The news & observer., 1905-11-05
| Incidents and Observations,
| r. u GRAY.
~Sl THE EVIL EYE.
THE EVIL EYE.

Out of a crowd, perhaps, possibly in
| the prisoners dock, drifting among
the light clouds of ancient memories
| like the milk-white moon of a fall
| day, there floats before ones con-
| seriousness the shadow of face. Faint
as the recognition is, it reaches the
heart with a shock that is certain and
distinct Where did you see the man
before? The brain travels this way
and that a multitude of somewhat
similar faces pass in review like q
procession of thoughts of old days;
YOU go far afield, come back, start
again on a path that seems always on
the point of revealing its secret and
never does. Again you look at the
face with strained attention. You
mark it's characteristics in detail.
They separate into their parts with
unfamiliar ease, they bind one down
with the weight of their immaterial
evidence. There is nothing by which
one may take hold. The man is
stranger.
Yet, in the very moment of decision,
there comes a glance of the eye,
turn of the wrist, an inclination of
the head. What the senses deny the
heart calls aloud. There he Isl"
seem to say a multitude of still
voices. He is yours at last mark
him well. He is yours, after all time
-remember-oh! remember-lt is
fatal to forget!'
You feel that this is a large secret.
thing to be guarded, to be fondled
in private, to wait with the stealth
of original discovery for the denou
ment which lies behind the crossing
of your eyes and his. With a thrill
of satisfaction you see that the recog-
milton Is not mutual AS glance meets
glance, you watch him with an inner
sense of justifiable guilt, grow nerv-
Gus as one who wonders at the scrut-
ny of a stranger mind. Like cat
playing with mouse you torture
him for proofs. Yes, it is he! And
you know and he does not! 1t is de-
licious, this advantage that you have
in the dark, this looking back through
the ages and catching him unawares,
this approach from the rear the while
he is all unconscious. There is no
longer any conflict between the brain
and the senses The brain has admitted
it's error; it curses itself merely fol
it's forgetfulness. Where you knew
him is immaterial: the point is that
he is here. What you want of him
you do not know: the thing is that
you have him in your eye. You pho
tograph him in all his little details of
manner and expression. His image
is painted indelibly upon the canvas
of your memory. NO" you breathe
softly to yourself "this time I shall
not forget"
It is an evil face, when one knows
how to look at it. Pleasant and simple,
maybe. to those who do not want to
know, ugly to you and fascinating
for the danger that it holds. But the
danger makes you elate, it does not
bear you down nor 4oppress. For,
fool that he is, he has forgotten. All
the little still voices tell you that
in a chorus of triumphant acclaim.
They jog the mind with thousand
elbow-touches at the past. Family
you recall that he was never a man
of much acumen. His was cum
ming of the body and not of the soul.
Amid all the WhisperingS you seem
to remember that once you tricked
him we'll. After the great wrong in
the beginning when first your dying
soul had bade you watch when first
you had painted that picture of his
face in living fire-after that-lOng
after-you had come upon him. He
had remembered that time and you
had rushed together and your hand
was at his throat and his small and
evil eyes were staring into yours.
Slowly you saw the fire of the fight
u1c GOWN III lHe1u, you saw tHtIn
desperate in hate, you held on and
held on and held on; and the small
and evil eyes glinted from the stare
of their hate with q flash of doubt
and uncertainty! and still you held
on. And then there came CLEANS of
fear in those little green eyes, and
then more fear and horror mingliHg
with the bursting of the tiny blood
vessels on the eye-balls, and then a
from a silver cloud from his eyes to
yours, Pickering and wavering and
crying aloud for what it knew it
could not get. And still you held
on and the terror lived a. thousand
years in a glance and went away
and the fire died in his eyes 50 that
they were no longer red and green
with light, but pale grey and dull; and
only the fear lived in them still, but
it was a dead fear which, with a
great leap of your heart you knew
would live through time and which
somehow gave you fear to look at;
and the body relaxed in your hands
and you sat down, looking in the cold
grey eye with the stamp of fear upon
it, breathing heavily but with a great
relief, Done at last" you seem to
hear yourself saying, mo more trouble
from him." Yet here. he is again
anu pOlBIlfLilllyy 81 IlA"I AlC lAle1lA0S
you feel about for the causes which
shall bring the old, inevitable clash
to pass again! And. suddenly, sick
eningly, the question creeps up next
to your heart like the touch of
hand of ice, rs it his turn now?'
Again you look at the face 1t is
impassive, asking IL thousand little
nothings which he is considering. OBJ
livious of the real significance of the
day. Again your glances meet. What
is this? 1t is impossible! Surely he
is not so Grass fool, yet as his
small green eyes meet yours, his evil
face lights with a smile. smile that
seems to imply a confidence. a hand
shake!
And, shocked at his perfidy, you
smile back and chuckle within your
deeper consciousness.
Of verify it is again your tune:
the fool has clean forgotten!
This leaping of face! Where stirs
the emotion what points the memory?
Surely it is not matter or chance.
Here are a thousand people, 1ndlffer-
emf atoms r,opC whom one moves