The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 18
At the close of his term of service, the zerdar, now a manra, or full citizen, was generally in haste to return home to claim the long-promised bride. For Utis, however, from causes already mentioned, there existed no such attraction to counteract the strong taste he had imbibed for travelling. Not living in idleness, be it understood: to maintain himself was regarded as the first duty of a man.
Whenever he arrived at a village where he purposed a halt, even for one night, he reported to an official appointed for the purpose. After inspecting the hook produced by the traveller, in which was a record of the places through which he had passed, the official showed the register containing the names of those in the vicinity desiring assistance.
No kind of labor was regarded as unbecoming, nor was any beyond the skill of a zerdar, after the training he had received. Without leaving the room, he could come to an arrangement, by telephone, with one of these employers, then step out, mount his curricle, and ride to the place indicated. There he was received as an expected guest, dined, and spent the evening in social intercourse. Next morning, having performed the required work during the usual working-hours, he could, after breakfast, either prosecute his journey, or, if it had been so agreed, remain for a time on the same conditions.
Nor must it be supposed that this wandering life removed from the influences of home. However distant, the wanderer was able to hold daily converse with those at home,—was probably better informed in regard to the trifles of home-life than when there present. At a distance, such trifles may attain, and from a like cause, the factitious value sometimes accorded to a withered flower or a fragment of ribbon. In the presence of the one from whom they derive a reflected importance, they are disregarded: in absence they may become infinitely precions.
The tie between mother and son, in that period, was peculiarly tender. The father might, on occasion, give valuable advice on matters in which his extensive knowledge of men and things made him an authority. But it was to the mother alone were laid bare the inner workings of the heart. It was she that became the confidant of the first half-unconscious feelings of preference toward some fair playmate. It was she that advised, cautioned, aided as far as she might, in the first uncertain steps toward what is, after all, the controlling interest, the central event, in the drama of life. When what she so earnestly wished and labored for was accomplished,—when she saw her son betrothed,—she thenceforth, with the sublime self-abnegation of woman, kept herself in the background. She acknowledged the right of the future wife to the first place, where hitherto she herself had reigned supreme.
The unfortunate issue of his early love-affair had but tightened the bond between Utis and his mother, Zarene Palutha. Yet, anxious as he was to please her in every way, there was one matter in which he had been unable to gratify the longing of her heart. Having no daughter of her own, she was correspondingly anxious to experience the hitherto unknown pleasure arising from the tie that unites mother and daughter.
Utis had found, that, even with the best will, it is not always easy for a son to gratify a mother in this respect. He had met, indeed, in the course of his wanderings, many a fair girl whom he felt he could learn to love. But, in every case, they were already in the ranks of the zeruan. His mother's delight may, accordingly, be con ceived when, after she had almost resigned herself to seeing her son a confirmed bachelor, he sought and won the love of the loveliest viora of the season; for such Ulmene was acknowledged on all hands to be.
Nor had she to wait an undue time before she saw their union. Twenty-three was, indeed, the usual minimum age for the bride; while Ulmene was only seventeen when Utis returned. But, if the friends saw fit, it was allowable to count off one from the required number of birthdays of the bride for every two by which the groom's age exceeded the twenty-five legally required in his case. The chief reason for the requirement in respect to age being, to secure time for the due development of character before their entrance into a union practically indissoluble, the greater age and experience of the husband was supposed to compensate for any deficiency in these respects on the part of the wife. Hence it came that Ulmene became a bride soon after reaching the age of twenty.
It was during their wedding journey that occurred an incident, unimportant in itself, but interesting from the side-light it throws on some social customs of the period. While on their return from Maoria, Utis turned aside from the direct route in order to show his bride the Falls of the Zambesi. This he did, not only on account of the far-famed grandeur of the scene, but also because the spot was to him of special interest from its associations with an important crisis of his life.
Here they spent a day in wandering along the palm-bordered paths, that, skirting for miles the river-banks, afforded easy access to every point of advantage for viewing the wondrous combinations of rock, and flood, and luxuriant tropical foliage. Partly this was done on foot, but mostly by curricle; for it must be remembered, that this was the one indispensable piece of baggage on such a trip.
One point of view he had reserved for the evening. After they had surveyed for a while, in awed silence, the white deluge of waters plunging into the mist-covered abyss, beneath that bright tropical moonlight that rendered more awful the shadows whence arose the ceaseless voice of the cataract, Utis began to tell of his former visit. He had then been one of a party of six zerdars on furlough. Telephone in hand, each had attempted to describe to some loved though distant ear his sensations and impressions in presence of the tremendous cataract, the very roar of which could be made audible over the intervening thousands of leagues of land and sea.
Ulmene now, for the first time, mentioned something she had reserved for this occasion. To his surprise, Utis learned that she had been present, on that occasion, in the parlor of Zarene Palutha, when, as they sat in the deepening gloom of evening, the words of his animated description came resounding over the wire which conveyed, at the same time, as fitting accompaniment, the deep diapason of those distant African waters.
"As you moved the instrument nearer the falls," she continued, "your voice became lost in the ever-increasing volume of sound whose thunders filled the apartment. All drew a breath of relief when that sublime and awful sound decreased to its former comparatively subdued. tone, from amid which sounded pleasingly the six-part 'Good-Night Song' sent as final greeting by you and your companions to the listeners in your distant homes.
"When all the rest were gone, your mother and I sat for a long time before the flickering wood-fire,—it was toward the end of October,—and talked about you. Seeing me interested in what she said, your mother next produced the great portfolio of views you had taken for her in every part of the world. Finally, while we were examining the last likeness of yourself, taken some years before, she asked whether I should not like to see you when you next came home. At that time I had not seen you for many years. Though I merely said that I should be glad to see you, she kissed me very tenderly, and said no more, except that it was fully time to go to bed. You returned home soon after: I was really glad to see you, and have been glad ever since."