then a fearful cry Shattered the stillness. Two stiff houses filled the ground.

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Shoulder to shoulder, like dragoons in line, They stood, and Max knew them to be the ones To right and left of Kurler's garden. Spine Rigid next frozen spine. No mellow tones Of ancient gilded iron, undulate, Expanding in wide circles and broad curves, The twisted iron of the garden gate, Was there. The houses touched and left no s.p.a.ce Between. With gla.s.sy eyes and shaking nerves Max gazed. Then mad with fear, fled still, and left that place.

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Stumbling and panting, on he ran, and on.

His s...o...b..ring lips could only cry, "Christine!

My Dearest Love! My Wife! Where are you gone?

What future is our past? What saturnine, Sardonic devil's jest has bid us live Two years together in a puff of smoke?

It was no dream, I swear it! In some star, Or still imprisoned in Time's egg, you give Me love. I feel it. Dearest Dear, this stroke Shall never part us, I will reach to where you are."

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His burning eyeb.a.l.l.s stared into the dark.

The moon had long been set. And still he cried: "Christine! My Love! Christine!" A sudden spark p.r.i.c.ked through the gloom, and shortly Max espied With his uncertain vision, so within Distracted he could scarcely trust its truth, A latticed window where a crimson gleam Spangled the blackness, and hung from a pin, An iron crane, were three gilt b.a.l.l.s. His youth Had taught their meaning, now they closed upon his dream.

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