THE JUNGLE
PRESENCE
By DICK HEINE
I BELIEVE that if I had been less fatigued mentally and physically, I should have escaped in some degree the agony of that terrible night—the night that shall never be forgotten while I linger in the flesh.
The Burman sun had finished its scorching course for the day and was sinking behind a dust-and-haze horizon, painting the sky and leaving very little breeze to cool the tired men and beasts whose day was done. The quiet of the evening fell upon me as I walked toward my bungalow through lanes of thirsty green. I had worked hard that day; the company's warehouse man would have his hands full to handle the large number of boxes I had shipped. I rested outside half an hour before going in for the bath and clean, white clothes. Then, refreshed and cool, I ate the light supper my Chinese boy, Loon Koo, had prepared for me.
The moon had risen when I went to the veranda to sit and smoke. I propped my feet up and faced the wide grove and lawn. The jagged edge of a large palm leaf hung over the face of the moon, cutting the yellow disk into triangles. I sat quietly for an hour and enjoyed pipe after pipe.
As I was thinking of retiring, I felt a hot breeze coming in from the grove. The air was hot, oppressive beyond anything I had ever experienced at evening. At once I became uneasy. The nicotine had made me restless, and a sinking, apprehensive feeling came over me. Then came the hint of the presence—the evil presence.
The realization that I was being watched filled me with a horrid dread. The thought of impending danger, an indescribable something about me that sought to do me hurt, made my heart quake with fear. A man shaking, sickened, terrorized with fear! The very shame of it out me to the quick. I leapt to my feet and dashed into the house. My forehead was wet with sweat and my cheeks were pale. I drank some liquor and paced the room.
After three quarters of an hour I managed to brace up my nerves a little. I would not yield to the evil will of the presence without. And so, determined that I would not be driven from my own veranda by an imaginary danger, I returned to the porch and stood by a roof-post. The hot wave still prevailed, and I felt my nervousness returning. Then, as I looked into the moonlit grove, I heard a sigh very near to me; but in front, behind, or where, I could not tell—only near. A moment later there came to my nostrils a peculiar smell, a foul scent from the far-hung tangles of rotting vegetation. I stood still and thought I saw in the air before my face two little green sparks of light shining with the brilliance of polished diamonds.
My strength came. I had seen something material and feared no longer. The sweat cooled. I passed my hand before my face, and the lights were gone. I felt that I had met and conquered a foe, half material and, perhaps, half illusion. I could retire and sleep in peace.
