Black light

"Shall I sin, to satisfy your itch for what you have no right to?"


There was no moon yet. The ponderous temple wall loomed behind
Hawkes, a huge tree breathing near him, full of the restlessness
of parakeets that made the silence audible and darkness visible;
its branches, high above the wall, were a formless shadow, too
dense for the starlight. Hawkes' white uniform absorbed the hue
of smoke, a trifle reddened by the glow of embers.

"Come and try!" he remarked to himself, and retired again into
the shadow, muttering: "I'd like to have some one try to buy me--just
once."

No purchasers appeared, and he did not appear to expect any among
the bearers of lanterns, like fireflies, who came unhurrying from
the city--decent enough citizens--silversmiths and sandal makers,
weavers, tradesmen not so virtuous, nor yet so mean that they
might not glean a little comfort at a day's end, from the same
hymn men have sung for centuries, until its words mean less than
the mood it makes. They took no notice, or appeared to take none,
of Joe Beddington, who left his horse amid the trees three hundred
yards away and strode by himself, so to speak, in the stream.

The citizens of Adana gathered in the clearing amid the trees,
filled it and spread outward along the temple wall, extinguishing
their lanterns because the priests, who are obstinate people,
object to imported kerosene; and anyhow, there would be a full
moon presently, so why waste oil? Joe Beddington, staring about
him, strode through their midst and presently stood where Hawkes
had been. Chandri Lal, a small lean cobra-charmer eased himself
out of a shadow and laid his circular basket near Beddington's
feet, studying the dying fire, speculating whether to blow that
into flame or wait until the moon should rise above the temple
wall. Hymn or no hymn, business is business; Chandri Lal had
heard that all Americans shed money as clouds shed rain. He hoped
Hawkes would not see him. He knew, to half an ounce, the weight
of Hawkes' boot and the heft behind it.

Sergeant Hawkes came out of the shadow and saluted Joe, or rather
he saluted about a hundred million dollars:

"Your mother decided not to come, sir? Just as well. She'd have
got tired standing here."