VI

On an evening Saïd went forth alone into the gardens, to the coffeehouse of Rashìd, which was on the river bank. He was sure to find Selìm there at that hour; and he walked eagerly, having blithe news to tell. At last Mahmud Effendi had humbled himself, and Saïd was master of the bargain, though in no haste to conclude it. One more interview with the needy grandee and he would own the finest freehold palace in the city. Moreover, thanks to his address in beating down the price, he would have plenty of money left when it was paid. The surplus he would employ in trade and usury, to such advantage that he would soon be the richest man in the province and highest in honour. He saw himself a member of the Council of Notables, enthroned at the Wâly’s right hand, advising the Governor in all things.

The sometime fisherman hugged himself at the prospect. As he emerged from the eastern gate the last rays of sunlight, glanced from the dark hilltops, were melting the leafage to amber and pale gold. A rich purple gloom gathered in the east, under a sky of amethyst melting to palest green. Down the narrow road, between stone walls more or less ruined, which led to the pleasure-groves by the riverside, men in flowing robes were sauntering by groups of two and three. Their moving shadows were long, oblique and very blue. Most of them dangled chaplets, whose beads they shifted lazily one by one. A few of the more exquisite held flowers of strong perfume to their nostrils, at which they smelt rapturously with a deep breath like a sigh.

The blaze on the hilltops died suddenly, leaving a glow as of live coal. All things took on soft, dead tints. Shadows grew faint, ashy grey all at once. The sky basked in an afterthought of glory, growing tender for the stars.

A low doorway of the kind which is usual in walled vineyards admitted to the garden, or rather wilderness, in which was the tavern of Rashìd. Saïd bowed his head to pass the lintel, and then stood still in astonishment. In a space pretty clear of the bushes, which formed thickets on every side, there were four tents pitched. Three of them were large marquees; the fourth, a mere canvas screen about a fire, was observed closely by a gathering of curious loafers. Hobbled horses grazed where they could. In the mouth of the largest tent a party of Franks, lounging on chairs of loose structure, were enjoying the cool of the evening. The sound of their laughter reached Saïd, like the beating on a tin for emptiness. From the point of the tent where they sat drooped a small flag of red, white and blue, oddly striped. Saïd knew the pattern of it. It was the same which fluttered on the first day of every week over the dwelling of the English Consul. “Travellers from the land of the English,” he thought, and marvelled at the folly of men who, having wealth and honour in their own country, and being neither merchants nor pilgrims, would thus wander forth in discomfort.

Taking stock of the encampment, he drew near to the tavern. Two or three persons who knew him rose and saluted at his approach. He returned their greeting in a preoccupied manner and passed on to Selìm, who had carried his stool apart and sat against the trunk of a walnut-tree which overhung the stream. Rashìd himself was forward to bring a seat for the merchant and to ask what he would be pleased to drink.

“What news, O my master?” asked Selìm, settling down once more to the enjoyment of his smoke.

“Good news⁠—excellent!” rejoined the other, with a complacent purse of his lips. “Praise be to Allah, one may say that the bargain is concluded.”

“Now, by my beard, I am happy with thee. May Allah make thee blest in it!”

There followed silence between them for a little while; Saïd reviewing his cleverness with a gratified smirk, Selìm gravely watching the dark swirl of the eddies in their bed of pale stones.

“I needs must call in all my money by the third day of next week,” murmured Saïd, as one who thinks aloud.

Selìm knitted his forehead, calculating.

“To hear is to obey,” he said ruefully. “Nevertheless, there is much business and the time is short. Two weeks would scarcely suffice for all that must be done, and behold, thou givest me but a few days. He who sells in a hurry sells at a loss. If, as thou sayest, thou hast made an easy bargain, it cannot surely be that thou wilt need the whole of thy wealth. O my brother, I counsel thee to put off the sale of thy merchandise for at least a little time!”

“It cannot be,” said Saïd, peevishly. “I must know the true sum of my wealth. To buy a fine palace and not to know exactly what was left to him were the action of a fool! The man who did so would be a laughingstock, and rightly despised.⁠ ⁠… By Allah, it would be sweet to hold it all before me⁠—all the great wealth which is mine⁠—to pass my fingers through it as one does through dry grains of corn; to reckon it over and over and know that it is with me in the house. Praise to Allah, who has made me rich!”

“Now, Allah forgive thee, O my brother, for thou settest too great store by thy money. Thy heart and thy soul are in it. At that time evil befalls a man when most he vaunts his honour and is puffed up because of it. It is not right for one to keep too close an account of his goods. A man’s fortune is like his vineyard: the heart of it is his own, but every wayfarer has a share in the outlying parts which skirt the highway. Who would deny a bunch of grapes to the thirsty? And if he pluck for himself, would any be found to blame him? So the heart of thy fortune is thine by Allah’s leave; yet thou shalt not take too exact an account of it, lest from always saying ‘I have so-and-so much’ thou set thy wealth between thee and Allah Most High. When a man has a field of corn he will suffer God’s poor to glean in it at the harvest time. Likewise, when a man is blessed with riches even as thou art, it is seemly that, in taking account, he leave an undefined portion for the poor. Nothing of all a man has is his own, but he must pay a part of it in alms to God. If he omit to do this, Allah Himself shall call him niggard and shall soon strike him down, as unworthy, from his high estate. O my brother, all this while that I have been thy servant it has been in my mind that I would rather be a simple hireling, as I am, than the lord of great riches, as thou art. Many snares are in the path of the great, but⁠—praise be to Allah!⁠—the way of the humble is plain.”

“Thou speakest vainly,” said Saïd, snapping him up; “and thy words have no point for me. All this which thou tellest me so solemnly, as if it were some new piece of wisdom, I have known and observed from childhood. With what one fault canst thou tax me, I should like to know!⁠ ⁠… Do I not give alms to the utmost of all that is mine? Do I not always praise Allah at the appointed hours? Have I ever omitted to purify myself according to the law? By Allah, I wish to know for what cause thou scoldest me!”

Selìm pleaded⁠—

“Nay, O my master, be not angry with me. Allah forbid that I should venture to chide thee at all. I know well that thou art in all things a just man, and I myself have great reason to bless thee. I call Allah to witness that, from the time thou didst bestow on me that rich garment which I still treasure in my house, I have held thee always as a dear brother. It was but as a brother that I spoke to thee, fearing lest thou shouldst make for thyself an enemy whom none may withstand. And in truth I think thou holdest too much by the outward duty of the law, which, as his Honour Ismaìl Abbâs says, is to its spirit as the word is to its meaning, or the shell of a nut to the kernel. Moreover⁠—”

But Saïd stopped his ears.

“Enough! Enough!⁠ ⁠… Thou wilt provide that the goods and the shop be sold, and the money brought to me on the second day; I command thee: it is finished. And now, with thy leave, we will speak of other matters.”

After that Selìm was silent a great while, while Saïd puffed defiantly at his narghileh.

The stars were bright by this time, though the sky above the western horizon was still pale green and lustrous. A single dome of the city, seen through a gap of the foliage, seemed to shine beyond the dark walls with a spiritual whiteness all its own. The moon, a thin crescent like the paring of a fingernail, hung just above it, salient as a jewel on that silky sky. A bird cried drowsily from the upper branches. The wailing voice of a singer came from some other pleasure-house down the stream. The eddies sang and murmured as they sped by.

Anon Saïd picked up his stool and drew near to the tavern.

He had remarked the grouping of those who sat there about some person in their midst, and had caught several deep-breathed “Mashallah’s,” betokening amazement. Undoubtedly there was some storyteller whose fables might serve to while away an hour and dispel the gloom which Selìm’s sanctimonious croaking had cast upon him. He imparted the conjecture to his henchman, who followed, nothing loth.

They set their stools within the circle of light shed by a clumsy lantern which hung from a joist of the roof; their coming hardly noticed by the other customers, so absorbed were they in listening to the words of him who sat in their midst. Those nearest them, on the outskirts, turned their heads for a second and that was all. Rashìd, grown very fat with the years, was leaning against the doorpost of the inner room. His eyes ranged over the seated crowd before him and his lip curled in scorn.

Saïd beckoned him to draw near.

“Who is the narrator, O my uncle?” he whispered. “Is it anyone of whom one has heard? Are his stories worth heeding?”

“Faugh! It is no narrator, effendi, but only a braggart Nazarene who, having acquired a smattering of the learning of the Franks, is become a dragoman. It is a shame that true believers are found to flatter him by giving ear. By the Quran, it angers me to see it! He is a great liar, as thou shalt presently hear.”

Having imparted this to the merchant in an undertone, the taverner returned to his doorpost. The rays of the lantern brought the faces of some of the listeners into warm relief; but the storyteller had his back to the light. He wore a fez set rakishly on one side, and for the rest was very gaily dressed in the Turkish fashion. He seemed consumedly proud of a whip of rhinoceros hide mounted and ringed with silver, for he kept it constantly before the eyes of his audience, illustrating every remark with a flourish. The man’s attitude was boastful and assuming, blent, however, with pride at sitting thus on equal terms with men of the dominant creed. Without, in the blue gloom of the garden, the campfire and the light of a lamp within the largest tent shone bleared and ruddy. Black shapes were seen moving athwart them from one to the other; the travellers were being served with their evening meal.

“And that city⁠—that Lûndra of which thou speakest⁠—is it a great city like this of ours, or a small place like Hama or Zahleh?” asked an old man of poor appearance.

The dragoman laughed loud and long.

“O Allah!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠… How you make me laugh, you men who have seen no land but that you were born in! I tell you that if the city Es-Shâm were five times as great as it is, it would not amount to the half of that great city Lûndra of the English.”

At that there was great outcry of wonder and unbelief. “Mashallah!” cried some and held their peace, aghast. “Allah pardon!” cried others. “Was there ever such a liar? We are simple men and unlearned⁠—that is true⁠—but this thing passes belief!”

“By the Holy Gospel, I speak truth,” insisted the dragoman, with vehemence. “May Allah cut off my life if that which I say exceeds the truth by one little. I am likely to know; for I went to the city of Lûndra and sojourned there half a year by favour of an English lady⁠—no less than a princess, by Allah!⁠—who loved me and would have me with her in the house.”

“Ah, the women! Tell us, I pray thee, O Khawaja, what the women are like,” said a young and handsome Muslim with a chuckle of self-conceit.

The dragoman grew rapturous.

“The women, mean you? Ah, how can I describe them!⁠ ⁠… And yet I promise thee it is not from want of knowledge that my tongue fails me. The girls of that nation are white and often plump. Their hair varies in colour from black to the hue of clean gold. They are cold and difficult to men of their own race, for whom they are used to care nothing; but they are warm and easy of access to foreigners, and especially to us sons of the Arab, whose blood is as fire in our veins, whose speech is impassioned poetry: so different from the men of their nation, in whom the blood is a stagnant pool and the tongue a sluggard. When I was in Lûndra, fair women followed me in the streets to beseech my company. I speak not, you understand, of the loose women of that city, who are very fine and numerous, but of the wives and daughters of men of substance. There were even some who offered me money to go with them. I tell you, any son of an Arab of an agreeable presence could have his pick of the women of that land, from the wife of the greatest Emìr to the daughter of the meanest fellah.”

“By the prophet, I have a mind to visit that country,” said the young Muslim with a fatuous laugh.

“Now in this party which I conduct at present”⁠—the dragoman pointed with his whip in the direction of the tents⁠—“there is a girl⁠—ah! I tell you⁠—a pearl⁠—a delight.” He held out his hand, pressing the tip of his thumb on that of the extended forefinger: the common gesture of those who would describe something too nice for words. “She loves me, and comes forth to me every night while her parents sleep. She entreats me always to marry her; but I am doubtful whether to do so or not. Her father, you must know, is rich⁠—a great lord. It would be honourable to wed the daughter of such an one. Perhaps⁠—Allah knows!⁠—I shall yield at last to her prayers. Hist!”⁠ ⁠… He sank his voice swiftly. “Hither comes the very girl. No doubt she strays in search of me. Observe now, I pray you!”

Saïd stood up so that he could look over the intervening heads. Every neck was craned, and all eyes peered in one direction.

A young girl of about sixteen years, clad in the close-fitting garb of the Frankish women was sauntering towards the tavern, eyeing the scene there with dreamy curiosity. She wore no headdress save her thick fair hair, which hung free down to her shoulders, where it was gathered in and confined by a ribbon. In spite of her unveiled, undraped state, which, to the mind of the onlookers, was little better than nakedness, she moved freely, without a trace of embarrassment, until she grew aware of the gaze of so many prying eyes, when she averted her face and stepped more consciously. She passed just within the sphere of the lantern, so that a faint, warm light played on the outlines of her figure, hinting rather than revealing its slender grace. Her hands clasped behind her neck threw her bosom forward, strengthening the curve of it. Saïd had often seen Frankish women and had marvelled at their lack of modesty, but he had never beheld one so fair, so young and so perfectly shameless. Believing the tale of the Nazarene, he envied the good fortune of that son of a dog.

She was passing by with a timid glance when she caught sight of the dragoman, who to that end had thrust himself forward. She smiled and nodded graciously to him, saying something kind in her own language. The man replied in a tone of familiarity which conveyed all he meant that it should to the minds of his hearers.

“Aha!” said he, as soon as she was out of earshot. “Aha! She is a peerless gem. By-and-by, when her parents sleep, she will steal out to seek me. By Allah, her mouth overflows with honey. The taste of it makes me drunken.”

The young Muslim stared after the maiden; then, turning⁠—

“Now, by my life, thou art in luck’s way,” he said. “It is well seen how fair she is! But her father is surely a man of no understanding, and her mother must be like unto him, to let her thus wander without a covering.”

“There is one law for the daughter of an Arab, another for the child of a Frank,” said the dragoman, sententiously. “As for me, I have dwelt so much among foreigners that a veiled woman is almost a strange thing to me. And, in truth, I know no cause why a woman should veil her face any more than a man, unless she be extremely frightful or loathsome to view.”

The tavern-keeper here spoke for the first time, and severely⁠—

“Young man, thou speakest folly, being a stranger to the Faith that saves. It is a law from of old that every woman shall hide her face from the sight of men. Know that sinful Cabil ebn Adam did lust after his twin sister, Abdul Mughis, and for her sake slew Habil, his brother, who was a good man and dear to Allah. Wherefore it was ordained that all women should hide their shape, that mere lust of the eyes might never more induce so great a crime. Allah is just and merciful!”

At that the garrulous talker was abashed, and his audience looked strange upon him. In the interest they took in his conversation they had all but forgotten the difference of creed. A pause fraught with mutual shyness ensued. Then the dragoman called for more arak and launched forth once more, though with somewhat less of assurance, feeling lonely all at once.

Saïd abode in the little tavern until the first watch of the night was almost spent. He was unaccountably interested in all that the rascal had to tell of that distant land of the English, where the sun was seldom seen, and the women were at once so lovely and so kind to strangers. He questioned the narrator shrewdly as to the state and manner of trade in those parts, and was pleased with the answers he got. It seemed that the finer merchandise of the East⁠—as silks and rich carpets, spices and sweet perfumes⁠—were much prized by the Franks. The way of life there was easy, he learnt, for one who had money and was warmly clad. He felt attracted, and hoped to visit that land.

He imparted this desire to Selìm as they walked back together to the city whose walls rose black before them under a sky pale with stars. But Selìm was chary of sympathy.

“It is true what the drunkard told concerning the Frankish women, how they love men of the East,” he said gravely. “Lo, is there not the English princess in our midst⁠—she who dwells in the house called the House of the English Garden, which is beyond the Christian quarter? She submitted herself to a young man of the Bedawin, and is become his wife. It is true what the dog said. But as for thee, thou hast not yet performed the great pilgrimage; and that must be done ere thou canst think of migrating to a land of unbelief.”

“Perhaps the right is with thee,” rejoined Saïd, moodily. “Yet, from what the infidel said, it must be a pleasant land to dwell in⁠—none like it under Heaven! Didst mark the girl, how sweet she was? By Allah, it is a shame that the son of a dog should have her.⁠ ⁠… I charge thee make all speed with the business of which we spoke. Allah keep thee in peace, and may thy night be happy!”

They kissed and parted at the city gate.