International relations -- Fiction; Liaoyang, Battle of, Liaoyang, China, 1904 -- Fiction; War correspondents -- Fiction
In the silence of a moment the men regarded each other. From the
ancient Hindu came the majestic Name, intoned as from a sea-beaten
cavern--deep, distant, portentous. The _chela_ bowed in spirit,
closing his eyes. Routledge was lost to the world for an instant--hung
breathless in space, as if the world were flinging back from him like a
receding wave.
“I was hoping that Sekar would not always lead you through the slums
and hells of the world, Rawder,” Routledge said at last. “You caught
full in the face all the perfected venoms of a New England country
town, even to the persecutions of your church. You had to learn Boston
under the flare of the torch. The grisly humor of American troops was
your portion in the cavalry, and godless Minday your first mission.
Hong Kong gave you her loathsome water-front to sweep, and you were
all but murdered there, as in Minday. India has led you into the midst
of her plagues and famines. You have toiled in the forefront of her
misery. No brow has been too degraded by disease for your hand to cool;
no death has been so triumphant that you would not bend to cover it.
I thought at the last you might taste just a morsel, perhaps, of the
beauty and sweetness of things, before you were lost to us beyond the
Hills.... Instead, you go to the Leper Valley.”
Rawder regarded him with a grateful smile, in which there was
wonderment that his friend should have remembered all this, but he
spoke with gentle remonstrance, “My little services have been for the
least of men because they needed them most. It did not happen that way;
it was intended so. From the beginning, the only men who would listen
to me were those humbled by great pain, or lost in great darkness.
I do not understand even now why I should have earned the boon of a
Master to abide with me. Yet he has come--and I am the happiest of men.
The Leper Valley--that is but a halt on heaven’s highway.... I am the
happiest of men, Routledge, my brother, yet the mightiest pain of my
life has fallen upon me----”
Rawder went to the door and stood silent for several moments; then
turned back to the light, his face calmer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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