Pygmalions Spectacles | Page 7

back. So when her appointed lover came, it was too late; do you
understand? But she yielded finally to the law, and is forever unhappy,
and goes wandering from place to place about the world." She paused.
"I shall never break a law," she said defiantly.
Dan took her hand. "I would not have you unhappy, Galatea. I want
you always happy."
She shook her head. "I am happy," she said, and smiled a tender,
wistful smile.

They were silent a long time as they trudged the way homeward. The
shadows of the forest giants reached out across the river as the sun
slipped behind them. For a distance they walked hand in hand, but as
they reached the path of pebbly brightness near the house, Galatea drew
away and sped swiftly before him. Dan followed as quickly as he might;
when he arrived, Leucon sat on his bench by the portal, and Galatea
had paused on the threshold. She watched his approach with eyes in
which he again fancied the glint of tears.
"I am very tired," she said, and slipped within.
Dan moved to follow, but the old man raised a staying hand.
"Friend from the shadows," he said, "will you hear me a moment?"
Dan paused, acquiesced, and dropped to the opposite bench. He felt a
sense of foreboding; nothing pleasant awaited him.
"There is something to be said," Leucon continued, "and I say it
without desire to pain you, if phantoms feel pain. It is this: Galatea
loves you, though I think she has not yet realized it."
"I love her too," said Dan.
The Grey Weaver stared at him. "I do not understand. Substance,
indeed, may love shadow, but how can shadow love substance?"
"I love her," insisted Dan.
"Then woe to both of you! For this is impossible in Paracosma; it is a
confliction with the laws. Galatea's mate is appointed, perhaps even
now approaching."
"Laws! Laws!" muttered Dan. "Whose laws are they? Not Galatea's nor
mine!"
"But they are," said the Grey Weaver. "It is not for you nor for me to
criticize them--though I yet wonder what power could annul them to
permit your presence here!"

"I had no voice in your laws."
The old man peered at him in the dusk. "Has anyone, anywhere, a voice
in the laws?" he queried.
"In my country we have," retorted Dan.
"Madness!" growled Leucon. "Man-made laws! Of what use are
man-made laws with only man-made penalties, or none at all? If you
shadows make a law that the wind shall blow only from the east, does
the west wind obey it?"
"We do pass such laws," acknowledged Dan bitterly. "They may be
stupid, but they're no more unjust than yours."
"Ours," said the Grey Weaver, "are the unalterable laws of the world,
the laws of Nature. Violation is always unhappiness. I have seen it; I
have known it in another, in Galatea's mother, though Galatea is
stronger than she." He paused. "Now," he continued, "I ask only for
mercy; your stay is short, and I ask that you do no more harm than is
already done. Be merciful; give her no more to regret."
He rose and moved through the archway; when Dan followed a
moment later, he was already removing a square of silver from his
device in the corner. Dan turned silent and unhappy to his own chamber,
where the jet of water tinkled faintly as a distant bell.
Again he rose at the glow of dawn, and again Galatea was before him,
meeting him at the door with her bowl of fruit. She deposited her
burden, giving him a wan little smile of greeting, and stood facing him
as if waiting.
"Come with me, Galatea," he said.
"Where?"
"To the river bank. To talk."
They trudged in silence to the brink of Galatea's pool. Dan noted a

subtle difference in the world about him; outlines were vague, the thin
flower pipings less audible, and the very landscape was queerly
unstable, shifting like smoke when he wasn't looking at it directly. And
strangely, though he had brought the girl here to talk to her, he had now
nothing to say, but sat in aching silence with his eyes on the loveliness
of her face.
Galatea pointed at the red ascending sun. "So short a time," she said,
"before you go back to your phantom world. I shall be sorry, very
sorry." She touched his cheek with her fingers. "Dear shadow!"
"Suppose," said Dan huskily, "that I won't go. What if I won't leave
here?" His voice grew fiercer. "I'll not go! I'm going to stay!"
The calm mournfulness of the girl's face checked him; he felt the irony
of struggling against the inevitable progress of a dream. She spoke.
"Had I the making of the