Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

MOTION PICTURI God vv a s learning. Pulke, the pearl diver, did not reason this out. He only knew that he had been diving for months and months for a jiearl he knew o f which must surely bring him the possession of the Princess of K o 1 p e e . 1 1 e knew that bet ween him and that consummation '•lood now not merely the finding of the jiearl, but the slender black figure of the man with the “head of a little sun.” There are certain definite and very simple measures in the South Sea Islands. One bears a grudge. One goes to the king and demands the death of the inimical one. Thus Pulke. He went to Alajah, King of Kolpee and father of Zara, and told him fervently that this missionary was in Kolpee not for the purpose of a new God, but for the purpose of Zara. He, Pulke, desired the death of Stark. Alajah was not a king by reason of a cool .sense of judgment, and life was very tame. The death of the white mis^ionary, with his evangelical face and stirring words, would be a sensation. No doubt a fete could be held. There could be feasting, and it might be .something of a pacifism to the now impending black typhoon. There was one gentle spot in Alajah. His love for Zara. He looked upon Zara almost with superstition. He had seen the miracle of her birth, the surpassing miracle of her growth, the blessing of her bourgeoning beauty. There was no female on Koli)ee to be compared to Zara. And she was his. She was the only thing, the only achievement, on which Alajah could look with a swelling of his copper chest, an inflation of his pride. When she pleaded with him, arms about his barbaric neck, for the life of the white missionary, he acceded. He reserved judgment. Zara turned on Pulke and bared her teeth. “You cause white man’s death,” .she spat at him, “and you die slowly, by poison. I kill you. Zara, reigning princess. I kill you . . . horrible ...” That afternoon, in Stark’s cabin, Zara put her arms about / after Zara f , pronunciation of lov the dreaded black t phoon came upon the vi lage. The ancient supe stition of sacrifice ro tenfold. Zara offer( herself him. She pulled reluctant head to her .She whispered to hi and said that she ui derstood, that tf love he had come teach was the love si felt, that he was Gc and she worshipt him. She told it him brokenly, guttu ally, with her in mense, hot, savaj heart in the tellin with all of the gro ing, befogged soul had tried, not whol in vain, to quicke She promised hit brokenly, to be h i s peopl She said s had ret books at t m i s s i c s c h o 0 There h; been preac before . . and she knew . She would be slave . . . thing . . . his 1 ture queen he would be Ki' of Kolpee, or ji God, as he already was . . . or he could go forth on the s< as he had come and she would follow him, cradling him in 1 arms. She whispered violent things to him, and he felt j mantle of her passion swoop down upon him like a robe | many throbbing colors. He had come to teach the Holy Word of God . . . and had taught the pitiful love of man . . . himself . . . to t woman, who was so savagely, tragically . . . just woman He prayed for help. Zara drew back from his stillness. Her jeweled eyes W' dimmed as tho fires had been killed in them. She tried speak, and at last made articulate. “You . . . dont love me Winthrop Stark did not answer. Refutation seemed to impossible in face of this palpitant heart, which seemed to to be breathing nakedly before him, a flower he was about crush . . . He moved away and bent over the small trunk' which he kept his small possessions. Without speaking, handed her a modest silver frame encircling a modest, v young face ; a face banded with smooth hair, with guild mouth and calm, unquestioning eyes. Zara stared at it. I vivid face questioned the smooth one in the frame. Her fj ishing eyes besought the replete ones. The cry she g .startled Wfinthrop Stark, startled even the cabin not unu to the mortally wounded yelps of animals hurt. She met his eyes. And he shook his head in the affirmat “She is too cold,” screamed Zara, utterly distraught. “I know not of love . . . nothing, I tell you . . . nothing wl ever . . . at all . . .” Winthrop Stark closed his eyes. A line flashed thru head: “Love’s dim, cathedral ways ...” It was so vh (Forty)