’That is all right. Then I will show you
my turquoise if there is time, and then you know who
I am, and then we exchange views and documents and
those-all things. And so it is with any other
man of us. We talk sometimes about turquoises
and sometimes about tarkeean, but always with that
little stop in the words. It is verree easy.
First, “Son of the Charm”, if you are in
a tight place. Perhaps that may help you —
perhaps not. Then what I have told you about
the tarkeean, if you want to transact offeecial business
with a strange man. Of course, at present, you
have no offeecial business. You are - ah ha!
— supernumerary on probation. Quite unique
specimen. If you were Asiatic of birth you might
be employed right off; but this half-year of leave
is to make you de~Englishized, you see? The lama
he expects you, because I have demi-offeecially informed
him you have passed all your examinations, and will
soon obtain Government appointment. Oh ho!
You are on acting-allowance, you see: so if
you are called upon to help Sons of the Charm mind
you jolly-well try. Now I shall say good-bye,
my dear fellow, and I hope you — ah — will
come out top-side all raight.’
Hurree Babu stepped back a pace or two into the crowd
at the entrance of Lucknow station and —
was gone. Kim drew a deep breath and hugged
himself all over. The nickel-plated revolver
he could feel in the bosom of his sad-coloured robe,
the amulet was on his neck; begging-gourd, rosary,
and ghost-dagger (Mr Lurgan had forgotten nothing)
were all to hand, with medicine, paint-box, and compass,
and in a worn old purse-belt embroidered with porcupine-quill
patterns lay a month’s pay. Kings could
be no richer. He bought sweetmeats in a leaf-cup
from a Hindu trader, and ate them with glad rapture
till a policeman ordered him off the steps.
Chapter ll
Give the man who is not made
To his trade
Swords to fling and catch again,
Coins to ring and snatch again,
Men to harm and cure again,
Snakes to charm and lure again —
He’ll be hurt by his own blade,
By his serpents disobeyed,
By his clumsiness bewrayed,’
By the people mocked to scorn —
So ’tis not with juggler born!
Pinch of dust or withered flower,
Chance-flung fruit or borrowed staff,
Serve his need and shore his power,
Bind the spell, or loose the laugh!
But a man who, etc.
The Juggler’s Song, op. 15
Followed a sudden natural reaction.
‘Now am I alone — all alone,’ he
thought. ’In all India is no one so alone
as I! If I die today, who shall bring the news
-and to whom? If I live and God is good, there
will be a price upon my head, for I am a Son of the
Charm — I, Kim.’
A very few white people, but many Asiatics, can throw
themselves into a mazement as it were by repeating
their own names over and over again to themselves,
letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what
is called personal identity. When one grows older,
the power, usually, departs, but while it lasts it
may descend upon a man at any moment.
