Reading - Imray Came Back

Imray Came Back

(Based on The Return of Imray by Rudyard Kipling)

One day Imray was there, in the little town in the north of India where he lived and worked, and the next day he was not.  He disappeared.  One day he was with his friends, having a drink at the bar, laughing with them, friendly, happy and then the next morning he was not at his office, his house was quiet, and nobody could find him.

‘Where did he go?’ his friends asked each other at the bar.  ‘And why so suddenly? Why did he say nothing to us?’

They looked in the river near the town, and along the roads, but they found nothing.  They telephoned all the hotels in the nearest big city, but nobody knew anything about Imray.  Days went by and Imray did not come back.  His friends in the town slowly stopped talking about him at the bar and at the office; they began to forget about him.  They sold his old car, his guns and all this other things, and his boss wrote a letter to Imray’s mother, back in England, and told her that her son was dead.  Disappeared.

Imray’s house stood unlived-in and quiet for three or four long, hot summer months.  The hottest weather was finished when my friend Strickland, a policeman, moved to live in it.  People said that Strickland was a very strange man but I always went to see him and have dinner with him when I was in the town working for a day or two.  He was one or two other friends too; he liked his guns, he liked fishing and he liked his dog – a very big dog, called Tietjens.  Tietjens always went to work with Strickland and often helped him in his police work, so the people of the town were quite afraid of her.  Tietjens moved into the house with Strickland and she took the room next to Strickland’s, where she had her food and where she slept.

One day, some weeks after Strickland went to live in Imray’s house, I arrived in the town at about five o’clock one afternoon and found that there were no rooms at the hotel, so I went round to Strickland’s place.  Tietjens met me at the door showing her teeth, not moving.  She knew me quite well by this time but she did not want me to go in.  She waited for Strickland to come and say a friendly ‘Hello’ to me before she moved away.  Strickland was happy to give me a room for two or three days, and I went to get my bag from my car.

It was a nice house, with a big garden.  Inside, there were eight rooms, all white and clean.  Strickland gave me a good room and at six o’clock his Indian servant Bahadur Khan, brought us an early dinner.

‘I must go back to the police station for an hour or two after dinner, I’m afraid,’ Strickland said.  ‘My men are questioning a man down there and I want to know what answers they’re getting.’

He left me at the house with a good cigar, and with Tietjens, the dog.  It was a very hot, late-summer evening.  Soon after the sun went down, the rain came. I sat near the window of the living-room, watched the rain and thought about my family and friends back home in England.  Tietjens came and sat next to me and her head on my leg, looking sad.  The room was dark behind me and the only noise was the noise of the rain driving down out of the night sky.

Suddenly, without a sound, Strickland’s servant was there, standing next to me.  His coat and shirt were wet from the rain.

‘Sorry, sir.  There’s a man here, sir.  He’s asking to see somebody,’ the servant said.

I asked him to bring a light and I went to the front door, but when the light came, there was nobody there.  When I turned, I thought I saw a face looking in through one of the windows from the garden.  It disappeared quickly.

‘Perhaps he went round to the back door,’ I said to the servant, so we went through the living-room and the quiet, dark kitchen to the back door.  But there was nobody there. I went back to my chair and my thoughts by the window, not very happy with Strickland’s servant and not very happy about the face at the window, the strange visitor in the rain. I took some sugar with me to give to Tietjens, but she was out in the garden, standing in the rain, and did not want to come inside.  She looked frightened, I thought.

Sometime later Strickland arrived home, very wet, and the first thing he asked was: ‘Any visitors?’

I told him about the disappearing visitor in the rain.  ‘I thought perhaps he had something important to tell you,’ I said, ‘but then he ran away without giving his name.’

Strickland said nothing and his face showed nothing.  At nine o’clock he said he was tired.  I was tired too, so we got up to go to bed.  Tietjens was outside in the rain, very wet.  Strickland called her again and again, but she did not want to come into the house.

‘She does this every evening now,’ he said sadly.  ‘I can’t understand it.  She’s got a good, warm room in here, but she doesn’t come inside and sleep in it.  She started doing this soon after we came to live in the place.  Let’s leave her.  She can sleep out there is she wants to.’  But I knew he was not happy to leave her outside in the rain.

The rain started and stopped all night, but Tietjens stayed outside.  She slept near my bedroom window and I heard her moving about.  I slept very lightly and I had bad dreams.  In my half-sleep I dreamt that somebody was calling to me in the night, asking me to come to them, to help them.  Then I woke up, cold with fear, and found there was nobody there.  Once in the night I looked out of the window and saw the big dog out there in the rain with the hair on her neck and back standing up and a frightened, angry look on her face.  I slept again but woke up suddenly when somebody tried to open the door of my room.  They did not come in but walked on through the house.  Later, I thought I heard the sound of someone crying.  I ran through to Strickland’s room, thinking he was ill or that he wanted my help, but he laughed at my fears and told me to go back to bed.  I did not sleep again after that.  I listened to the rain and waited for the first light of morning.

I stayed in the house with Strickland and his dog for two more days.  Tietjens was quite happy inside the house all day, but as soon as night came she moved out into the garden and stayed there.  I understood.  I was very happy in the house in daytime too, but in the evening and night I did not like it.  There was something very strange about the place.  I heard the noise of feet on the floor, but there was nobody there, I heard doors open and close, I heard chairs move and I thought somebody watched me from the darkest corners of the room when I walked round the house.

At dinner on the third evening I talked to Strickland. ‘I’m going to the hotel tomorrow – they’ve got a room there now.  I’m very sorry but I can’t stay here.  It’s the noises in the house, you see.  I’m not getting any sleep at night and I can’t work well in the day because I’m too tired.’

He listened carefully and I knew he understood.  Strickland is a very understanding man.  ‘Stay with me for another day or two, my friend,’ he said.  ‘Please don’t go.  Wait and see what happens.  I know what you’re talking about.  I know there’s something very strange about this house, and I want to know what it is.  I think Tietjens knows – she doesn’t like coming inside after dark…’

Suddenly he stopped talking, his eyes on one corner of the ceiling, above my chair.

‘Well, look at that!’ he said quietly.

I turned and looked up.  There was the head of a very dangerous brown snake, called a “karait” in India.  It was looking at us with its cold little eyes from a small door in that corner of the ceiling.  I stood up quickly and moved away from that corner of the room – I do not like snakes, I am afraid of them, and the “karait” is one of the most dangerous and frightening snakes.  It kills so easily and so quickly.

‘Let’s get it down and break its back,’ I said.

‘It’s very hard to catch those brown snakes, you know,’ Strickland answered.  ‘They move so fast.  But let’s try.  Bring that light over.’

I carried the light across to the corner of the room where the snake was, watching it carefully all the time.  It did not move.  Strickland carried his chair over to the corner, took one of his guns from a cupboard near the door and climbed up on the chair.  But the snake saw him coming.  Its head suddenly disappeared and we heard it move away across the ceiling above our heads.

‘Snakes like it up there in the ceiling – it’s nice and warm,’ said Strickland.  ‘But I don’t like having them there.  I’m going to catch it.’

He pushed open the small door in the ceiling and put his head and arms through.  He had the gun on one hand, ready to hit the snake with it and break its back.  I watched from below.

I heard Strickland say: ‘I can’t see that snake, but…Hello!  What’s this?  There’s something up here…’ and I saw him pushing at something with the gun.  ‘I can’t quite get it,’ he said, and then suddenly: ‘It’s coming down!  Be careful down there!  Stand back!’

I jumped back.  Something hit the centre of the ceiling hard from above, broke noisily though into the room and hit the dinner table.  It broke some glasses and plates on the table.  There was water all over the floor.  I went over with the light and looked down at the thing on the table.  Strickland climbed quickly off the chair and stood next to me.

It was a man, a dead man.

‘I think,’ Strickland said slowly, ‘that our friend Imray is back.’

Suddenly something moved out from under one leg of the thing on the table.  It was a brown snake, the “karait”, trying to get away.

‘So the snake came down with our dead friend, I see,’ Strickland said and he pushed the snake off the table onto the floor, hit it with his gun and broke its back.  I looked at the dying snake on the floor and said nothing.

‘Is it Imray?’ I asked.

‘Yes.  That’s Imray,’ he answered. ‘And somebody killed him.’

Now we knew why there were noises round the house at night, and why Tietjens did not like sleeping inside the house.  She knew that Imray was up there dead.  She knew that Imray’s ghost walked through the house at night, trying to find somebody to help him.

A minute later we heard Tietjens outside.  She pushed open the door with her nose and came in.  She looked at the dead man on the table and sat down on the floor next to Strickland, looking up at him.

‘You know Imray was up there all the time, over our heads,’ Strickland said to the dog, looking down at her.  ‘Somebody killed him and perhaps you know who did it, too.  Dead men do not climb up into ceilings of houses and close the ceiling door behind them.  So the question is who put him there and closed the ceiling door? And who killed him? Let’s think about it.’

‘Let’s think about it in the other room,’ I said.  ‘Not here.’

‘You’re right,’ said Strickland, with a smile.  ‘Let’s go into the living-room.’

We went through to the living-room and sat there. Strickland said nothing, but sat quietly and thought for a minute or two.  His gun was on the floor next to his chair.

‘So Imray is back,’ he said again, slowly.  ‘You know, when I took this house, I took Imray’s three servants too.  They stayed here to work for me.  Did one of them kill him?  I was not quite happy about that when I questioned them at the time Imray disappeared, you know.’

‘Why not call them in, one at a time, and questions them again?’ I said.  ‘See what they have to say.’

There was a noise at the back door, from the kitchen.  It was Bahadur Khan, Strickland’s servant, coming in to take the dinner things away.  Strickland called him and the man came into the living-room without any noise.  He wore no shoes.  He was a tall and strong-looking man.  He stood quietly near the door and waited.

‘It’s a warm night, Bahadur Khan.  Do you think more rain is coming?’ Strickland began.

‘Yes sir.  I think it is,’ the servant answered.

‘When did you first start to work for me?’

‘When you came to live in this house sir.  You know that.  After Mr Imray suddenly went away to Europe sir.’

‘He went away to Europe, you say?  Why do you say that?’

‘All the servants say he went to Europe sir.’

‘Do they? That’s strange Bahadur Khan.  I asked them before, but they didn’t know.  You said it to me, Bahadur Khan – but they didn’t know.  And Mr Imray went to Europe, you say, but he never said a word about it to his friends or to his other servants before he went.  He only told you, Bahadur Khan.  Do you not think that is strange?’

‘It is strange sir’ the man answered quietly.

‘And why do you say it? Why do you want us to think Mr Imray went to Europe?’

The tall man did not answer.  He looked very frightened now; his eyes were white in the dark.  He moved nearer the door, but Strickland went on.

‘But now, suddenly, Mr Imray is back again, Bahadur Khan!  He’s back in this house.  Come and see him.  He’s waiting for his old servant.’  Strickland took his gun off the floor and stood up quickly.  He pushed the gun into Bahadur Khan’s face.

‘Sir!’ The tall Indian moved back, very frightened now, and put up his hands.

‘Go and look at the thing on the table in the next room, Bahadur Khan,’ Strickland said.  ‘Go on.  Take the light.  Go and see Mr Imray.  He’s waiting for you.’

Slowly the man took the light and walked to the door.  Strickland was behind him, pushing the gun into his back.  The tall Indian stopped near the table and looked down at the dead man.  His face was yellow with fear.

‘You see?’ asked Strickland coldly.  ‘Mr Imray is back.’

‘I see sir.’

‘And now I know: you killed him, Bahadur Khan.  Why?’

‘I killed him, sir, yes. He was not a good man, sir.  He put his hand on my child’s head one day…the next day my child was very ill…and the next day he died.  He was my oldest son, sir.  Mr Imray killed my son.  He was a bad man.  So I killed Mr Imray in the evening of the same day when he came back from the office.  Then I put him up above the ceiling and closed the door.’

Strickland turned to me.  ‘You hear that? He killed Imray,’ he said.  Then he went on.  ‘You were clever, Bahadur Khan, but Mr Imray came back.  And now I’m taking you to the police station…’

‘But no, sir,’ Bahadur Khan said with a sad smile.  ‘We are going to the police station.  Look, sir.’

He moved back from the table and showed us his foot.  There was the head of the brown snake, the deadly “karait”, with its teeth in his foot.

‘You see, sir, I killed Mr Imray but I do not want to die at the hands of the police.  So I am dying now, here.  This snake is killing me.’

An hour later Bahadur Khan was dead.  Strickland called some of his policemen to take the two dead men, Imray and his killer, away to the town.  And the ghost of Imray did not walk at night in the house again.

That night Tietjens came back inside the house and slept happily in her room.

Reading - The Return of Imray

The Return of Imray

By

Rudyard Kipling

The doors were wide, the story saith,
Out of the night came the patient wraith,
He might not speak, and he could not stir
A hair of the Baron's minniver---
Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin,
He roved the castle to seek his kin.
And oh,'twas a piteous thing to see
The dumb ghost follow his enemy!
THE BARON.

Imray achieved the impossible. Without warning, for no conceivable motive, in his youth, at the threshold of his career he chose to disappear from the world---which is to say, the little Indian station where he lived.

Upon a day he was alive, well, happy, and in great evidence among the billiard-tables at his Club. Upon a morning, he was not, and no manner of search could make sure where he might be. He had stepped out of his place; he had not appeared at his office at the proper time, and his dogcart was not upon the public roads. For these reasons, and because he was hampering, in a microscopical degree, the administration of the Indian Empire, that Empire paused for one microscopical moment to make inquiry into the fate of Imray. Ponds were dragged, wells were plumbed, telegrams were despatched down the lines of railways and to the nearest seaport town-twelve hundred miles away; but Imray was not at the end of the drag-ropes nor the telegraph wires. He was gone, and his place knew him no more.

Then the work of the great Indian Empire swept forward, because it could not be delayed, and Imray from being a man became a mystery--such a thing as men talk over at their tables in the Club for a month, and then forget utterly. His guns, horses, and carts were sold to the highest bidder. His superior officer wrote an altogether absurd letter to his mother, saying that Imray had unaccountably disappeared, and his bungalow stood empty.

After three or four months of the scorching hot weather had gone by, my friend Strickland, of the Police, saw fit to rent the bungalow from the native landlord. This was before he was engaged to Miss Youghal--an affair which has been described in another place--and while he was pursuing his investigations into native life. His own life was sufficiently peculiar, and men complained of his manners and customs. There was always food in his house, but there were no regular times for meals. He ate, standing up and walking about, whatever he might find at the sideboard, and this is not good for human beings. His domestic equipment was limited to six rifles, three shot-guns, five saddles, and a collection of stiff-jointed mahseer-rods, bigger and stronger than the largest salmon-rods. These occupied one-half of his bungalow, and the other half was given up to Strickland and his dog Tietjens--an enormous Rampur mutt who devoured daily the rations of two men. She spoke to Strickland in a language of her own; and whenever, walking abroad, she saw things calculated to destroy the peace of Her Majesty the Queen- Empress, she returned to her master and laid information. Strickland would take steps at once, and the end of his labours was trouble and fine and imprisonment for other people. The natives believed that Tietjens was a familiar spirit, and treated her with the great reverence that is born of hate and fear. One room in the bungalow was set apart for her special use. She owned a bedstead, a blanket, and a drinking- trough, and if any one came into Strickland's room at night her custom was to knock down the invader and give tongue till someone came with a light. Strickland owed his life to her, when he was on the Frontier, in search of a local murderer, who came in the grey dawn to send Strickland much farther than the Andaman Islands. Tietjens caught the man as he was crawling into Strickland's tent with a dagger between his teeth; and after his record of iniquity was established in the eyes of the law he was hanged. From that date Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver, and employed a monogram on her night-blanket; and the blanket was of double woven Kashmir cloth, for she was a delicate dog.

Under no circumstances would she be separated from Strickland; and once, when he was ill with fever, made great trouble for the doctors, because she did not know how to help her master and would not allow another creature to attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the Indian Medical Service, beat her over her head with a gun-butt before she could understand that she must give room for those who could give quinine.

A short time after Strickland had taken Imray's bungalow, my business took me through that Station, and naturally, the Club quarters being full, I quartered myself upon Strickland. It was a desirable bungalow, eight-roomed and heavily thatched against any chance of leakage from rain. Under the pitch of the roof ran a ceiling-cloth which looked just as neat as a white-washed ceiling. The landlord had repainted it when Strickland took the bungalow. Unless you knew how Indian bungalows were built you would never have suspected that above the cloth lay the dark three-cornered cavern of the roof, where the beams and the underside of the thatch harboured all manner of rats, bats, ants, and foul things.

Tietjens met me in the verandah with a bay like the boom of the bell of St. Paul's, putting her paws on my shoulder to show she was glad to see me. Strickland had contrived to claw together a sort of meal which he called lunch, and immediately after it was finished went out about his business. I was left alone with Tietjens and my own affairs. The heat of the summer had broken up and turned to the warm damp of the rains. There was no motion in the heated air, but the rain fell like ramrods on the earth, and flung up a blue mist when it splashed back. The bamboos, and the custard-apples, the poinsettias, and the mango-trees in the garden stood still while the warm water lashed through them, and the frogs began to sing among the aloe hedges. A little before the light failed, and when the rain was at its worst, I sat in the back verandah and heard the water roar from the eaves, and scratched myself because I was covered with the thing called prickly-heat. Tietjens came out with me and put her head in my lap and was very sorrowful; so I gave her biscuits when tea was ready, and I took tea in the back verandah on account of the little coolness found there. The rooms of the house were dark behind me. I could smell Strickland's saddlery and the oil on his guns, and I had no desire to sit among these things. My own servant came to me in the twilight, the muslin of his clothes clinging tightly to his drenched body, and told me that a gentleman had called and wished to see someone. Very much against my will, but only because of the darkness of the rooms, I went into the naked drawing-room, telling my man to bring the lights. There might or might not have been a caller waiting---it seemed to me that I saw a figure by one of the windows---but when the lights came there was nothing save the spikes of the rain without, and the smell of the drinking earth in my nostrils. I explained to my servant that he was no wiser than he ought to be, and went back to the verandah to talk to Tietjens. She had gone out into the wet, and I could hardly coax her back to me; even with biscuits with sugar tops. Strickland came home, dripping wet, just before dinner, and the first thing he said was.

'Has any one called?'

I explained, with apologies, that my servant had summoned me into the drawing-room on a false alarm; or that some loafer had tried to call on Strickland, and thinking better of it had fled after giving his name. Strickland ordered dinner, without comment, and since it was a real dinner with a white tablecloth attached, we sat down.

At nine o'clock Strickland wanted to go to bed, and I was tired too. Tietjens, who had been lying underneath the table, rose up, and swung into the least exposed verandah as soon as her master moved to his own room, which was next to the stately chamber set apart for Tietjens. If a mere wife had wished to sleep out of doors in that pelting rain it would not have mattered; but Tietjens was a dog, and therefore the better animal. I looked at Strickland, expecting to see him flay her with a whip. He smiled queerly, as a man would smile after telling some unpleasant domestic tragedy. 'She has done this ever since I moved in here,' said he. 'Let her go.'

The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said nothing, but I felt all that Strickland felt in being thus made light of. Tietjens encamped outside my bedroom window, and storm after storm came up, thundered on the thatch, and died away. The lightning spattered the sky as a thrown egg spatters a barn-door, but the light was pale blue, not yellow; and, looking through my split bamboo blinds, I could see the great dog standing, not sleeping, in the verandah, the hackles alift on her back and her feet anchored as tensely as the drawn wire-rope of a suspension bridge. In the very short pauses of the thunder I tried to sleep, but it seemed that someone wanted me very urgently. He, whoever he was, was trying to call me by name, but his voice was no more than a husky whisper. The thunder ceased, and Tietjens went into the garden and howled at the low moon. Somebody tried to open my door, walked about and about through the house and stood breathing heavily in the verandahs, and just when I was falling asleep I fancied that I heard a wild hammering and clamouring above my head or on the door.

I ran into Strickland's room and asked him whether he was ill, and had been calling for me. He was lying on his bed half dressed, a pipe in his mouth. 'I thought you'd come,' he said. 'Have I been walking round the house recently?'

I explained that he had been tramping in the dining-room and the smoking-room and two or three other places, and he laughed and told me to go back to bed. I went back to bed and slept till the morning, but through all my mixed dreams I was sure I was doing some one an injustice in not attending to his wants. What those wants were I could not tell; but a fluttering, whispering, bolt-fumbling, lurking, loitering Someone was reproaching me for my slackness, and, half awake, I heard the howling of Tietjens in the garden and the threshing of the rain.

I lived in that house for two days. Strickland went to his office daily, leaving me alone for eight or ten hours with Tietjens for my only companion. As long as the full light lasted I was comfortable, and so was Tietjens; but in the twilight she and I moved into the back verandah and cuddled each other for company. We were alone in the house, but none the less it was much too fully occupied by a tenant with whom I did not wish to interfere. I never saw him, but I could see the curtains between the rooms quivering where he had just passed through; I could hear the chairs creaking as the bamboos sprung under a weight that had just quitted them; and I could feel when I went to get a book from the dining-room that somebody was waiting in the shadows of the front verandah till I should have gone away. Tietjens made the twilight more interesting by glaring into the darkened rooms with every hair erect, and following the motions of something that I could not see. She never entered the rooms, but her eyes moved interestedly: that was quite sufficient. Only when my servant came to trim the lamps and make all light and habitable she would come in with me and spend her time sitting on her haunches, watching an invisible extra man as he moved about behind my shoulder. Dogs are cheerful companions.

I explained to Strickland, gently as might be, that I would go over to the Club and find for myself quarters there. I admired his hospitality, was pleased with his guns and rods, but I did not much care for his house and its atmosphere. He heard me out to the end, and then smiled very wearily, but without contempt, for he is a man who understands things. 'Stay on,' he said, 'and see what this thing means. All you have talked about I have known since I took the bungalow. Stay on and wait. Tietjens has left me. Are you going too?'

I had seen him through one little affair, connected with a heathen idol, that had brought me to the doors of a lunatic asylum, and I had no desire to help him through further experiences. He was a man to whom unpleasantnesses arrived as do dinners to ordinary people.

Therefore I explained more clearly than ever that I liked him immensely, and would be happy to see him in the daytime; but that I did not care to sleep under his roof. This was after dinner, when Tietjens had gone out to lie in the verandah.

''Upon my soul, I don't wonder,' said Strickland, with his eyes on the ceiling-cloth. 'Look at that!'

The tails of two brown snakes were hanging between the cloth and the cornice of the wall. They threw long shadows in the lamplight.

'If you are afraid of snakes of course--' said Strickland.

I hate and fear snakes, because if you look into the eyes of any snake you will see that it knows all and more of the mystery of man's fall, and that it feels all the contempt that the Devil felt when Adam was evicted from Eden. Besides which its bite is generally fatal, and it twists up trouser legs.

'You ought to get your thatch overhauled,' I said.

'Give me a mahseer-rod, and we'll poke 'em down.'

'They'll hide among the roof-beams,' said Strickland. 'I can't stand snakes overhead. I'm going up into the roof. If I shake 'em down, stand by with a cleaning-rod and break their backs.'

I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his work, but I took the cleaning-rod and waited in the dining-room, while Strickland brought a gardener's ladder from the verandah, and set it against the side of the room.

The snake-tails drew themselves up and disappeared. We could hear the dry rushing scuttle of long bodies running over the baggy ceiling-cloth. Strickland took a lamp with him, while I tried to make clear to him the danger of hunting roof-snakes between a ceiling-cloth and a thatch, apart from the deterioration of property caused by ripping out ceiling- cloths.

'Nonsense!' said Strickland. 'They're sure to hide near the walls by the cloth. The bricks are too cold for 'em, and the heat of the room is just what they like.' He put his hand to the corner of the stuff and ripped it from the cornice. It gave with a great sound of tearing, and Strickland put his head through the opening into the dark of the angle of the roof-beams. I set my teeth and lifted the rod, for I had not the least knowledge of what might descend.

'Humph!' said Strickland and his voice rolled and rumbled in the roof. 'There's room for another set of rooms up here, and, by Jove, someone is occupying 'em!'

'Snakes?' I said from below.

'No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two last joints of a mahseer-rod, and I'll prod it. It's lying on the main roof-beam.'

I handed up the rod.

'What a nest for owls and serpents! No wonder the snakes live here,' said Strickland, climbing farther into the roof. I could see his elbow thrusting with the rod. 'Come out of that, whoever you are! Heads below there! It's falling.'

I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre of the room bag with a shape that was pressing it downwards and downwards towards the lighted lamp on the table. I snatched the lamp out of danger and stood back. Then the cloth ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and shot down upon the table something that I dared not look at, till Strickland had slid down the ladder and was standing by my side.

He did not say much, being a man of few words; but he picked up the loose end of the tablecloth and threw it over the remnants on the table.

'It strikes me,' said he, putting down the lamp, 'our friend Imray has come back. Oh! You would, would you?'

There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake wriggled out, to be back-broken by the butt of the mahseer-rod. I was sufficiently sick to make no remarks worth recording.

Strickland meditated, and helped himself to drinks. The arrangement under the cloth made no more signs of life.

'Is it Imray?' I said.

Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment, and looked.

'It is Imray,' he said.

Then we spoke, both together and to ourselves: 'That's why he whispered about the house.'

Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her great nose heaved open the dining-room door.

She sniffed and was still. The tattered ceiling-cloth hung down almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move away from the discovery.

Tietjens came in and sat down; her teeth bared under her lip and her forepaws planted. She looked at Strickland.

'It's a bad business, old lady,' said he. 'Men don't climb up into the roofs of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling cloth behind 'em. Let's think it out.'

'Let's think it out somewhere else,' I said.

'Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room.'

I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first, and allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lit tobacco and thought. Strickland thought. I smoked furiously, because I was afraid.

'Imray is back,' said Strickland. 'The question is---who killed Imray? Don't talk; I've a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I took over most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't he?'

I agreed; though the heap under the cloth had looked neither one thing nor the other.

'If I call in all the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and lie like Aryans. What do you suggest?'

'Call 'em in one by one,' I said.

'They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows,' said Strickland. 'We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knows anything about it?'

'He may, for aught I know; but I don't think it's likely. He has only been here two or three days,' I answered. 'What's your notion?'

'I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side of the ceiling-cloth?'

There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom door. This showed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep and wished to put Strickland to bed.

'Come in,' said Strickland. 'It's a very warm night, isn't it?'

Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot man said that it was a very warm night; but that there was more rain pending, which, by his Honour's favour, would bring relief to the country.

'It will be so, if God pleases,' said Strickland, tugging off his boots. 'It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselessly for many days---ever since that time when thou first earnest into my service. What time was that?'

'Has the Heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly to Europe without warning given; and I-even I-came into the honoured service of the protector of the poor.'

'And Imray Sahib went to Europe?'

'It is so said among those who were his servants.'

'And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?'

'Assuredly, Sahib. He was a good master, and cherished his dependants.'

'That is true. I am very tired, but I go buck-shooting to-morrow. Give me the little sharp rifle that I use for black-buck; it is in the case yonder.'

The man stooped over the case; handed barrels, stock, and fore-end to Strickland, who fitted all together, yawning dolefully. Then he reached down to the gun-case, took a solid-drawn cartridge, and slipped it into the breech of the '360 Express.

'And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly! That is very strange, Bahadur Khan, is it not?'

'What do I know of the ways of the white man? Heaven-born?'

'Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more anon. It has reached me that Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and that even now he lies in the next room, waiting his servant.'

'Sahib!'

The lamplight slid along the barrels of the rifle as they levelled themselves at Bahadur Khan's broad breast.

'Go and look!' said Strickland. 'Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, and he waits thee. Go!'

The man picked up a lamp, and went into the dining-room, Strickland following, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. He looked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth; at the writhing snake under foot; and last, a grey glaze settling on his face, at the thing under the tablecloth.

'Hast thou seen?' said Strickland after a pause.

'I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. What does the Presence do?'

'Hang thee within the month. What else?'

'For killing him? Nay, Sahib, consider. Walking among us, his servants, he cast his eyes upon my child, who was four years old. Him he bewitched, and in ten days he died of the fever--my child!'

'What said Imray Sahib?'

'He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on the head; wherefore my child died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the twilight, when he had come back from office, and was sleeping. Wherefore I dragged him up into the roof-beams and made all fast behind him. The Heaven-born knows all things. I am the servant of the Heaven-born.'

Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the vernacular, 'Thou art witness to this saying? He has killed.'

Bahadur Khan stood ashen grey in the light of the one lamp. The need for justification came upon him very swiftly. 'I am trapped,' he said, 'but the offence was that man's. He cast an evil eye upon my child, and I killed and hid him. Only such as are served by devils,' he glared at Tietjens, couched stolidly before him, 'only such could know what I did.'

'It was clever. But thou should have lashed him to the beam with a rope. Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!'

A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was followed by another, and Tietjens sat wondrous still.

'Take him to the police-station,' said Strickland. 'There is a case toward.'

'Do I hang, then?' said Bahadur Khan, making no attempt to escape, and keeping his eyes on the ground.

'If the sun shines or the water runs-yes!' said Strickland.

Bahadur Khan stepped back one long pace, quivered, and stood still. The two policemen waited further orders.

'Go!' said Strickland.

'Nay; but I go very swiftly,' said Bahadur Khan. 'Look! I am even now a dead man.'

He lifted his foot, and to the little toe there clung the head of the half-killed snake, firm fixed in the agony of death.

'I come of land-holding stock,' said Bahadur Khan, rocking where he stood. 'It were a disgrace to me to go to the public scaffold: therefore I take this way. Be it remembered that the Sahib's shirts are correctly enumerated, and that there is an extra piece of soap in his washbasin. My child was bewitched, and I slew the wizard. Why should you seek to slay me with the rope? My honour is saved, and-and-I die.'

At the end of an hour he died, as they die who are bitten by the little brown karait, and the policemen bore him and the thing under the tablecloth to their appointed places. All were needed to make clear the disappearance of Imray.

'This,' said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into bed, 'is called the nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?'

'I heard,' I answered. 'Imray made a mistake.'

'Simply and solely through not knowing the nature of the Oriental, and the coincidence of a little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan had been with him for four years.'

I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for exactly that length of time. When I went over to my own room I found my man waiting, impassive as the copper head on a penny, to pull off my boots.

'What has befallen Bahadur Khan?' said I.

'He was bitten by a snake and died. The rest the Sahib knows,' was the answer.

'And how much of this matter hast thou known?'

'As much as might be gathered from One coming in in the twilight to seek satisfaction. Gently, Sahib. Let me pull off those boots.'

I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Strickland shouting from his side of the house--

'Tietjens has come back to her place!'

And so she had. The great deerhound was couched on her own bedstead on her own blanket, while, in the next room, the idle, empty, ceiling-cloth waggled as it trailed on the table.

The Lady or the Tiger Discussion Question

In the story, it is assumed that all the wrongdoers will be men. Is this fair? Give your opinion.

 

What do you think happens at the end of the story?  Get into pairs or groups of three and imagine a final paragraph for the story?  Think about the following questions: Can the gardener get away? Will he live and be happy with the woman behind the door? Will the princess be happy if he lives and marries another woman?

 

Reading Week 5 - The Lady or the Tiger? Follow Up Activity

The Lady or the Tiger Follow Up Activity.

 

1)      What is the King saying? Match the beginning of the sentences in column A with the ends of the sentences in column B.

 

a If we catch a wrongdoer,	1 he finds a beautiful woman.
b If the wrongdoer chooses the wrong door,	2 he dies.
c If he chooses the right door,	3 he finds the tiger.
d If he is lucky	4 we bring him to the stadium.
e If he is unlucky	5 he lives.

 

2)      Complete the following sentences with words from the box.

 

arms       clever       dark      good-looking        long        love

 

a The King’s daughter had ……… red hair.

b The gardener was a very ………-……… man.

c The King’s daughter was as ……… as the King.

d The gardener was in ……… with the King’s daughter.

e The King found his daughter in the gardener’s ……… .

f The King’s men shut the gardener in a ……… room.

 

3)      These sentences are not correct.  Change one or two words to make them right.

 

Eg: When she moved her head to the left, the gardener knew which door he must choose.

 

When she moved her FINGER to the left, the gardener knew which door he must choose.

 

a The King’s daughter was a weak young woman, but she was very clever.

………………………………………………

b The sister of the King’s driver was going to be behind the door in the stadium.

………………………………………………

c In the stadium, the gardener was not afraid but he was very tired.

………………………………………………

d The gardener looked at the King’s daughter’s eyes and she smiled at him.

………………………………………………

Reading Week 4 - Readers Theatre and Computer Task Links

Readers Theatre Link - http://www.timelessteacherstuff.com/readerstheater/LittleOldLady.html

 

Computer Task Link - http://www.vocabulary.co.il/word-play/word-search-game/

Reading - Week 4 The Lady or the Tiger? (Simple)

The Lady or the Tiger?

By Frank R. Stockon (1882)

 (abridged version)

 

            In olden times, there lived a barbaric king. He was always studying the ways of other cultures. If another country had an interesting custom, he would borrow it and use it in his own kingdom. One day he heard that the Romans had a large arena where men would fight wild animals such as lions and tigers. This gave him an idea.

            The king had a huge arena built. There were seats for many thousands of spectators. In the arena itself, at one end, there were two doors. If one of his subjects were accused of committing a serious crime, he would be brought to the arena. Then he would be asked to open one of the doors. He was free to choose either one.

            Behind one door, there was a hungry tiger. If the man opened it, the tiger would rush out and kill him. If that happened, it meant that the man was guilty of the crime.  The audience would all weep. Afterwards they would slowly walk home, sad that the person had met such a dire fate. Behind the other door, there was a beautiful lady.  If the man opened that door, she would walk out and embrace him. Immediately, they would be married. The audience would be happy, because the lady proved that the man was innocent. The arena would be filled with the sounds of music and laughter as the people enjoyed watching the wedding of the man and the beautiful lady.

            This custom was very popular with the people. When they went to the arena, they never knew what would happen. They might witness the terrible sight of a tiger tearing a man limb from limb, or they might witness a beautiful wedding. They also liked the custom because it was fair. The man was able to choose his fate for himself.

            Now the king had a beautiful daughter, the princess. Her father loved her very much. The princess had a boyfriend, but it was a secret. She didn’t want her father to know because her boyfriend did not come from royalty. He was brave, handsome and intelligent, but he was only a common person. The two lovers were very happy, but one day everything changed. The king found out that the young man was his daughter’s boyfriend, and he put the young man in prison. The young man’s crime was that he, a common man, loved a princess. In those days, this was not allowed. The king told his daughter that on a certain day, the young man would be taken to the arena for trial. He would have to choose one of the two doors.

            Because the crime was so serious, the king had his soldiers find the fiercest tiger in the land. When they caught it, they put it in a cage and for many days, they did not feed it. At the same time, the king had the ladies of his court find the most beautiful lady in the land. If the young man chose her, he would be very happy indeed.

            The king’s daughter was, of course, very interested to know which door was which. So she bribed a soldier to tell her. On the day of the trial, she alone knew which door had the lady and which door had the tiger.

            That day many people came to the arena. When the people were all seated, the king entered, along with his daughter and his court. When everything was ready, the king gave the signal to begin. A door opened and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. He was tall and handsome, and a low hum of admiration and anxiety went up from the crowd. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!

            For a moment, the young man looked up at the princess. Instantly he could tell something. She knew which door held the tiger and which door held the lady. With his eyes, he silently asked “Which door?” She knew. She also knew who the beautiful lady was. The lady behind the door was a member of the court, someone even more beautiful than the princess. Often the princess had seen her lover and the beautiful lady talking together, and she had grown jealous. She hated the beautiful lady.

            The time had come for the young man to choose. “Which door,” he asked again with his eyes. The princess’ right hand lay on a pillow in front of her. She raised her hand and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Without hesitating, the young man walked to the door on the right and opened it.

Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady. Think about it, reader. The princess was not like us; she was a barbarian from a fierce culture. How often she had thought of the cruel tiger devouring her lover. Terrible! But even more often, she had thought of the beautiful lady. If he chose her, the two would be married, and her lover would live happily- with another woman.

And so, reader, I leave it up to you: Which came out of the opened door- the lady or the tiger?

THE END

Reading - Week 4 The Lady or the Tiger? (Original)

The Lady or the Tiger?

 

by

 

Frank Stockton

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbours, were still large, florid, and untrammelled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.

Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valour, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.

But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheatre, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.

When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.

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When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheatre. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.

But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.

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This was the king's semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena.

The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?

This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in this entire kingdom, and she loved him with an ardour that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.

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The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor anyone else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.

The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.

All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!

As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the princess.

 

< 5 >

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.

When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than anyone in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.

Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.

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Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.

He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, and every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.

Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady?

The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?

How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!

But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!

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Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?

And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!

Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.

The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door - the lady, or the tiger?