Island Nights' EntertainmentsStevenson, Robert Louis
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Island Nights' Entertainments
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Short stories
“Never tell me,” said she; “no man can be lost because he loved Kokua,
and no other fault. I tell you, Keawe, I shall save you with these
hands, or perish in your company. What! you loved me, and gave your
soul, and you think I will not die to save you in return?”
“Ah, my dear! you might die a hundred times, and what difference would
that make?” he cried, “except to leave me lonely till the time comes of
my damnation?”
“You know nothing,” said she. “I was educated in a school in Honolulu;
I am no common girl. And I tell you, I shall save my lover. What is
this you say about a cent? But all the world is not American. In
England they have a piece they call a farthing, which is about half a
cent. Ah! sorrow!” she cried, “that makes it scarcely better, for the
buyer must be lost, and we shall find none so brave as my Keawe! But,
then, there is France; they have a small coin there which they call a
centime, and these go five to the cent or there-about. We could not do
better. Come, Keawe, let us go to the French islands; let us go to
Tahiti, as fast as ships can bear us. There we have four centimes,
three centimes, two centimes, one centime; four possible sales to come
and go on; and two of us to push the bargain. Come, my Keawe! kiss me,
and banish care. Kokua will defend you.”
“Gift of God!” he cried. “I cannot think that God will punish me for
desiring aught so good! Be it as you will, then; take me where you
please: I put my life and my salvation in your hands.”
Early the next day Kokua was about her preparations. She took Keawe’s
chest that he went with sailoring; and first she put the bottle in a
corner; and then packed it with the richest of their clothes and the
bravest of the knick-knacks in the house. “For,” said she, “we must
seem to be rich folks, or who will believe in the bottle?” All the time
of her preparation she was as gay as a bird; only when she looked upon
Keawe, the tears would spring in her eye, and she must run and kiss
him. As for Keawe, a weight was off his soul; now that he had his
secret shared, and some hope in front of him, he seemed like a new man,
his feet went lightly on the earth, and his breath was good to him
again. Yet was terror still at his elbow; and ever and again, as the
wind blows out a taper, hope died in him, and he saw the flames toss
and the red fire burn in hell.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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