The Moon and Sixpence

Chapter LVI
T
HEN
TWO
YEARS
more went by, or perhaps three,
for time passes imperceptibly in Tahiti, and it is
hard to keep count of it; but at last a message
was brought to Dr. Coutras that Strickland was
dying. Ata had waylaid the cart that took the
mail into Papeete, and besought the man who
drove it to go at once to the doctor. But the doc-
tor was out when the summons came, and it was
evening when he received it. It was impossible
to start at so late an hour, and so it was not till
next day soon after dawn that he set out. He
arrived at Taravao, and for the last time tramped
the seven kilometres that led to Ata’s house. The
path was overgrown, and it was clear that for
years now it had remained all but untrodden. It
was not easy to find the way. Sometimes he had
to stumble along the bed of the stream, and some-
times he had to push through shrubs, dense and
thorny; often he was obliged to climb over rocks
in order to avoid the hornet-nests that hung on
the trees over his head. The silence was intense.
It was with a sigh of relief that at last he came
upon the little unpainted house, extraordinarily
bedraggled now, and unkempt; but here too was
the same intolerable silence. He walked up, and
a little boy, playing unconcernedly in the sun-
shine, started at his approach and fled quickly
away: to him the stranger was the enemy. Dr.
Coutras had a sense that the child was stealthily
watching him from behind a tree. The door was
wide open. He called out, but no one answered.
He stepped in. He knocked at a door, but again
there was no answer. He turned the handle and
entered. The stench that assailed him turned him
horribly sick. He put his handkerchief to his nose
and forced himself to go in. The light was dim,
and after the brilliant sunshine for a while he
could see nothing. Then he gave a start. He could
not make out where he was. He seemed on a
sudden to have entered a magic world. He had a

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The Moon and Sixpence
vague impression of a great primeval forest and
of naked people walking beneath the trees. Then
he saw that there were paintings on the walls.
“
Mon Dieu, I hope the sun hasn’t affected me,”
he muttered.
A slight movement attracted his attention, and
he saw that Ata was lying on the floor, sobbing
quietly.
“Ata,” he called. “Ata.”
She took no notice. Again the beastly stench
almost made him faint, and he lit a cheroot. His
eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and now
he was seized by an overwhelming sensation as
he stared at the painted walls. He knew nothing
of pictures, but there was something about these
that extraordinarily affected him. From floor to
ceiling the walls were covered with a strange
and elaborate composition. It was indescribably
wonderful and mysterious. It took his breath
away. It filled him with an emotion which he
could not understand or analyse. He felt the awe
and the delight which a man might feel who
watched the beginning of a world. It was tre-
mendous, sensual, passionate; and yet there was
something horrible there, too, something which
made him afraid. It was the work of a man who
had delved into the hidden depths of nature and
had discovered secrets which were beautiful and
fearful too. It was the work of a man who knew
things which it is unholy for men to know. There
was something primeval there and terrible. It
was not human. It brought to his mind vague
recollections of black magic. It was beautiful and
obscene.
“
Mon Dieu, this is genius.”
The words were wrung from him, and he did
not know he had spoken.
Then his eyes fell on the bed of mats in the
corner, and he went up, and he saw the dread-
ful, mutilated, ghastly object which had been
Strickland. He was dead. Dr. Coutras made an
effort of will and bent over that battered horror.

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227
Somerset Maugham
Then he started violently, and terror blazed in
his heart, for he felt that someone was behind
him. It was Ata. He had not heard her get up.
She was standing at his elbow, looking at what
he looked at.
“Good Heavens, my nerves are all distraught,”
he said. “You nearly frightened me out of my
wits.”
He looked again at the poor dead thing that
had been man, and then he started back in dis-
may.
“But he was blind.”
“ Yes; he had been blind for nearly a year. ”