Chapter 11: Yulun the Beloved

Cleves opened his eyes. He was lying on his left side. In the pink glow of the night-lamp he saw his wife in her night-dress, seated sideways on the farther edge of the bed, talking to a young girl.

The strange girl wore what appeared to be a chamber-robe of frail gold tissue that clung to her body and glittered as she moved. He had never before seen such a dress; but he had seen the girl; he recognised her instantly as the girl he had seen turn to look back at Tressa as she crossed the phantom bridge over that misty Florida river. And Cleves comprehended that he was looking at Yulun.

But this charming young thing was no ghost, no astral projection. This girl was warm, living, breathing flesh. The delicate scent of her strange garments and of her hair, her very breath, was in the air of the room. Her half-hushed but laughing voice was deliciously human; her delicate little hands, caressing Tressa’s, were too eagerly real to doubt.

Both talked at the same time, their animated voices mingling in the breathless delight of the reunion. Their exclamations, enchanting laughter, bubbling chatter, filled his ears. But not one word of what they were saying to each other could he understand.

Suddenly Tressa looked over her shoulder and met his astonished eyes.

“Tokhta!” she exclaimed. “Yulun! My lord is awake!”

Yulun swung around swiftly on the edge of the bed and looked laughingly at Cleves. But when her red lips unclosed she spoke to Tressa: and, “Darling,” she said in English, “I think your dear lord remembers that he saw me on the Bridge of Dreams. And heard the bells of Yian across the mist.”

Tressa said, laughing at her husband: “This is Yulun, flame-slender, very white, loveliest in Yian. On the rose-marble steps of the Yezidee Temple she flung a stemless rose upon Djamouk’s shroud, where he had spread it like a patch of snow in the sun.

“And at the Lake of the Ghosts, where there is freedom to love, for those who desire love, came Yaddin, Tougtchi to Djamouk the Fox, in search of love--and Yulun, flame-slim, and flower-white ... Tell my dear lord, Yulun!”

Yulun laughed at Cleves out of her dark eyes that slanted charmingly at the corners.

“Kai!” she cried softly, clapping her palms. “I took his roses and tore them with my hands till their petals rained on him and their golden hearts were a powdery cloud floating across the water.

“I said: ‘Even the damned do not mate with demons, my Tougtchi! So go to the devil, my Banneret, and may Erlik seize you!’”

Cleves, his ears ringing with the sweet confusion of their girlish laughter, rose from his pillow, supporting himself on one arm.

“You are Yulun. You are alive and real--” He looked at Tressa: “She is real, isn’t she?” And, to Yulun: “Where do you come from?”

The girl replied seriously: “I come from Yian.” She turned to Tressa with a dazzling smile: “Thou knowest, my heart’s gold, how it was I came. Tell thy dear lord in thine own way, so that it shall be simple for his understanding ... And now--because my visit is ending--I think thy dear lord should sleep. Bid him sleep, my heart’s gold!”

At that calm suggestion Cleves sat upright on the bed, --or attempted to. But sank back gently on his pillow and met there a dark, delicious rush of drowsiness.

He made an effort--or tried to: the smooth, sweet tide of sleep swept over him to the eyelids, leaving him still and breathing evenly on his pillow.

The two girls leaned over and looked down at him.

“Thy dear lord,” murmured Yulun. “Does he love thee, rose-bud of Yian?”

“No,” said Tressa, under her breath.

“Does he know thou art damned, heart of gold?”

“He says no soul is ever really harmed,” whispered Tressa.

“Kai! Has he never heard of the Slayer of Souls?” exclaimed Yulun incredulously.

“My lord maintains that neither the Assassin of Khorassan nor the Sheiks-el-Djebel of the Eight Towers, nor their dark prince Erlik, can have power over God to slay the human soul.”

“Tokhta, Rose of Yian! Our souls were slain there in the Yezidee temple.”

Tressa looked down at Cleves:

“My dear lord says no,” she said under her breath.

“And--Sanang?”

Tressa paled: “His mind and mine did battle. I tore my heart from his grasp. I have laid it, bleeding, at my dear lord’s feet. Let God judge between us, Yulun.”

“There was a day,” whispered Yulun, “when Prince Sanang went to the Lake of the Ghosts.”

Tressa, very pallid, looked down at her sleeping husband. She said:

“Prince Sanang came to the Lake of the Ghosts. The snow of the cherry-trees covered the young world.

“The water was clear as sunlight; and the lake was afire with scarlet carp ... Yulun--beloved--the nightingale sang all night long--all night long ... Then I saw Sanang shining, all gold, in the moonlight ... May God remember him in hell!”

“May God remember him.”

“Sanang Noïane. May he be accursed in the Namaz Ga!”

“May he be tormented in Jehaunum!--Sanang, Slayer of Souls.”

Tressa leaned forward on the bed, stretched herself out, and laid her face gently across her husband’s feet, touching them with her lips.

Then she straightened herself and sat up, supported by one hand, and looking silently down at the sleeping man.

“No soul shall die,” she said. “Niaz!”

“Is it written?” asked Yulun, surprised.

“My lord has said it.”

“Allahou Ekber,” murmured Yulun; “thy lord is only a man.”

Tressa said: “Neither the Tekbir nor the fatha, nor the warning of Khidr, nor the Yacaz of the Khagan, nor even the prayers of the Ten Imaums are of any value to me unless my dear lord confirms the truth of them with his own lips.”

“And Erlik? Is he nothing, then?”

“Erlik!” repeated Tressa insolently. “Who is Erlik but the servant of Satan who was stoned?”

Her beautiful, angry lips were suddenly distorted; her blue eyes blazed. Then she spat, her mouth still tremulous with hatred. She said in a voice shaking with rage:

“Yulun, beloved! Listen attentively. I have slain two of the Slayers of the Eight Towers. With God’s help I shall slay them all--all!--Djamouk, Yaddin, Arrak Sou-Sou--all!--every one!--Tiyang Khan, Togrul, --all shall I slay, even to the last one among them!”

“Sanang, also?“

“I leave him to God. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!”

Yulun calmly paraphrased the cant phrase of the Assassins: “For it is written that we belong to God and we return to Him. Heart of gold, I shall execute my duty!”

Then Yulun slipped from the edge of the bed to the floor, and stood there looking oddly at Tressa, her eyes rain-bright as though choking back tears--or laughter.

“Heart of a rose,” she said in a suppressed voice, “my time is nearly ended ... So ... I go to the chamber of this strange young man who holds my soul like a pearl afire between his hands ... I think it it written that I shall love him.”

Tressa rose also and placed her lips close to Yulun’s ear: “His name, beloved, is Benton. His room is on this floor. Shall we make the effort together?”

“Yes,” said Yulun. “Lay your body down upon the bed beside your lord who sleeps so deeply ... And now stretch out ... And fold both hands ... And now put off thy body like a silken garment ... So! And leave it there beside thy lord, asleep.”

They stood together for a moment, shining like dewy shapes of tall flowers, whispering and laughing together in the soft glow of the night lamp.

Cleves slept on, unstirring. There was the white and sleeping figure of his wife lying on the bed beside him.

But Tressa and Yulun were already melting away between the wall and the confused rosy radiance of the lamp.

Benton, in night attire and chamber-robe belted in, fresh from his bath and still drying his curly hair on a rough towel, wandered back into his bedroom.

When his short, bright hair was dry, he lighted a cigarette, took the automatic from his dresser, examined the clip, and shoved it under his pillow.

Then he picked up the little leather-bound Testament, seated himself, and opened it. And read tranquilly while his cigarette burned.

When he was ready he turned out the ceiling light, leaving only the night lamp lighted. Then he knelt beside his bed, --a custom surviving the nursery period, --and rested his forehead against his folded hands.

Then, as he prayed, something snapped the thread of prayer as though somebody had spoken aloud in the still room; and, like one who has been suddenly interrupted, he opened his eyes and looked around and upward.