The beating heart

In the torrid heat of the Egyptian afternoon the desert lay outstretched, a silent, shimmering golden sea. Little wavelets of sand rose from its surface at intervals, curled over and blew away as the scorching desert wind passed by. Otherwise nothing moved nor stirred till the form of a camel outlined itself against the blue sky, walking easily and swiftly and bearing on its back the slight white clothed figure of a girl. She was young and extremely fair, the mass of curls pressed up against the shady hat-brim was gold as the sunshine, the eyes were bright sparkling blue like the sky above, the skin all softness and bloom. She was humming to herself as she rode—she felt so happy, so delightfully alone and free. She had slipped away from the noisy clamoring crowd of tourists with whom she travelled on her little Cook’s ticket which had cost her £25 and brought her to this ancient land of old and sacred gods.

She had escaped from the hateful attentions of one of the men of the party and now with a map and a guide book she had started out on the great adventure of finding for herself the obscure and lonely little temple of the Goddess Pasht.

From her childhood she had studied Egyptian history and she knew all about the great Goddess; divine protector of all the feline tribe. Her father had been an Egyptologist of some note and books and pictures of Egypt had been her playthings from her earliest years but what were books and pictures to the delights of being here at last and seeing for herself the rich and glorious temples that have been the wonders of the world for centuries?

She rode on leisurely, accommodating her supple body to the long swinging stride of the camel and the sun slanted slowly to the Western sky behind her. She was thinking how delightful life would be if there were more of this loneliness in it; that horde of chattering companions she was with usually day and night, how she hated it and that one man who pursued her so relentlessly. That wretched man, how she hated him. He was positively spoiling the whole of her tour. Wherever she went she always found that he was there. She never seemed able to escape him. If their little boat had to cross the Nile to reach Thebes, he always managed to secure the seat next to hers. If the party were making an excursion on donkeys, he always rode his up beside hers and once, through pushing up close beside her on a steep bank, he had forced her donkey so near the edge that it had almost rolled over it. It had been so from the very first, this constant pursuit of her and she could honestly feel she had given him no encouragement. His personal appearance on the first day she saw him among the crowd of jolly-faced tourists had repelled her. The long lanky dark hair which was always falling over his pallid forehead, the sinister dark eyes, the peculiarly evil mouth and above all the large lean sinewy hands had filled her with a sense of horror and repulsion.

Even before she had heard what he was, a medical student, and been shocked by his callous conversation, his horrid talk of his cruel experiments on cats. Cats! animals that she particularly loved for their soft, sinuous movements, their beautiful eyes and their deep silent affections.

She shuddered as she thought of him and glanced involuntarily behind her. But here out in the desert there seemed no menace. Only limpid golden light on golden sand met her eye, infinite silence and peace was all around.

She consulted the map; she should be nearing her destination now and after a few more minutes she descried ahead of her the rising mound of sand that marked the site of the half buried temple of Pasht. Rather plain in its architecture and not imposing in size, it is often passed over by the tourist and the sight-seer as unworthy of particular notice, and the long camel ride one has to take to find. But now with its smooth straight walls glowing gold in the magic lights and its dark portal suggesting mysteries within, its lonely situation out here away from any other tomb or temple away from every sign of life, half buried beneath the drifting tide of sand it seemed to the girl most appealing, far more interesting visited thus in its grandeur of desolation than the larger ones she had seen thronged with loquacious dragomen and gaping visitors.

She pulled up the camel and looked around. Everywhere about her amber glory of soundless space.

“Khush” she said gently to the camel and the great docile beast went down on his knees and let her dismount.

She had to descend three steps and then through the great granite doorway she entered the temple.

There were three small horizontal windows, rectangular slits, at the top of the walls near the stone roof on which the sand had piled and the whole of the interior was full of a soft grey light. In the very centre of the small square chamber was the great statue of the Goddess about three times the girl’s own size. A seated majestic figure in grey stone, the body that of a woman, bare breasted and with hands resting on its knees, the head and face that of an enormous cat with calm fixed eyes looking out towards the desert beyond the open door. So had it sat gazing in unmoved calm while the centuries rolled by and generations of men turned into dust which the desert wind swept by the temple door.

Pasht sat there silent and alone in her neglected temple. Her worshippers had passed away, the flowers and lights and wreaths of former days were hers no more, the girls who had danced in her honour and flung chains of roses round her feet, where were they now with their dusky slender limbs and dark laughing eyes? Perished and gone but she in her carven stone sat there still, serene and secure.

The girl on first entering could see nothing but after a few minutes when her eyes, accustomed to the soft gloom, took indistinctly the huge form of the great woman-cat towering over her, a sense of awe enfolded her and she dropped into a sitting position near its feet, and gazed up reverently into the curious feline countenance, carved so long ago by some skilled and loving hand.

“Goddess, I love you,” she said in a whispering tone after a minute’s silent musing, “just as much as any of your old, old long ago worshippers did, and I love all cats all your incarnations. They are the dearest darlings in the world and so misunderstood. Just because they have not the exuberant spirits of the dog, man thinks they can’t feel. But deep down in their dark reserved passionate natures, they feel intensely and they love. Oh, how they can love when one understands them! I am glad they were held sacred and worshipped in Egypt! Perhaps I was one of your temple girls, Goddess, in those old, far off times!”

She sat still on the sand, her hands loosely clasped round her knees. She felt so happy to have discovered the temple—and the statue that her father had told her of and all by herself, and happy to be able to sit still and think for which there was generally so little time in this tour with the band of people always being hurried along from one place to another.

This was an interval of calm and rest and she was thoroughly enjoying it. She felt no fear, no sense of loneliness, under the kind grave eyes of the stone deity. She felt protected and with some august companion.

Suddenly in the soft and profound stillness a sound struck upon her and thinking the camel had become restless, she rose and turned to the door. Then drew back with a half uttered exclamation and stood close against the colossal knees of the goddess with horror stamped on her face. In the doorway stood the slim erect figure of a young man in a light grey suit. Not apparently a very horrifying sight but a chill hatred ran all along the girl’s veins as she looked at him and her hand grew cold as the stone on which it rested.

He advanced smiling. “This is a treat darling to find you here all alone,” he said gaily coming up to her. “What’s this old thing here? Why I do believe its a beastly cat,” and he stared up impudently into the stately countenance above them.

“Oh, hush! please, it’s a statue of the Goddess Pasht.”

The young man looked back at her laughing, “Pasht, well who’s she and why’s she got a cat’s head?”

“She was the patron Goddess of cats,” said the girl.

“Oh, was she? Well, she won’t like me then, I’ve cut up lots of her protégés, starved them and drowned them and doubled them up with tetanus.”

“Please don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to hear.” The girl’s lips were white; all her happy smiles and colour had fled.

“Oh they were only ordinary wretched little street cats anyway,” rejoined the man lightly.

“How did you come here?” asked the girl. Her eyes were fixed on the stone face above them. Was it only her fancy, or that the light was failing? It seemed to her the countenance had darkened as if with wrath and the calm gaze grown fierce and grim.

“On a camel; same as you did. Oh, you didn’t think I was going over to Thebes did you with the rest of the flock, if you weren’t there? Not much. I just waited about in the Hotel and after you’d gone I found out from the porter whom you’d hired the camel from, then I went to him and found out where you had headed for. Then I followed you but I had to be precious careful you didn’t turn round and see me. One can see for such miles in the desert.”

“Why did you come?” the girl’s voice was strained and low. Oh, how she hated this man who had made her life a burden ever since the beginning of the tour.

The man laughed.

“What a question! As if you don’t know, you little humbug! Why to make love to you of course, not to see this old Smash Pash or whatever you said her name was.”

“Well you know I don’t want to listen to you and its getting late now. Let us ride back.” She was still standing by the knees of the statue. He was between her and the door, she could not move towards it without approaching him.

She glanced round; the greyness of the temple was of a darker tint; outside the glowing patch of light showed the approach of sunset.

“Not at all. I have no intention of going back yet. You may as well sit down and be sensible. I’ve come out to ask you again will you marry me?”

“No, I have told you before I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t love you. I could never love anybody who cut up animals alive.”

“We don’t call it that now, you are so old fashioned, we call it Scientific Research.”

“It’s the same thing whatever you call it.”

“Lots of women admire it.”

“Well marry one of them.”

“I don’t want to, I want to marry you.”

“You can never do that.”

“We shall see. To-morrow morning you will be begging and praying me to marry you.”

The girl went deadly cold all over and the sweat broke out on her forehead. He had come a little nearer. Through the dark she could see the evil face, the horribly eager expression.

“What do you mean?” she stammered, her throat was dry, her limbs trembled. Horror and hatred and a nameless fear possessed her. The temple seemed growing smaller, its walls contracting, pushing him upon her.

“I should think you’d know. We’re going to make a night of it here and if you’re alive in the morning—well, we’ll see what you say then.”

There was a great dead silence. Now that she realized the extremity of her danger her courage seemed to rise to meet it. She thought rapidly: Was there any escape, any help anywhere? Was anyone likely to come to her rescue? Would she be missed, followed?

“You arranged it all very well,” the man’s voice went on in mocking tones as if in answer to her thoughts. “You told no one where you were going. Only the camel man has the least idea where you are and I’ve tipped him well. He won’t tell anyone in time.”

He was very near her now and suddenly he threw both arms round her and drawing her up to him kissed her violently on the mouth. At the touch of his lips a perfect fury of revolt rose in her and she struck out wildly at him with her clenched fists. With the strength that the madness of anger gives she wrenched herself loose from him and fled behind the statue so that the colossal form of the image was between her and her tormentor. There she paused trembling and gasping.

The man was now by the knees of the statue. She saw his dark face and the black brows contracted into a straight savage line as the light from one of the slit-like windows above fell on it. He followed her but terror lent wings to her feet and she fled away before he could reach her circling round the image. He followed and dodged and circled also but she was too quick and fleet in her movements for him to circumvent. So for a few moments they played in a deadly game round the age old Deity. But the girl felt her strength failing. The poisons of hatred and anger, terror and loathing were pouring into her blood, enervating her, taking away her powers. Her eyes were darkening, her limbs giving way.

In another moment she must faint and fall.

They were on opposite sides now. Across the lap of the Goddess she saw the crimson face, the bulging blood-shot eyes of the human beast waiting to spring on her. The temple was going dark, all was whirling before her.

“Save me, Pasht!”

And as her agonized scream rang through the temple, she pressed her slender white hands against the arms of the statue.

Was it the pressure of those soft fingers disturbing the balance already shaken by the shifting of the sand floor through a thousand years? Or was the stone heart of the Goddess turned to flesh and blood as man’s heart is so often turned to stone? Who shall say?

Before the murderous beast could move back from where he stood beside her lap the huge idol reeled and fell over on its side with a sullen thud bearing him to the ground beneath its six tons of solid granite. The temple shook to its foundation and the whole air was filled with a fog of blood and sand. One piercing shriek of agony rang through it. Then there was silence except for the sound of the blood thrown on the walls trickling down them to the ground. The concussion of the air in that small space had thrown the already half fainting girl back against the wall. For a moment she could see nothing, the stinging sand filling and closing her eyes. Then as the particles settled down once more to their age old repose her terrified gaze took in the form of the huge image at her feet, the scarlet wall opposite her, the semi-obliterated mass of small human form and clothes. The man’s face was crushed deeply into the sand under the colossal shoulder of the Goddess but something still moved, chaining her fascinated gaze—two large sinewy hands scrabbled still convulsively pulling at the sand. Then after a few more minutes these also grew motionless. Breathless, terrified, half suffocated and dazed the girl still clung to the wall hardly realising yet what had happened and if she herself were still living and uninjured. Then as the sand settled and the air grew clear, calmness returned to her and she knew she was safe and free.

With gentle steps she approached the huge fallen form, avoiding the horrid blue hands that looked still able to grip and grasp and holding her skirts away from all the contamination oozing from under the stone and looked down into the face of the statue. The light from the doorway slanted on to it and seemed to soften it all into smiles and the desert wind springing up passed through the temple and out at the top slits by the roof with a loud purring sound. The girl stooped and pressed her warm red lips on the ancient stone brow in a kiss of gratitude, then passed out into the sunset and mounting her camel and followed by the other, rode away over the golden sand and night settled slowly on the desert in a violet dusk enclosing the ancient temple where the Goddess Pasht lay purring on her prey. Her starry eyed children were avenged.