Chapter: There was a welcome change in the weather when I rose early next
morning; the sky was without cloud and had that purity in its colour
and look of infinite distance seen only when the atmosphere is free from
vapour. The sun had not yet risen, but old Nuflo was already among the
ashes, on his hands and knees, blowing the embers he had uncovered to a
flame. Then Rima appeared only to pass through the room with quick light
tread to go out of the door without a word or even a glance at my face.
The old man, after watching at the door for a few minutes, turned
and began eagerly questioning me about my adventures on the previous
evening. In reply I related to him how the girl had found me in the
forest lost and unable to extricate myself from the tangled undergrowth.

He rubbed his hands on his knees and chuckled. "Happy for you, senor,"
he said, "that my granddaughter regards you with such friendly eyes,
otherwise you might have perished before morning. Once she was at your
side, no light, whether of sun or moon or lantern, was needed, nor that
small instrument which is said to guide a man aright in the desert, even
in the darkest night--let him that can believe such a thing!"

"Yes, happy for me," I returned. "I am filled with remorse that it was
all through my fault that the poor child was exposed to such weather."

"O senor," he cried airily, "let not that distress you! Rain and wind
and hot suns, from which we seek shelter, do not harm her. She takes no
cold, and no fever, with or without ague."

After some further conversation I left him to steal away unobserved on
his own account, and set out for a ramble in the hope of encountering
Rima and winning her to talk to me.

My quest did not succeed: not a glimpse of her delicate shadowy form did
I catch among the trees; and not one note from her melodious lips came
to gladden me. At noon I returned to the house, where I found food
placed ready for me, and knew that she had come there during my absence
and had not been forgetful of my wants. "Shall I thank you for this?" I
said. "I ask you for heavenly nectar for the sustentation of the higher
winged nature in me, and you give me a boiled sweet potato, toasted
strips of sun-dried pumpkins, and a handful of parched maize! Rima!
Rima! my woodland fairy, my sweet saviour, why do you yet fear me? Is it
that love struggles in you with repugnance? Can you discern with clear
spiritual eyes the grosser elements in me, and hate them; or has some
false imagination made me appear all dark and evil, but too late for
your peace, after the sweet sickness of love has infected you?"

But she was not there to answer me, and so after a time I went forth
again and seated myself listlessly on the root of an old tree not
far from the house. I had sat there a full hour when all at once Rima
appeared at my side. Bending forward, she touched my hand, but without
glancing at my face; "Come with me," she said, and turning, moved
swiftly towards the northern extremity of the forest. She seemed to
take it for granted that I would follow, never casting a look behind nor
pausing in her rapid walk; but I was only too glad to obey and, starting
up, was quickly after her. She led me by easy ways, familiar to her,
with many doublings to escape the undergrowth, never speaking or pausing
until we came out from the thick forest, and I found myself for the
first time at the foot of the great hill or mountain Ytaioa. Glancing
back for a few moments, she waved a hand towards the summit, and then
at once began the ascent. Here too it seemed all familiar ground to her.
From below, the sides had presented an exceedingly rugged appearance--a
wild confusion of huge jagged rocks, mixed with a tangled vegetation
of trees, bushes, and vines; but following her in all her doublings, it
became easy enough, although it fatigued me greatly owing to our rapid
pace. The hill was conical, but I found that it had a flat top--an
oblong or pear-shaped area, almost level, of a soft, crumbly sandstone,
with a few blocks and boulders of a harder stone scattered about--and no
vegetation, except the grey mountain lichen and a few sere-looking dwarf
shrubs.

Here Rima, at a distance of a few yards from me, remained standing still
for some minutes, as if to give me time to recover my breath; and I was
right glad to sit down on a stone to rest. Finally she walked slowly
to the centre of the level area, which was about two acres in extent;
rising, I followed her and, climbing on to a huge block of stone, began
gazing at the wide prospect spread out before me. The day was windless
and bright, with only a few white clouds floating at a great height
above and casting travelling shadows over that wild, broken country,
where forest, marsh, and savannah were only distinguishable by their
different colours, like the greys and greens and yellows on a map. At
a great distance the circle of the horizon was broken here and there by
mountains, but the hills in our neighbourhood were all beneath our feet.

After gazing all round for some minutes, I jumped down from my stand
and, leaning against the stone, stood watching the girl, waiting for her
to speak. I felt convinced that she had something of the very highest
importance (to herself) to communicate, and that only the pressing
need of a confidant, not Nuflo, had overcome her shyness of me; and I
determined to let her take her own time to say it in her own way. For a
while she continued silent, her face averted, but her little movements
and the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers showed that she was
anxious and her mind working. Suddenly, half turning to me, she began
speaking eagerly and rapidly.

"Do you see," she said, waving her hand to indicate the whole circuit of
earth, "how large it is? Look!" pointing now to mountains in the west.
"Those are the Vahanas--one, two, three--the highest--I can tell you
their names--Vahana-Chara, Chumi, Aranoa. Do you see that water? It is
a river, called Guaypero. From the hills it comes down, Inaruna is their
name, and you can see them there in the south--far, far." And in this
way she went on pointing out and naming all the mountains and rivers
within sight. Then she suddenly dropped her hands to her sides and
continued: "That is all. Because we can see no further. But the world is
larger than that! Other mountains, other rivers. Have I not told you of
Voa, on the River Voa, where I was born, where mother died, where the
priest taught me, years, years ago? All that you cannot see, it is so
far away--so far."

I did not laugh at her simplicity, nor did I smile or feel any
inclination to smile. On the contrary, I only experienced a sympathy so
keen that it was like pain while watching her clouded face, so changeful
in its expression, yet in all changes so wistful. I could not yet form
any idea as to what she wished to communicate or to discover, but seeing
that she paused for a reply, I answered: "The world is so large, Rima,
that we can only see a very small portion of it from any one spot. Look
at this," and with a stick I had used to aid me in my ascent I traced
a circle six or seven inches in circumference on the soft stone, and in
its centre placed a small pebble. "This represents the mountain we
are standing on," I continued, touching the pebble; "and this
line encircling it encloses all of the earth we can see from the
mountain-top. Do you understand?--the line I have traced is the blue
line of the horizon beyond which we cannot see. And outside of this
little circle is all the flat top of Ytaioa representing the world.
Consider, then, how small a portion of the world we can see from this
spot!"

"And do you know it all?" she returned excitedly. "All the world?"
waving her hand to indicate the little stone plain. "All the mountains,
and rivers, and forests--all the people in the world?"

"That would be impossible, Rima; consider how large it is."

"That does not matter. Come, let us go together--we two and
grandfather--and see all the world; all the mountains and forests, and
know all the people."

"You do not know what you are saying, Rima. You might as well say:
'Come, let us go to the sun and find out everything in it.'"

"It is you who do not know what you are saying," she retorted, with
brightening eyes which for a moment glanced full into mine. "We have no
wings like birds to fly to the sun. Am I not able to walk on the earth,
and run? Can I not swim? Can I not climb every mountain?"

"No, you cannot. You imagine that all the earth is like this little
portion you see. But it is not all the same. There are great rivers
which you cannot cross by swimming; mountains you cannot climb; forests
you cannot penetrate--dark, and inhabited by dangerous beasts, and so
vast that all this space your eyes look on is a mere speck of earth in
comparison."

She listened excitedly. "Oh, do you know all that?" she cried, with a
strangely brightening look; and then half turning from me, she added,
with sudden petulance: "Yet only a minute ago you knew nothing of the
world--because it is so large! Is anything to be gained by speaking to
one who says such contrary things?"

I explained that I had not contradicted myself, that she had not rightly
interpreted my words. I knew, I said, something about the principal
features of the different countries of the world, as, for instance, the
largest mountain ranges, and rivers, and the cities. Also something,
but very little, about the tribes of savage men. She heard me with
impatience, which made me speak rapidly, in very general terms; and to
simplify the matter I made the world stand for the continent we were
in. It seemed idle to go beyond that, and her eagerness would not have
allowed it.

"Tell me all you know," she said the moment I ceased speaking. "What is
there--and there--and there?" pointing in various directions. "Rivers
and forests--they are nothing to me. The villages, the tribes, the
people everywhere; tell me, for I must know it all."

"It would take long to tell, Rima."

"Because you are so slow. Look how high the sun is! Speak, speak! What
is there?" pointing to the north.

"All that country," I said, waving my hands from east to west, "is
Guayana; and so large is it that you could go in this direction, or in
this, travelling for months, without seeing the end of Guayana. Still
it would be Guayana; rivers, rivers, rivers, with forests between,
and other forests and rivers beyond. And savage people, nations
and tribes--Guahibo, Aguaricoto, Ayano, Maco, Piaroa, Quiriquiripo,
Tuparito--shall I name a hundred more? It would be useless, Rima; they
are all savages, and live widely scattered in the forests, hunting with
bow and arrow and the zabatana. Consider, then, how large Guayana is!"

"Guayana--Guayana! Do I not know all this is Guayana? But beyond, and
beyond, and beyond? Is there no end to Guayana?"

"Yes; there northwards it ends at the Orinoco, a mighty river, coming
from mighty mountains, compared with which Ytaioa is like a stone on the
ground on which we have sat down to rest. You must know that guayana is
only a portion, a half, of our country, Venezuela. Look," I continued,
putting my hand round my shoulder to touch the middle of my back, "there
is a groove running down my spine dividing my body into equal parts.
Thus does the great Orinoco divide Venezuela, and on one side of it is
all Guayana; and on the other side the countries or provinces of Cumana,
Maturm, Barcelona, Bolivar, Guarico, Apure, and many others." I then
gave a rapid description of the northern half of the country, with its
vast llanos covered with herds in one part, its plantations of coffee,
rice, and sugar-cane in another, and its chief towns; last of all
Caracas, the gay and opulent little Paris in America.

This seemed to weary her; but the moment I ceased speaking, and before
I could well moisten my dry lips, she demanded to know what came after
Caracas--after all Venezuela.

"The ocean--water, water, water," I replied.

"There are no people there--in the water; only fishes," she remarked;
then suddenly continued: "Why are you silent--is Venezuela, then, all
the world?"

The task I had set myself to perform seemed only at its commencement
yet. Thinking how to proceed with it, my eyes roved over the level area
we were standing on, and it struck me that this little irregular plain,
broad at one end and almost pointed at the other, roughly resembled the
South American continent in its form.

"Look, Rima," I began, "here we are on this small pebble--Ytaioa; and
this line round it shuts us in--we cannot see beyond. Now let us imagine
that we can see beyond--that we can see the whole flat mountaintop; and
that, you know, is the whole world. Now listen while I tell you of all
the countries, and principal mountains, and rivers, and cities of the
world."

The plan I had now fixed on involved a great deal of walking about and
some hard work in moving and setting up stones and tracing boundary
and other lines; but it gave me pleasure, for Rima was close by all
the time, following me from place to place, listening to all I said in
silence but with keen interest. At the broad end of the level summit I
marked out Venezuela, showing by means of a long line how the Orinoco
divided it, and also marking several of the greater streams flowing
into it. I also marked the sites of Caracas and other large towns
with stones; and rejoiced that we are not like the Europeans, great
city-builders, for the stones proved heavy to lift. Then followed
Colombia and Ecuador on the west; and, successively, Bolivia, Peru,
Chile, ending at last in the south with Patagonia, a cold arid land,
bleak and desolate. I marked the littoral cities as we progressed
on that side, where earth ends and the Pacific Ocean begins, and
infinitude.

Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, I described the Cordilleras to
her--that world-long, stupendous chain; its sea of Titicaca, and wintry,
desolate Paramo, where lie the ruins of Tiahuanaco, older than Thebes.
I mentioned its principal cities--those small inflamed or festering
pimples that attract much attention from appearing on such a body.
Quito, called--not in irony, but by its own people--the Splendid and
the Magnificent; so high above the earth as to appear but a little way
removed from heaven--"de Quito al cielo," as the saying is. But of its
sublime history, its kings and conquerors, Haymar Capac the Mighty,
and Huascar, and Atahualpa the Unhappy, not one word. Many words--how
inadequate!--of the summits, white with everlasting snows, above
it--above this navel of the world, above the earth, the ocean, the
darkening tempest, the condor's flight. Flame-breathing Cotopaxi,
whose wrathful mutterings are audible two hundred leagues away, and
Chimborazo, Antisana, Sarata, Illimani, Aconcagua--names of mountains
that affect us like the names of gods, implacable Pachacamac and
Viracocha, whose everlasting granite thrones they are. At the last I
showed her Cuzco, the city of the sun, and the highest dwelling-place of
men on earth.

I was carried away by so sublime a theme; and remembering that I had no
critical hearer, I gave free reins to fancy, forgetting for the moment
that some undiscovered thought or feeling had prompted her questions.
And while I spoke of the mountains, she hung on my words, following me
closely in my walk, her countenance brilliant, her frame quivering with
excitement.

There yet remained to be described all that unimaginable space east of
the Andes; the rivers--what rivers!--the green plains that are like
the sea--the illimitable waste of water where there is no land--and the
forest region. The very thought of the Amazonian forest made my spirit
droop. If I could have snatched her up and placed her on the dome of
Chimborazo she would have looked on an area of ten thousand square miles
of earth, so vast is the horizon at that elevation. And possibly her
imagination would have been able to clothe it all with an unbroken
forest. Yet how small a portion this would be of the stupendous
whole--of a forest region equal in extent to the whole of Europe! All
loveliness, all grace, all majesty are there; but we cannot see, cannot
conceive--come away! From this vast stage, to be occupied in the distant
future by millions and myriads of beings, like us of upright form, the
nations that will be born when all the existing dominant races on the
globe and the civilizations they represent have perished as utterly as
those who sculptured the stones of old Tiahuanaco--from this theatre
of palms prepared for a drama unlike any which the Immortals have yet
witnessed--I hurried away; and then slowly conducted her along the
Atlantic coast, listening to the thunder of its great waves, and pausing
at intervals to survey some maritime city.

Never probably since old Father Noah divided the earth among his
sons had so grand a geographical discourse been delivered; and having
finished, I sat down, exhausted with my efforts, and mopped my brow, but
glad that my huge task was over, and satisfied that I had convinced her
of the futility of her wish to see the world for herself.

Her excitement had passed away by now. She was standing a little apart
from me, her eyes cast down and thoughtful. At length she approached me
and said, waving her hand all round: "What is beyond the mountains over
there, beyond the cities on that side--beyond the world?"

"Water, only water. Did I not tell you?" I returned stoutly; for I had,
of course, sunk the Isthmus of Panama beneath the sea.


"Water! All round?" she persisted.

"Yes."

"Water, and no beyond? Only water--always water?"

I could no longer adhere to so gross a lie. She was too intelligent, and
I loved her too much. Standing up, I pointed to distant mountains and
isolated peaks.

"Look at those peaks," I said. "It is like that with the world--this
world we are standing on. Beyond that great water that flows all round
the world, but far away, so far that it would take months in a big boat
to reach them, there are islands, some small, others as large as this
world. But, Rima, they are so far away, so impossible to reach, that it
is useless to speak or to think of them. They are to us like the sun and
moon and stars, to which we cannot fly. And now sit down and rest by my
side, for you know everything."

She glanced at me with troubled eyes.

"Nothing do I know--nothing have you told me. Did I not say that
mountains and rivers and forests are nothing? Tell me about all the
people in the world. Look! there is Cuzco over there, a city like no
other in the world--did you not tell me so? Of the people nothing. Are
they also different from all others in the world?"

"I will tell you that if you will first answer me one question, Rima."

She drew a little nearer, curious to hear, but was silent.

"Promise that you will answer me," I persisted, and as she continued
silent, I added: "Shall I not ask you, then?"

"Say," she murmured.

"Why do you wish to know about the people of Cuzco?"

She flashed a look at me, then averted her face. For some moments she
stood hesitating; then, coming closer, touched me on the shoulder and
said softly: "Turn away, do not look at me."

I obeyed, and bending so close that I felt her warm breath on my neck,
she whispered: "Are the people in Cuzco like me? Would they understand
me--the things you cannot understand? Do you know?"

Her tremulous voice betrayed her agitation, and her words, I imagined,
revealed the motive of her action in bringing me to the summit of
Ytaioa, and of her desire to visit and know all the various peoples
inhabiting the world. She had begun to realize, after knowing me, her
isolation and unlikeness to others, and at the same time to dream that
all human beings might not be unlike her and unable to understand her
mysterious speech and to enter into her thoughts and feelings.

"I can answer that question, Rima," I said. "Ah, no, poor child, there
are none there like you--not one, not one. Of all there--priests,
soldiers, merchants, workmen, white, black, red, and mixed; men and
women, old and young, rich and poor, ugly and beautiful--not one would
understand the sweet language you speak."

She said nothing, and glancing round, I discovered that she was walking
away, her fingers clasped before her, her eyes cast down, and looking
profoundly dejected. Jumping up, I hurried after her. "Listen!" I said,
coming to her side. "Do you know that there are others in the world like
you who would understand your speech?"

"Oh, do I not! Yes--mother told me. I was young when you died, but, O
mother, why did you not tell me more?"

"But where?"

"Oh, do you not think that I would go to them if I knew--that I would
ask?"

"Does Nuflo know?"

She shook her head, walking dejectedly along.

"But have you asked him?" I persisted.

"Have I not! Not once--not a hundred times."

Suddenly she paused. "Look," she said, "now we are standing in Guayana
again. And over there in Brazil, and up there towards the Cordilleras,
it is unknown. And there are people there. Come, let us go and seek for
my mother's people in that place. With grandfather, but not the dogs;
they would frighten the animals and betray us by barking to cruel men
who would slay us with poisoned arrows."

"O Rima, can you not understand? It is too far. And your grandfather,
poor old man, would die of weariness and hunger and old age in some
strange forest."

"Would he die--old grandfather? Then we could cover him up with palm
leaves in the forest and leave him. It would not be grandfather; only
his body that must turn to dust. He would be away--away where the stars
are. We should not die, but go on, and on, and on."

To continue the discussion seemed hopeless. I was silent, thinking of
what I had heard--that there were others like her somewhere in that vast
green world, so much of it imperfectly known, so many districts never
yet explored by white men. True, it was strange that no report of such a
race had reached the ears of any traveller; yet here was Rima herself at
my side, a living proof that such a race did exist. Nuflo probably knew
more than he would say; I had failed, as we have seen, to win the secret
from him by fair means, and could not have recourse to foul--the rack
and thumbscrew--to wring it from him. To the Indians she was only
an object of superstitious fear--a daughter of the Didi--and to them
nothing of her origin was known. And she, poor girl, had only a vague
remembrance of a few words heard in childhood from her mother, and
probably not rightly understood.

While these thoughts had been passing through my mind, Rima had been
standing silent by, waiting, perhaps, for an answer to her last words.
Then stooping, she picked up a small pebble and tossed it three or four
yards away.

"Do you see where it fell?" she cried, turning towards me. "That is on
the border of Guayana--is it not? Let us go there first."

"Rima, how you distress me! We cannot go there. It is all a savage
wilderness, almost unknown to men--a blank on the map--"

"The map?--speak no word that I do not understand."

In a very few words I explained my meaning; even fewer would have
sufficed, so quick was her apprehension.

"If it is a blank," she returned quickly, "then you know of nothing
to stop us--no river we cannot swim, and no great mountains like those
where Quito is."

"But I happen to know, Rima, for it has been related to me by old
Indians, that of all places that is the most difficult of access. There
is a river there, and although it is not on the map, it would prove
more impassable to us than the mighty Orinoco and Amazon. It has vast
malarious swamps on its borders, overgrown with dense forest, teeming
with savage and venomous animals, so that even the Indians dare not
venture near it. And even before the river is reached, there is a range
of precipitous mountains called by the same name--just there where your
pebble fell--the mountains of Riolama--"

Hardly had the name fallen from my lips before a change swift as
lightning came over her countenance; all doubt, anxiety, petulance,
hope, and despondence, and these in ever-varying degrees, chasing each
other like shadows, had vanished, and she was instinct and burning with
some new powerful emotion which had flashed into her soul.

"Riolama! Riolama!" she repeated so rapidly and in a tone so sharp that
it tingled in the brain. "That is the place I am seeking! There was
my mother found--there are her people and mine! Therefore was I called
Riolama--that is my name!"

"Rima!" I returned, astonished at her words.

"No, no, no--Riolama. When I was a child, and the priest baptized me, he
named me Riolama--the place where my mother was found. But it was long
to say, and they called me Rima."

Suddenly she became still and then cried in a ringing voice:

"And he knew it all along--that old man--he knew that Riolama was
near--only there where the pebble fell--that we could go there!"

While speaking she turned towards her home, pointing with raised hand.
Her whole appearance now reminded me of that first meeting with her
when the serpent bit me; the soft red of her irides shone like fire, her
delicate skin seemed to glow with an intense rose colour, and her frame
trembled with her agitation, so that her loose cloud of hair was in
motion as if blown through by the wind.

"Traitor! Traitor!" she cried, still looking homewards and using quick,
passionate gestures. "It was all known to you, and you deceived me all
these years; even to me, Rima, you lied with your lips! Oh, horrible!
Was there ever such a scandal known in Guayana? Come, follow me, let us
go at once to Riolama." And without so much as casting a glance behind
to see whether I followed or no, she hurried away, and in a couple of
minutes disappeared from sight over the edge of the flat summit. "Rima!
Rima! Come back and listen to me! Oh, you are mad! Come back! Come
back!"

But she would not return or pause and listen; and looking after her,
I saw her bounding down the rocky slope like some wild, agile creature
possessed of padded hoofs and an infallible instinct; and before many
minutes she vanished from sight among crabs and trees lower down.

"Nuflo, old man," said I, looking out towards his lodge, "are there no
shooting pains in those old bones of yours to warn you in time of the
tempest about to burst on your head?"

Then I sat down to think.



To follow impetuous, bird-like Rima in her descent of the hill would
have been impossible, nor had I any desire to be a witness of old
Nuflo's discomfiture at the finish. It was better to leave them to
settle their quarrel themselves, while I occupied myself in turning
over these fresh facts in my mind to find out how they fitted into the
speculative structure I had been building during the last two or three
weeks. But it soon struck me that it was getting late, that the sun
would be gone in a couple of hours; and at once I began the descent.
It was not accomplished without some bruises and a good many scratches.
After a cold draught, obtained by putting my lips to a black rock from
which the water was trickling, I set out on my walk home, keeping
near the western border of the forest for fear of losing myself. I had
covered about half the distance from the foot of the hill to Nuflo's
lodge when the sun went down. Away on my left the evening uproar of the
howling monkeys burst out, and after three or four minutes ceased; the
after silence was pierced at intervals by screams of birds going to
roost among the trees in the distance, and by many minor sounds close
at hand, of small bird, frog, and insect. The western sky was now like
amber-coloured flame, and against that immeasurably distant luminous
background the near branches and clustered foliage looked black; but on
my left hand the vegetation still appeared of a uniform dusky green. In
a little while night would drown all colour, and there would be no light
but that of the wandering lantern-fly, always unwelcome to the belated
walker in a lonely place, since, like the ignis fatuus, it is confusing
to the sight and sense of direction.

With increasing anxiety I hastened on, when all at once a low growl
issuing from the bushes some yards ahead of me brought me to a stop. In
a moment the dogs, Susio and Goloso, rushed out from some hiding place
furiously barking; but they quickly recognized me and slunk back again.
Relieved from fear, I walked on for a short distance; then it struck
me that the old man must be about somewhere, as the dogs scarcely ever
stirred from his side. Turning back, I went to the spot where they
had appeared to me; and there, after a while, I caught sight of a dim,
yellow form as one of the brutes rose up to look at me. He had been
lying on the ground by the side of a wide-spreading bush, dead and
dry, but overgrown by a creeping plant which had completely covered
its broad, flat top like a piece of tapestry thrown over a table, its
slender terminal stems and leaves hanging over the edge like a deep
fringe. But the fringe did not reach to the ground and under the bush,
in its dark interior. I caught sight of the other dog; and after gazing
in for some time, I also discovered a black, recumbent form, which I
took to be Nuflo.

"What are you doing there, old man?" I cried. "Where is Rima--have you
not seen her? Come out."

Then he stirred himself, slowly creeping out on all fours; and finally,
getting free of the dead twigs and leaves, he stood up and faced me. He
had a strange, wild look, his white beard all disordered, moss and dead
leaves clinging to it, his eyes staring like an owl's, while his mouth
opened and shut, the teeth striking together audibly, like an angry
peccary's. After silently glaring at me in this mad way for some
moments, he burst out: "Cursed be the day when I first saw you, man of
Caracas! Cursed be the serpent that bit you and had not sufficient power
in its venom to kill! Ha! you come from Ytaioa, where you talked
with Rima? And you have now returned to the tiger's den to mock that
dangerous animal with the loss of its whelp. Fool, if you did not wish
the dogs to feed on your flesh, it would have been better if you had
taken your evening walk in some other direction."

These raging words did not have the effect of alarming me in the least,
nor even of astonishing me very much, albeit up till now the old man had
always shown himself suave and respectful. His attack did not seem quite
spontaneous. In spite of the wildness of his manner and the violence
of his speech, he appeared to be acting a part which he had rehearsed
beforehand. I was only angry, and stepping forward, I dealt him a very
sharp rap with my knuckles on his chest. "Moderate your language, old
man," I said; "remember that you are addressing a superior."

"What do you say to me?" he screamed in a shrill, broken voice,
accompanying his words with emphatic gestures. "Do you think you are on
the pavement of Caracas? Here are no police to protect you--here we are
alone in the desert where names and titles are nothing, standing man to
man."

"An old man to a young one," I returned. "And in virtue of my youth I am
your superior. Do you wish me to take you by the throat and shake your
insolence out of you?"

"What, do you threaten me with violence?" he exclaimed, throwing himself
into a hostile attitude. "You, the man I saved, and sheltered, and fed,
and treated like a son! Destroyer of my peace, have you not injured me
enough? You have stolen my grandchild's heart from me; with a thousand
inventions you have driven her mad! My child, my angel, Rima, my
saviour! With your lying tongue you have changed her into a demon to
persecute me! And you are not satisfied, but must finish your evil work
by inflicting blows on my worn body! All, all is lost to me! Take my
life if you wish it, for now it is worth nothing and I desire not to
keep it!" And here he threw himself on his knees and, tearing open his
old, ragged mantle, presented his naked breast to me. "Shoot! Shoot!" he
screeched. "And if you have no weapon take my knife and plunge it into
this sad heart, and let me die!" And drawing his knife from its sheath,
he flung it down at my feet.

All this performance only served to increase my anger and contempt; but
before I could make any reply I caught sight of a shadowy object at some
distance moving towards us--something grey and formless, gliding swift
and noiseless, like some great low-flying owl among the trees. It was
Rima, and hardly had I seen her before she was with us, facing old
Nuflo, her whole frame quivering with passion, her wide-open eyes
appearing luminous in that dim light.

"You are here!" she cried in that quick, ringing tone that was almost
painful to the sense. "You thought to escape me! To hide yourself from
my eyes in the wood! Miserable! Do you not know that I have need of
you--that I have not finished with you yet? Do you, then, wish to be
scourged to Riolama with thorny twigs--to be dragged thither by the
beard?"

He had been staring open-mouthed at her, still on his knees, and holding
his mantle open with his skinny hands. "Rima! Rima! have mercy on me!"
he cried out piteously. "I cannot go to Riolama, it is so far--so far.
And I am old and should meet my death. Oh, Rima, child of the woman I
saved from death, have you no compassion? I shall die, I shall die!"

"Shall you die? Not until you have shown me the way to Riolama. And when
I have seen Riolama with my eyes, then you may die, and I shall be glad
at your death; and the children and the grandchildren and cousins and
friends of all the animals you have slain and fed on shall know that you
are dead and be glad at your death. For you have deceived me with lies
all these years even me--and are not fit to live! Come now to Riolama;
rise instantly, I command you!"

Instead of rising he suddenly put out his hand and snatched up the knife
from the ground. "Do you then wish me to die?" he cried. "Shall you be
glad at my death? Behold, then I shall slay myself before your eyes. By
my own hand, Rima, I am now about to perish, striking the knife into my
heart!"

While speaking he waved the knife in a tragic manner over his head, but
I made no movement; I was convinced that he had no intention of taking
his own life--that he was still acting. Rima, incapable of understanding
such a thing, took it differently.

"Oh, you are going to kill yourself." she cried. "Oh, wicked man, wait
until you know what will happen to you after death. All shall now be
told to my mother. Hear my words, then kill yourself."

She also now dropped on to her knees and, lifting her clasped hands
and fixing her resentful sparkling eyes on the dim blue patch of heaven
visible beyond the treetops, began to speak rapidly in clear, vibrating
tones. She was praying to her mother in heaven; and while Nuflo listened
absorbed, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on her, the hand that clutched
the knife dropped to his side. I also heard with the greatest wonder and
admiration. For she had been shy and reticent with me, and now, as
if oblivious of my presence, she was telling aloud the secrets of her
inmost heart.

"O mother, mother, listen to me, to Rima, your beloved child!"
she began. "All these years I have been wickedly deceived by
grandfather--Nuflo--the old man that found you. Often have I spoken to
him of Riolama, where you once were, and your people are, and he denied
all knowledge of such a place. Sometimes he said that it was at an
immense distance, in a great wilderness full of serpents larger than the
trunks of great trees, and of evil spirits and savage men, slayers of
all strangers. At other times he affirmed that no such place existed;
that it was a tale told by the Indians; such false things did he say to
me--to Rima, your child. O mother, can you believe such wickedness?

"Then a stranger, a white man from Venezuela, came into our woods: this
is the man that was bitten by a serpent, and his name is Abel; only I do
not call him by that name, but by other names which I have told you. But
perhaps you did not listen, or did not hear, for I spoke softly and not
as now, on my knees, solemnly. For I must tell you, O mother, that
after you died the priest at Voa told me repeatedly that when I prayed,
whether to you or to any of the saints, or to the Mother of Heaven, I
must speak as he had taught me if I wished to be heard and understood.
And that was most strange, since you had taught me differently; but you
were living then, at Voa, and now that you are in heaven, perhaps you
know better. Therefore listen to me now, O mother, and let nothing I say
escape you.

"When this white man had been for some days with us, a strange thing
happened to me, which made me different, so that I was no longer Rima,
although Rima still--so strange was this thing; and I often went to the
pool to look at myself and see the change in me, but nothing different
could I see. In the first place it came from his eyes passing into mine,
and filling me just as the lightning fills a cloud at sunset: afterwards
it was no longer from his eyes only, but it came into me whenever I saw
him, even at a distance, when I heard his voice, and most of all when he
touched me with his hand. When he is out of my sight I cannot rest until
I see him again; and when I see him, then I am glad, yet in such fear
and trouble that I hide myself from him. O mother, it could not be told;
for once when he caught me in his arms and compelled me to speak of it,
he did not understand; yet there was need to tell it; then it came to me
that only to our people could it be told, for they would understand, and
reply to me, and tell me what to do in such a case.

"And now, O mother, this is what happened next. I went to grandfather
and first begged and then commanded him to take me to Riolama; but he
would not obey, nor give attention to what I said, but whenever I spoke
to him of it he rose up and hurried from me; and when I followed he
flung back a confused and angry reply, saying in the same breath that it
was so long since he had been to Riolama that he had forgotten where it
was, and that no such place existed. And which of his words were true
and which false I knew not; so that it would have been better if he had
returned no answer at all; and there was no help to be got from him. And
having thus failed, and there being no other person to speak to except
this stranger, I determined to go to him, and in his company seek
through the whole world for my people. This will surprise you, O mother,
because of that fear which came on me in his presence, causing me
to hide from his sight; but my wish was so great that for a time it
overcame my fear; so that I went to him as he sat alone in the wood, sad
because he could not see me, and spoke to him, and led him to the summit
of Ytaioa to show me all the countries of the world from the summit. And
you must also know that I tremble in his presence, not because I fear
him as I fear Indians and cruel men; for he has no evil in him, and is
beautiful to look at, and his words are gentle, and his desire is to be
always with me, so that he differs from all other men I have seen, just
as I differ from all women, except from you only, O sweet mother.

"On the mountain-top he marked out and named all the countries of the
world, the great mountains, the rivers, the plains, the forests, the
cities; and told me also of the peoples, whites and savages, but of our
people nothing. And beyond where the world ends there is water, water,
water. And when he spoke of that unknown part on the borders of Guayana,
on the side of the Cordilleras, he named the mountains of Riolama, and
in that way I first found out where my people are. I then left him on
Ytaioa, he refusing to follow me, and ran to grandfather and taxed him
with his falsehoods; and he, finding I knew all, escaped from me into
the woods, where I have now found him once more, talking with the
stranger. And now, O mother, seeing himself caught and unable to escape
a second time, he has taken up a knife to kill himself, so as not to
take me to Riolama; and he is only waiting until I finish speaking
to you, for I wish him to know what will happen to him after death.
Therefore, O mother, listen well and do what I tell you. When he has
killed himself, and has come into that place where you are, see that he
does not escape the punishment he merits. Watch well for his coming, for
he is full of cunning and deceit, and will endeavor to hide himself from
your eyes. When you have recognized him--an old man, brown as an Indian,
with a white beard--point him out to the angels, and say: 'This is
Nuflo, the bad man that lied to Rima.' Let them take him and singe his
wings with fire, so that he may not escape by flying; and afterwards
thrust him into some dark cavern under a mountain, and place a great
stone that a hundred men could not remove over its mouth, and leave him
there alone and in the dark for ever!"

Having ended, she rose quickly from her knees, and at the same moment
Nuflo, dropping the knife, cast himself prostrate at her feet.

"Rima--my child, my child, not that!" he cried out in a voice that was
broken with terror. He tried to take hold of her feet with his hands,
but she shrank from him with aversion; still he kept on crawling after
her like a disabled lizard, abjectly imploring her to forgive him,
reminding her that he had saved from death the woman whose enmity had
now been enlisted against him, and declaring that he would do anything
she commanded him, and gladly perish in her service.

It was a pitiable sight, and moving quickly to her side I touched her on
the shoulder and asked her to forgive him.

The response came quickly enough. Turning to him once more, she said: "I
forgive you, grandfather. And now get up and take me to Riolama."

He rose, but only to his knees. "But you have not told her!" he said,
recovering his natural voice, although still anxious, and jerking a
thumb over his shoulder. "Consider, my child, that I am old and shall
doubtless perish on the way. What would become of my soul in such
a case? For now you have told her everything, and it will not be
forgotten."

She regarded him in silence for a few moments; then, moving a little
way apart, dropped on to her knees again, and with raised hands and
eyes fixed on the blue space above, already sprinkled with stars, prayed
again.

"O mother, listen to me, for I have something fresh to say to you.
Grandfather has not killed himself, but has asked my forgiveness and has
promised to obey me. O mother, I have forgiven him, and he will now take
me to Riolama, to our people. Therefore, O mother, if he dies on the
way to Riolama let nothing be done against him, but remember only that
I forgave him at the last; and when he comes into that place where
you are, let him be well received, for that is the wish of Rima, your
child."

As soon as this second petition was ended she was up again and engaged
in an animated discussion with him, urging him to take her without
further delay to Riolama; while he, now recovered from his fear, urged
that so important an undertaking required a great deal of thought and
preparation; that the journey would occupy about twenty days, and unless
he set out well provided with food he would starve before accomplishing
half the distance, and his death would leave her worse off than before.
He concluded by affirming that he could not start in less time than
seven or eight days.

For a while I listened with keen interest to this dispute, and at
length interposed once more on the old man's side. The poor girl in her
petition had unwittingly revealed to me the power I possessed, and it
was a pleasing experience to exercise it. Touching her shoulder again, I
assured her that seven or eight days was only a reasonable time in which
to prepare for so long a journey. She instantly yielded, and after
one glance at my face, she moved swiftly away into the darker shadows,
leaving me alone with the old man.

As we returned together through the now profoundly dark wood, I
explained to him how the subject of Riolama had first come up during my
conversation with Rima, and he then apologized for the violent language
he had used to me. This personal question disposed of, he spoke of the
pilgrimage before him, and informed me in confidence that he intended
preparing a quantity of smoke-dried meat and packing it in a bag, with
a layer of cassava bread, dried pumpkin slips, and such innocent trifles
to conceal it from Rima's keen sight and delicate nostrils. Finally he
made a long rambling statement which, I vainly imagined, was intended to
lead up to an account of Rima's origin, with something about her people
at Riolama; but it led to nothing except an expression of opinion that
the girl was afflicted with a maggot in the brain, but that as she had
interest with the powers above, especially with her mother, who was
now a very important person among the celestials, it was good policy to
submit to her wishes. Turning to me, doubtless to wink (only I missed
the sign owing to the darkness), he added that it was a fine thing to
have a friend at court. With a little gratulatory chuckle he went on to
say that for others it was necessary to obey all the ordinances of the
Church, to contribute to its support, hear mass, confess from time to
time, and receive absolution; consequently those who went out into the
wilderness, where there were no churches and no priests to absolve them,
did so at the risk of losing their souls. But with him it was different:
he expected in the end to escape the fires of purgatory and go directly
in all his uncleanness to heaven--a thing, he remarked, which happened
to very few; and he, Nuflo, was no saint, and had first become a dweller
in the desert, as a very young man, in order to escape the penalty of
his misdeeds.

I could not resist the temptation of remarking here that to an
unregenerate man the celestial country might turn out a somewhat
uncongenial place for a residence. He replied airily that he had
considered the point and had no fear about the future; that he was old,
and from all he had observed of the methods of government followed by
those who ruled over earthly affairs from the sky, he had formed a
clear idea of that place, and believed that even among so many glorified
beings he would be able to meet with those who would prove companionable
enough and would think no worse of him on account of his little
blemishes.

How he had first got this idea into his brain about Rima's ability to
make things smooth for him after death I cannot say; probably it was the
effect of the girl's powerful personality and vivid faith acting on an
ignorant and extremely superstitious mind. While she was making
that petition to her mother in heaven, it did not seem in the least
ridiculous to me: I had felt no inclination to smile, even when hearing
all that about the old man's wings being singed to prevent his escape
by flying. Her rapt look; the intense conviction that vibrated in her
ringing, passionate tones; the brilliant scorn with which she, a hater
of bloodshed, one so tender towards all living things, even the meanest,
bade him kill himself, and only hear first how her vengeance would
pursue his deceitful soul into other worlds; the clearness with which
she had related the facts of the case, disclosing the inmost secrets
of her heart--all this had had a strange, convincing effect on me.
Listening to her I was no longer the enlightened, the creedless man. She
herself was so near to the supernatural that it seemed brought near me;
indefinable feelings, which had been latent in me, stirred into life,
and following the direction of her divine, lustrous eyes, fixed on the
blue sky above, I seemed to see there another being like herself, a Rima
glorified, leaning her pale, spiritual face to catch the winged words
uttered by her child on earth. And even now, while hearing the old man's
talk, showing as it did a mind darkened with such gross delusions, I
was not yet altogether free from the strange effect of that prayer.
Doubtless it was a delusion; her mother was not really there above
listening to the girl's voice. Still, in some mysterious way, Rima had
become to me, even as to superstitious old Nuflo, a being apart and
sacred, and this feeling seemed to mix with my passion, to purify and
exalt it and make it infinitely sweet and precious.

After we had been silent for some time, I said: "Old man, the result of
the grand discussion you have had with Rima is that you have agreed to
take her to Riolama, but about my accompanying you not one word has been
spoken by either of you."

He stopped short to stare at me, and although it was too dark to see
his face, I felt his astonishment. "Senor!" he exclaimed, "we cannot
go without you. Have you not heard my granddaughter's words--that it is
only because of you that she is about to undertake this crazy journey?
If you are not with us in this thing, then, senor, here we must remain.
But what will Rima say to that?"

"Very well, I will go, but only on one condition."

"What is it?" he asked, with a sudden change of tone, which warned me
that he was becoming cautious again.

"That you tell me the whole story of Rima's origin, and how you came to
be now living with her in this solitary place, and who these people are
she wishes to visit at Riolama."

"Ah, senor, it is a long story, and sad. But you shall hear it all.
You must hear it, senor, since you are now one of us; and when I am no
longer here to protect her, then she will be yours. And although you
will never be able to do more than old Nuflo for her, perhaps she will
be better pleased; and you, senor, better able to exist innocently by
her side, without eating flesh, since you will always have that rare
flower to delight you. But the story would take long to tell. You shall
hear it all as we journey to Riolama. What else will there be to talk
about when we are walking that long distance, and when we sit at night
by the fire?"

"No, no, old man, I am not to be put off in that way. I must hear it
before I start."

But he was determined to reserve the narrative until the journey, and
after some further argument I yielded the point.

 On the following morning, Rima continues to avoid Abel, and his hope that she will confide in him seems futile now. Later, however, Rima approaches Abel as he is sitting listlessly and leads him to the foot of the mountain of Ytaioa. She wants the two of them to climb to the top, and Abel is now convinced that Rima is about to break her silence. When they reach the summit, Rima is curious to know what lies beyond the mountain. Abel starts to explain painstakingly that the view in sight is only a small portion of the entire country -- and that in turn is but a fraction of South America. He then attempts to make her realize the vastness of the whole earth. Rima's voice is tremulous because of her excitement, and she questions Abel about the inhabitants of all those distant regions. Rima especially wishes to know if people such as she exist outside the "green mansions." Abel endeavors to explain to Rima that she is probably the sole survivor of some lost nation and that it is not feasible to undertake a long journey on a fruitless mission, such as finding her vanished race. Mentioning by chance the name of the mountains of Riolama, Abel immediately notices the startling change in Rima. The word has touched her memory. Greatly excited, she says that Riolama is the place she is seeking because her mother was found there and Riolama is her real name. Nothing will now deter her from setting out for Riolama to find the bird people who will welcome her. Rima is infuriated at the realization that Nuflo has known all this time about Riolama and has said nothing. Abel, deeply disturbed by Rima's excited enthusiasm about a trip to Riolama, is unable to convince her that her hopes are unattainable and that she will be heartbroken. Abel can only sum up his reactions by saying, "then I sat down to think." Finally, when Abel goes reluctantly to Nuflo's hut, he discovers the old man hiding in the bushes to escape Rima's wrath. Nuflo curses Abel for his interference in Rima's life, and he likewise blames the young man for disturbing the tranquility of his own isolated existence. The two men begin to argue loudly, and Rima easily finds them. When the girl berates her guardian for concealing the facts about Riolama, Nuflo pleads for mercy because of his advanced age and his past kindness to Rima and her mother. Nuflo seizes a knife and threatens to kill himself when all his entreaties to Rima come to no avail. Although Abel knows that the old man is bluffing, Rima takes him seriously. She prays to her mother, and Abel, for the first time, comprehends Rima's naive spirit and innocence. Rima, begging her dead mother in a simple prayer to punish Nuflo after his death, sways her guardian; he repents out of a credulous fear of Rima's power. Nuflo will, in fact, take Rima to Riolama -- so frightened is he of her influence with her deceased mother's spirit. Now calling upon her mother in another touching prayer to protect Nuflo in his afterlife should anything fatal happen to him on the journey, Rima eagerly makes plans for the trip to Riolama. But Nuflo, wily as always, demands more time for the necessary preparations required for such a long undertaking. Abel, learning through Rima's prayers of her love for him, also realizes that he can exercise some control over the situation because Rima, after all, does rely upon his advice. A compromise agreement to start for Riolama in seven or eight days is accepted by everyone as a logical plan. Abel, however, now sets a price for Nuflo to pay if Abel is to accompany the group: the complete story of Rima's origin, the reasons why Nuflo and she are living such a solitary existence, and the facts about the bird people whom Rima longs to see. Again a compromise is reached. Nuflo agrees to answer Abel's questions, but the old man, in order to relieve the monotony and fatigue of the difficult days ahead, will relate the history in sections as they travel.

