Pygmalions Spectacles | Page 6

silent company and turned back into his room to prepare for
slumber.
* * * * *
Almost instantly, it seemed, the dawn was upon him and bright elfin
pipings were all about him, while the odd ruddy sun sent a broad
slanting plane of light across the room. He rose as fully aware of his
surroundings as if he had not slept at all; the pool tempted him and he
bathed in stinging water. Thereafter he emerged into the central
chamber, noting curiously that the globes still glowed in dim rivalry to
the daylight. He touched one casually; it was cool as metal to his
fingers, and lifted freely from its standard. For a moment he held the
cold flaming thing in his hands, then replaced it and wandered into the
dawn.
Galatea was dancing up the path, eating a strange fruit as rosy as her
lips. She was merry again, once more the happy nymph who had
greeted him, and she gave him a bright smile as he chose a sweet green
ovoid for his breakfast.
"Come on!" she called. "To the river!"
She skipped away toward the unbelievable forest; Dan followed,
marveling that her lithe speed was so easy a match for his stronger
muscles. Then they were laughing in the pool, splashing about until
Galatea drew herself to the bank, glowing and panting. He followed her
as she lay relaxed; strangely, he was neither tired nor breathless, with

no sense of exertion. A question recurred to him, as yet unasked.
"Galatea," said his voice, "Whom will you take as mate?"
Her eyes went serious. "I don't know," she said. "At the proper time he
will come. That is a law."
"And will you be happy?"
"Of course." She seemed troubled. "Isn't everyone happy?"
"Not where I live, Galatea."
"Then that must be a strange place--that ghostly world of yours. A
rather terrible place."
"It is, often enough," Dan agreed. "I wish--" He paused. What did he
wish? Was he not talking to an illusion, a dream, an apparition? He
looked at the girl, at her glistening black hair, her eyes, her soft white
skin, and then, for a tragic moment, he tried to feel the arms of that
drab hotel chair beneath his hands--and failed. He smiled; he reached
out his fingers to touch her bare arm, and for an instant she looked back
at him with startled, sober eyes, and sprang to her feet.
"Come on! I want to show you my country." She set off down the
stream, and Dan rose reluctantly to follow.
What a day that was! They traced the little river from still pool to
singing rapids, and ever about them were the strange twitterings and
pipings that were the voices of the flowers. Every turn brought a new
vista of beauty; every moment brought a new sense of delight. They
talked or were silent; when they were thirsty, the cool river was at hand;
when they were hungry, fruit offered itself. When they were tired, there
was always a deep pool and a mossy bank; and when they were rested,
a new beauty beckoned. The incredible trees towered in numberless
forms of fantasy, but on their own side of the river was still the
flower-starred meadow. Galatea twisted him a bright-blossomed
garland for his head, and thereafter he moved always with a sweet

singing about him. But little by little the red sun slanted toward the
forest, and the hours dripped away. It was Dan who pointed it out, and
reluctantly they turned homeward.
As they returned, Galatea sang a strange song, plaintive and sweet as
the medley of river and flower music. And again her eyes were sad.
"What song is that?" he asked.
"It is a song sung by another Galatea," she answered, "who is my
mother." She laid her hand on his arm. "I will make it into English for
you." She sang:
"The River lies in flower and fern, In flower and fern it breathes a song.
It breathes a song of your return, Of your return in years too long. In
years too long its murmurs bring Its murmurs bring their vain replies,
Their vain replies the flowers sing, The flowers sing, 'The River lies!'"
Her voice quavered on the final notes; there was silence save for the
tinkle of water and the flower bugles. Dan said, "Galatea--" and paused.
The girl was again somber-eyed, tearful. He said huskily, "That's a sad
song, Galatea. Why was your mother sad? You said everyone was
happy in Paracosma."
"She broke a law," replied the girl tonelessly. "It is the inevitable way
to sorrow." She faced him. "She fell in love with a phantom!" Galatea
said. "One of your shadowy race, who came and stayed and then had to
go