Page:Weird Tales Volume 02 Number 2 (1937-02).djvu/81

 sight. Now that the vessel was firm on the reef the water had seeped out again, leaving the dead men covered with bits of seaweed and sea-flora. They lay on their bunks, their putty-white faces grinning like fiends. Grimly, one by one, he carried them up to the deck and cast them into the sea. The sharks circled about the vessel in schools. They must have thought that it was feast-day.

it not been for one rift in the lute, life on that island would have been one roundelay of enchantment. The rift was the utter monotony of existence. It was like gazing for ever at the same perfect picture. A sea of azure blue, a sky of ever-changing, ever-charming glory, palms that stood out against the distant hills as clear-cut as cameos. But over all hung a web of silence that was maddening. On the island there was not a living animal; at least none had ever come within the range of their vision save a few giant crabs that haunted the groves like ghouls. But they were not like living things.

Sometimes Jolly Cauldron sat late into the night talking on desultory subjects. More often he lay on the beach and smoked a small black pipe.

"With this pipe," he cried, "I can find all the friends man could desire in the space of a few brief moments. Why do you not join me and we can journey into Elysian Fields together? In time, monotony, especially in the tropics, will sap the vitality of any man. Knowing this, I am making every effort to guard against it. We may be on this island the rest of our lives. You are young. You may live forty years. Can you imagine forty years of unescapable monotony?"

Guy made no reply. He refused to heed the advice of Jolly Cauldron. In its very logic it was sinister. Night after night he sat alone, gazing wistfully out over the sea. In the moonlight the coral-sand glowed whiter than ever. Sometimes he strolled along the beach in an endeavor to break the awful monotony of never-ending hours, but he could find no solace. Even his footfalls were soundless.

By day also the monotony was maddening. On the island there was not even a single bird; at least, neither Guy nor Jolly Cauldron had ever seen one. Jolly Cauldron cared not at all, but Guy was a high-strung individual. The continued calm of the island made him melancholy. At last he gave up his walks in the moonlight. He merely crouched on the beach like a thing of stone. He grew haggard, and his face became the color of old ivory.

One morning he rose at dawn and walked slowly along the shore, as though impelled in his course by some strong hidden force. His body seemed without weight. His feet lifted from the ground without effort. When he talked, no sound came from his lips. He was untrammeled. He was free. He capered along the beach like a merry elf, laughing and jabbering incoherently. During the night he had developed a bit of fever and was slightly delirious.

Eventually he forsook the beach for the coconut groves. He made his way clear back to the hills which neither he nor Jolly Cauldron had ever attempted to explore. Hours passed, but to him they were insignificant. Like gravity, time also had lost its importance. Now in the hills other trees besides the palms commenced to appear, trees of luxurious foliage, trees of tropical splendor. Impulse drove him forward. He made no effort to overcome it. The only thing that mattered was that he was free, not held in check by anything.

Suddenly he paused. He had come to a waterfall, a delightful little cascade