CHAPTER 13
THE RETURN OF GURAN"Guran," Kit called, leaning out of the window. The little man nodded, satisfied he had come to the right place. Kit was about to tell him to wait, and to go down to meet him, but Guran didn't wait. There was a drainpipe on the wall, and he quickly climbed up to Kit's window. He came into the room and the two faced each other.
Ten years had passed since they'd seen each other. A full decade. Guran, now thirty-two (Kit figured rapidly), seemed unchanged, a stocky little figure whose head barely reached above Kit's waist. Guran looked up at Kit. He had left a slim boy. He now faced a powerful young giant. They looked at each other awkwardly. Kit's first impulse had been to embrace his old friend. But Guran seemed stiff and formal, and, at a second glance, had changed. He was heavier, his face lined, and more mature. In the brief moment before Guran spoke, Kit had a sinking feeling of apprehension. Why was he here?
"I bring you a message from the Deep Woods," said Guran in his simple pygmy tongue. "Your father asks that you return at once."
"Is he sick?" said Kit, trying to read the stolid face.
"He is dying," said Guran. Like all his people, he did not mince words. He came to the point. Dying? His father, the Twentieth? As strong as an oak, as solid as granite? It was not possible. His legs suddenly felt weak. He sat in a chair.
"Dying. How Soon?" he asked.
"Soon. He waits for you," said Guran.
"What is it? Disease, accident?" asked Kit.
"Knife-wounds," said Guran. "Bandits."
There was no time for further details now. That would come later. Kit must leave at once. Now.
"Now?"
To Guran the pygmy, "now" was not tomorrow, not in four hours or ten minutes. Now was right now.
Kit's mind raced. Tomorrow-Kit Walker Day. Exams. Graduation. Diana. Father dying. Now.
It was now because a small chartered plane was waiting at the local airport. It was necessary to leave in the plane at once to reach the scheduled flight in the large overseas plane that made the direct trip to Bangalla. If they missed that plane, there was no other direct flight for another week. That might be too late.
Kit was too confused at that moment to wonder how Guran had made all these arrangements. He learned later that old Doctor Axel, summoned from his Jungle Hospital to the Skull Cave, had done it all. Kit grabbed his toilet articles and threw them into a little old duffel bag. It didn't occur to him at that moment that it was the same duffel bag he had brought to America. He looked at his closet full of clothes, trousers, sweaters, team uniforms; his bureau full of shirts, and socks, and all the rest; shelves of books, notebooks, and photos. A large framed photo of Diana was on his desk. He put it in the duffel bag. Everything else would be useless in the Deep Woods. One last look at his room. He started toward the door, then stopped. There were friends in the halls. No one must see him leave. He went to the window and slid down the drainpipe, Guran following him.
It was late at night, few people were out, most of the college was asleep. Kit and Guran moved quickly to some bushes.
"Wait here," he said.
"Must leave now," said Guran flatly.
"There is one thing I must do. Wait," repeated Kit. He left the duffel bag with Guran and moved across the campus lawn, keeping behind trees and bushes to avoid being noticed by the few couples still enjoying the mild spring night. He reached the women's dormitory. He knew in which room Diana was sleeping. There was no drainpipe handy, but the large granite blocks of the wall gave him a foothold and he climbed high to the third floor. Diana's window was open and the room dark.
"Diana," he whispered. "Diana."
There was a frightened intake of breath from the dark room, a pause, then the soft low voice.
"Is that you Kit?"
"Yes, I must talk to you."
A rustle of silk, and she came to the window, her hair hanging below her shoulders.
"Oh Kit," she said in alarm, "You shouldn't have climbed up. Please come in. You'll fall."
"No time, Diana, darling, I must say good-bye," he said.
Good-bye? Was she dreaming? Or had Kit gone mad?
Or was he drunk? But he never drank alcohol of any kind.
"Good-bye?" she said faintly.
"I can't explain. I will someday. But I must go home. At once. My father is dying," he said.
His father dying? Part of the mystery he would never speak about. Now the mystery was suddenly real, big and dark, coming between them.
"I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say. Then. .. "Will you come back?"
"I don't know. But I will write you," he said.
"Kit Walker Day?" she said, suddenly remembering.
"I can't wait. Diana, please tell them nothing. You haven't seen me tonight. I'll write later to Aunt Bessie and Ephraim. But I want no one to know."
"What will they think?" she asked.
He was sitting on the windowsill in the darkness. There was a half-moon low in the sky, and Diana's lovely face was white in the moonlight.
"I don't know what they'll think, but I'm late now. I had to come to say good-bye."
She put her hands on his shoulders, suddenly frantic that he was leaving.
"How did you know about your father? What happened?" she asked.
"A messenger came. He is waiting. I can stay no longer," he whispered. "Diana. I love you."
He kissed her lightly on the lips, then on the forehead.
"Good-bye."
"Oh Kit . . ."
But he was already on his way down. She leaned out, watching fearfully as he climbed down a story, then dropped to the lawn. He waved from the dark ground, then rushed off. She stared in the darkness, following his retreating figure.
He disappeared among some bushes. Then, she vaguely saw his figure, followed by a small figure, disappear into the night. Was the smaller figure a child? Her mind raced back a decade. Kit and Guran the pygmy, on the banks of the swimming hole. Was that the messenger? She watched the moon move behind dark clouds. Then she stretched out on her bed, and wept into the pillow. It had all been so unreal. Maybe it was a dream, a nightmare. When she awoke in the morning, he would be waiting for her at the foot of the broad stairs. But the hollow feeling inside told her it was no dream.
