For there be divers sorts of death—some wherein the body remaineth;
and in some it vanisheth quite away with the spirit. This commonly
occurreth only in solitude (such is God’s will) and, none seeing the
end, we say the man is lost, or gone on a long journey—which indeed
he hath; but sometimes it hath happened in sight of many, as abundant
testimony showeth. In one kind of death the spirit also dieth, and
this it hath been known to do while yet the body was in vigor for
many years. Sometimes, as is veritably attested, it dieth with the
body, but after a season is raised up again in that place where the
body did decay.
PONDERING these words of Hali (whom God rest) and questioning their full
meaning, as one who, having an intimation, yet doubts if there be not
something behind, other than that which he has discerned, I noted not
whither I had strayed until a sudden chill wind striking my face revived
in me a sense of my surroundings. I observed with astonishment that
everything seemed unfamiliar. On every side of me stretched a bleak and
desolate expanse of plain, covered with a tall overgrowth of sere grass,
which rustled and whistled in the autumn wind with heaven knows what
mysterious and disquieting suggestion. Protruded at long intervals above
it, stood strangely shaped and somber-colored rocks, which seemed to have
an understanding with one another and to exchange looks of uncomfortable
significance, as if they had reared their heads to watch the issue of
some foreseen event. A few blasted trees here and there appeared as
leaders in this malevolent conspiracy of silent expectation.
The day, I thought, must be far advanced, though the sun was invisible;
and although sensible that the air was raw and chill my consciousness of
that fact was rather mental than physical—I had no feeling of discomfort.
Over all the dismal landscape a canopy of low, lead-colored clouds hung
like a visible curse. In all this there were a menace and a portent—a
hint of evil, an intimation of doom. Bird, beast, or insect there was
none. The wind sighed in the bare branches of the dead trees and the
gray grass bent to whisper its dread secret to the earth; but no other
sound nor motion broke the awful repose of that dismal place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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