A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE DEVIL-FISH 95 and tried to forget and help him to forget that piteously grotesque monstrosity on his brow. Gradually he relaxed to enjoy the ease and grace of his surroundings, and showed himself pitifully eager for news of the world, the world to which he had so obviously once belonged. Suddenly, huwever, as they lounged on deck, they were startled to see him break of* in the midst of a phrase, grip the arms of his chair, and listen with set, averted eyes and tense muscles. Unconsciously they all fell silent—listening, too. Bes in the now darkened village un- der the fringe of palms a low wailing rose, swelled, and mingled wildly with the crash of the surf—the thin, blood- curdling ululations of a primitive woman inourning for a lost loved one. The effect upon the American was startling. With a crooning exclamation he sprang from his chair as if responding to an expected summons. Then, mutter- ing an apology, he shamefacedly settled back into the cushions and resumed the conversation with a dogged concentration. Again and again that shrill cry forced itself upon our attention, a cadence whose heartbroken insistence is beyond descrip- tion. There crept into it and mingled with it the reverberant monotone of a drum. After his first outbreak the strange guest’s only reaction was momentarily to close his eves and tighten the grip of his chair, until the tortured reed creaked. Finally, however, he rose, and with hands locked behind him, paced in carefully re- strained strides up and down the deck. Here he begred them to leave him when they retired; and here, still pacing up and down, Jorneaux found him hours later, when, unable to sleep, the Frenchman turned out for a smoke. During the hours before dawn the tor- tured man told Jorneaux the rest of his story, strangely bared of reserves for a man of the class to which he obviously be- longed. Cast by his mishap upon the hospitality of the natives of the atolls, he had found their courteous consideration equalled only by their delight at his advent. With reverently exploring fingers they stroked his white skin and fondled his fair hair— men, women, and children alike. Perhaps vague atavistic perceptions recognized in his fine blond virility the race ideal of Caucasian ancestors. Per- haps he was to them a kind of fairy dream come true. Their speech, varying ouly as a dialect from the already familiar tongue of the Marquesans, he already. understood. No white man had ever visited them hefore, they told him. They were not seafarers themselves, never venturing out of sight of land; and hoats from the outside sel- dom put into these treacherous shores. There had been one. many moons ago, from the nearest island; but there might never he another. The channel was very bad, they understood, and there was lit- tle here to tempt outsiders to dare it. The pearl fishing was not good. Three times he ventured alone in an open hoat to seek the nearest island. Once the current washed him back upon the reef; once he was rescued from the surf by some of his hosts who had hovered about. hugging to land, to watch his prog- ress; and once, after drifting hopelessly for three days, he was washed in on a phenomenal tide, half crazy with thirst. He was in despair, for there was a girl at home—a super girl, as he described her to Jorneaux—exquisitely alluring, yet square and sportsmanlike as a man. He must get back to her and to his work. Gradually, however, a; he had become convinced of the hopelessness of his plight, the atolls began to weave about him their d >wsy spell. His body, loug since naked, no longer felt the fastidious revulsion of race. He somehow forgot why he had ever felt it finer or better than those of the magnificent. clean-limhed sons of the sea about him. He told Jorneaux that he had read about the baleful magic with which the tropics lull to slumber the race prejudices and traditions of the Anglo-Saxon. It was not until Lamaiia came that he recog- nized his danger. She had been for months in seclusion, as is the custom with young girls of the tribe when they approach womanhood. Now the time was ripe for her formal introduction to her world ; probably it was ! :cause he was permitted-—in violation of all tradition—to come upon her alone, one night, that the man, prompted by MICLOOOKS @) (C(O) (C(O)