The Man Who Was Dead by Helen Topping Miller Read online

  All-Story Weekly, March 3, 1917

  INE hours out from Bermuda where

  frail a thing—a candle flame flared into

  the green waves snarl at the blue like

  nothing by a breath. Why was it so hard to Ngreedy cur dogs, Burke laid himself die?

  back in his bunk and gave himself up to the He had seen men die—in fever camps

  business of dying.

  among the gaunt, silent pines, in border fights, It was hot on the ship. The little suddenly twitching—strangled by floods or stateroom was hazy with heat, and the electric smothered by flames. And always death had

  fan beat the dead air, an ineffectual, spinning seemed an easy thing, a hand which sponged blur. The open port-hole was a mere circular out the symbols of the clay as though they glimpse of brassy sea and blinding sun, were mere handwriting upon the waters.

  affording no relief.

  But now the summer was nearly spent,

  It took a long time to die!

  and since the plum-trees’ blossoming Burke Burke, prone on his dry, restless had been dying.

  pillow, wondered a little at the prolonged Seven weeks in the bulb-farmer’s

  labor of it, the enduring weariness, the house on the little inlet of glass-blue water—

  relentless grip of a shattered body upon a tired seven weeks which had brought to him each

  and sickened soul. Life had seemed to him so morning a stronger look of doom in the eyes

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  of Henley—and now nine hours on board ship perhaps he could die!

  and still he could not die!

  Of what use was his life? For fifty-five

  Henley was a fine fellow—a fine years it had blessed no man—not even doctor. He had fought the strange, bursting himself! How he had wasted it, this little pain which swelled and quivered in Burke’s strand of golden thread which had been given breast—fought it with morphia and with him! How he had snarled and tangled it, strange drugs with long names, even with dragging it into remote and evil places, cocaine. But the gnawing devil who possessed tangling the feet of innocent folk in the coils Burke’s body was not to be appeased with

  of it until now it hung upon him like a

  potions. Great physicians, wise, simple men, loathsome web which he could not shake off.

  had looked at Burke and fingered his pulse When he was gone Jeanne would have

  and shaken their honest heads. Queer, the money which Burke’s canny old mother, unwashed quacks, sought out from strange

  looking askance upon her wandering son, had corners of the earth, had worked their blatant entailed upon his daughter. So long as Burke exorcisms in vain. But still Henley fought on lived the income was his—a waster’s penny

  doggedly.

  spent before it was gotten. But at his death the That Henley loved Jeanne, Burke’s whole beautiful sum, compounded and strong, beautiful daughter, was a thing the sick plethoric from The nourishing of quiet

  man knew well, and also that the miracles

  accumulation, was Jeanne’s.

  which the young doctor wrought were

  Jeanne would hoard it wisely—Jeanne

  miracles for love. But in Bermuda, Burke had and Henley. Perhaps, he thought with grim

  seen the desperate cheerfulness burn out of humor, they would build him a monument—

  Henley’s face, had seen his hope conquered, he, Burke, the unstable, immured forever

  heard his voice sink to the dead level of beneath one unchanging stone!

  optimism which we accord to dying men and

  The sun slanted up the painted walls,

  children. Burke saw these things with glinted on the futile fan, burnished the plank something of relief. Henley had given up. ceiling. The pain in Burke’s chest thrust up Now he could die. He was eager to begin it!

  and gripped at his throat, wringing his tongue Lying there with the thick, warm air

  dry, setting every fiber of him on edge. He over him like a cloak, he experimented, panted and sweated, picking frantically at the wondering a little how men set about thrusting hot sheet under him.

  through this hindering of the flesh. He held his Then Henley came in. Henley was a

  breath tentatively and relaxed on the hot bed, young man, a little stooped, with tired eyes. In trying to wile his coward spirit forth. But the the hospitals back in the States Henley had pain tore at him, beat and shook and rasped always been the first to plead for morphia him, until his body was taut and dominant

  when the patients sweated, gray-faced with again. If only the pain would leave him in suffering. Burke saw compassion in Henley’s peace he could die!

  eyes as he lay livid, with clutching fingers.

  He turned a little on his side and Henley would give him the veronal now.

  looked at the little bottle with the blue label. It Then, perhaps, when this rending of the flesh held the drug which Henley had promised to had been subdued, he could die!

  try—the drug which would give Burke at least With strong, shaking fingers Burke

  ten hours of sleep—veronal. At two he was to pushed back the hot, rumpled sleeve of his have it. It was twelve now—he could tell by pajama coat. His eyes were eager as he

  the hot slant of the sun in the port-hole. At two watched Henley finger the blue-labeled bottle

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  hesitantly. His tongue was like-sandpaper, and joke—to hang about and watch his body die!

  speech was gone from him, but his eyes and Did all men haunt their own flesh like

  his snatching fingers commanded.

  this, he wondered? What a damn fool way to Henley pushed the hypodermic into the

  end it! He wanted to be away—to explore

  hot flesh. Burke could feel the tingling fibers whatever came next! And here he floated like drinking, gulping at the cool sleep which a silly vapor with ears agape, listening to the drained from the merciful needle.

  wash of the sea on the port-holes and the

  The brazen disk of the port-hole had

  tiptoeing of solemn people overhead.

  faded to a cool, blue-gray shimmer when

  But the pain was gone. All the things

  Burke’s brain quickened and pierced through of the body were gone, every sensation, every the restful oblivion which had possessed him.

  desire. A naked soul was a comfortable thing The air in the stateroom was fresher now, and to live with. Was he dead now?

  he could feel the cool stirring of the fan. Was He must be dead at last!

  this death—this strange lassitude which

  Men were stepping softly into the

  overcame him? This weakness which turned

  room, speaking in hushed voices. They

  his bones to pulp and his body to water?

  crossed his hands upon his breast. Some one He could not lift his fingers from the

  laid a cold, wet cloth over his face.

  sheet where they lay stiffening. He could not At

  last!

  hold his eyelids open. Of their own weight But did he have to hang around this

  they closed. His skin felt cold and rigid upon husk of his forever?

  his body. Strange-moving currents rushed in It was dark, and the heat had gone out

  his ears.

  of the air. Burke found himself thinking of How keen a man’s mind grew at the

  Jeanne—Jeanne who had always been loyal to last! How avid his ears! Burke could hear the her scapegoat father! Would Jeanne care—

  voices of the crew on th
e deck outside, hear now that he was dead?

  the whispering mop of a galley boy in the

  He had never done much for Jeanne.

  corridor. He could almost detect the pulse-beat He was sorry now that he was dead. Since her of some one who sat in the room with him—

  mother’s death she had been a wide-eyed,

  Henley, undoubtedly.

  self-confident girl, living a haphazard life with Once the person came to the bunk and

  relatives who despised Burke cordially. He felt Burke’s pulse. Burke could not see, but he had brought her a red dress once from a

  felt the warm wave from an approaching body filibustering trip to Guatemala. He was glad of on his face, the pressure on his chilling wrist.

  that dress. It made him feel better now that he Did his heart still beat, he wondered? How was gone!

  long it took to die!

  Strange what ideas the preachers had

  It was night now. The light above his

  about death! He had heard one at his wife’s bunk was burning, he could feel the rays funeral, long ago, orating about the gates of smiting his eyeballs through closed lids. Two onyx and streets of jasper and the swelling men were whispering at the door. One was

  music of the spheres. He had pictured death as Henley.

  a sort of torchlight procession into a wealthy

  “Practically the end,” Burke heard and melodious land. And here it was—no Henley say. “You can hardly detect any heart change at all! You simply withdrew a little action with a stethoscope.”

  way out of your body and listened to what was Burke’s lips were stiff and chill, but

  going on in the world. What a joke on the

  the vagabond soul of him grinned. What a

  preachers!

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  It was morning now. Burke could hear

  Men were running along the decks

  the clink of crockery in the galley, the scurry now. He could hear sharp cries, loud

  of feet above on deck, the quickened purr of commands, the yelp of the megaphone,

  the engines. Men were coming down the purring bells, the frightened leap of the corridor. He could hear them arguing, Henley engines!

  and the captain and the ship’s doctor.

  How did a submarine happen to be on

  They were going to bury him at sea—

  this side? And why should it attack this ship—

  that was it. And Henley was protesting that a slow, peaceful boat, loaded with wool and they were only twenty-four hours out—that

  onions? There were not many passengers

  the ship carried her own ice. Henley was aboard, Burke remembered—only Henley and trying to save him for Jeanne, to be anchored himself and a few farmers from the islands, of forever under a memorial weight of stone.

  polyglot nationalities.

  Burke was glad when the captain prevailed.

  They were making the boats ready

  The sea was free and wide, and no man knew now. He could hear the tackle rattle in the what lay therein. Burke had always loved the chocks. The screws leaped breathlessly,

  sea.

  flinging the boat forward in great, plunging There was no vision left to him, but he

  jerks. But by the low, tense voices of those on knew that they carried him up on deck—

  deck Burke knew that the under-sea boat was carried his rigid body with the soul of him gaining—that it was frankly pursuing them!

  somehow trailing along. He was conscious of Suddenly the ship gave a quiver as

  the live stir of air outside, of the warmth of the though she winced from a blow. There was a sun, even of the smell of the sea.

  sound of ripping amidships on the port side, They laid him down on a clean-and a sharp, sulfuric odor and a jar! Then the smelling canvas with a linen sheet folded deck under Burke heaved up with a roar, and about him. Soon they would sew him in with a dust and splinters fell in his face. He could lead weight at his feet. They would moor no hear water rushing below.

  dragging weight to his spirit, he knew. He The engines choked, roared, and

  wondered where it would go when his body

  stopped. Feet tore up the companionways.

  slid, still and stiff, into the sea!

  There was much loud shouting and the

  Death was a great adventure. And men

  nervous rattle of boats being lowered. Burke feared it!

  heard Henley’s voice—even, unafraid. There Why didn’t they finish him up? The

  were plenty of boats, the young doctor was captain, a stolid English-Lutheran, had gone saying, and the New Jersey coast was only a below to rummage for his service book.

  night away!

  “We now commit his body to the

  Then it was still. The ship was rolling,

  deep—” Burke remembered that much of it.

  and Burke’s stiff body rolled a little way They were all watching something on

  across the shattered deck. The water was

  the port bow, something which had stolen up washing over him now, and his feet rose

  out of the salty dawn, something which foolishly as the waves smote them.

  brought a shrill quality of fear into the voices

  “We now commit his body to the

  of the passengers. Burke had heard it coming.

  deep!”

  His spirit-ears were very keen. He had heard it How easily his body floated! If only

  creeping with a soft crackling, under the they had got that lead weight fixed, the rites surface of the sea.

  would have been accomplished automatically.

  A

  submarine!

  The ship must be going down, he could feel

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  the whirl and suck of the waters. The suction rudely out of the restful inertia where it had kept him spinning, but still he floated. Death floated.

  had been withheld from him, and now burial It was the pain!

  was denied him. Even the sea refused his

  The

  pain!

  bones!

  He was alive!

  The ship was gone now. The sea

  He was alive!

  quivered, but the violent heaving had ceased.

  As the strained fibers of him vibrated

  The boats were gone. They would not linger with the returning current of life Burke felt a near the vortex of a plunging ship to salvage hot anger surge through him. Meddling fools!

  him—a worthless dead man. He was alone.

  Why had they disturbed him—tortured him

  All the face of the moving waters was his.

  back to earth—thrust this diseased clay with Then a soft sound of washing waves

  its pangs upon his tired soul?

  came to his ears, a liquid, gurgling sound of He opened his eyes—they came open

  something rising from the sea. The quite easily now—and looked at the men who submarine—he had forgotten it. It was coming stood around him. Kindly men they were with up now, creeping near to see what ruin it had tired eyes, men who looked like the fathers of wrought. He heard the flip of a screw—voices.

  sons and the sons of fathers. And yet not an They spoke a language he knew. Burke

  hour ago they had sent a peaceful merchant knew many languages. Now they were ship careening to the bottom of the smothering shouting. A man plunged overboard. Burke

  ocean.

  could hear his splashing progress as he

  An old man with a white mustache

  wallowed nearer. Then a hand clutched him.

  bent over him. His fingers were on Burke’s He felt himself towed, inert, pulse. His straight, strong lips curved in a unresisting, violently through the torn water.

  smile.

  The hull of the under-water craft rose sleek

  “He’s coming out,” he said in the

>   and slippery as the belly of a fish. With a line tongue which Burke understood. “He’s had a they dragged him up, bent him double, thrust stiff dose—combined with acute angina

  his stiff limbs through a hatch.

  pectoris. I have seen such suspended

  Men bent over him, talking in a tongue

  animation only once—in Freiburg!”

  that he knew. One laid his stiff hands straight.

  Burke closed his eyes again wearily.

  “Dead!”

  he

  muttered.

  Now it was all to do over again—the thing he But another contradicted him in a tone

  had thought well done! Again he cumbered

  of authority, rolling Burke’s eyelids back with the earth, a disgrace to his friends, a blight a practiced forefinger.

  upon Jeanne! Why couldn’t they have let him

  “This man’s not dead,” he declared.

  die?

  “He’s been drugged!”

  They were discussing him. Two of

  They brought a strange steel apparatus

  them were arguing. He must be put ashore.

  and pressed it against his chest. They inflated There was some discussion about the boat.

  his sunken ribs and sent a current rending But Burke only lay still, very weary, hating through his spine. And all the while Burke lay the body with its pangs which he had been

  and grinned in his soul. Of course he was

  forced to reclaim.

  dead! What fools to try to bring a dead man The old man gave him something

  back to life!

  through a hypodermic and the pain lessened.

  Then suddenly something flashed He felt stronger, quieter, even a little hungry.

  through his rigid body, snatching his soul They brought broth in a quill and dripped it

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  between his set jaws. His lips were cracked never tried—begging!

  and cold, and the salt of the broth stung them.