VII

Early on the morning of the second day of the week Saïd strode through the bazaars towards that familiar upper room which was his shop and which would soon be no longer his. His servant walked a little in advance of him, using the furled parasol as a staff to admonish such of the crowd as were slow to make way. All the ways were thronged with noisy folk. The whole city hummed of life. Rifts in the crazy roof admitted a sunbeam here and there⁠—a bar of light, hazy with dancing motes, which transfigured wayfarers for a moment, causing the colours of their raiment to bloom, and fade as suddenly.

Many of the traders who sat cross-legged behind the stalls bordering the causeway were well known to Saïd. He used his right hand to salute them as he passed; his left hung limp, telling the amber beads of a chaplet. Pleasant odours assailed his nostrils, for many vendors of perfumery had their shops in the lane he was threading.

He was light at heart. The full tale of his fortune was to be told into his hands that day, and on the morrow he would dazzle Mahmud with a part of it. He remembered how Selìm had ever striven to dissuade him from taking this sure path to glory; and his lip curled with the blandest scorn. Selìm was a good man and pious; he could be trusted to the utmost at all times. But he lacked the fire and enterprise which exalt one above others. Calling to mind the fable of the beggar and the collar of gold, Saïd quaked with inward laughter. It tickled him to think that such a story had been told for his instruction⁠—to him, the wiliest of men living.

A woman, cowled and veiled, stood in the way before him, conversing with a tall Christian. The man was dressed in the Turkish fashion, with a tight vest of murrey-colour buttoned down the front, a blue zouave jacket, and a sack for trousers. The woman was shrouded in dull crimson⁠—a common choice of colour. They blocked Saïd’s path in spite of the servant’s cry of “Oäh!” He observed them pretty narrowly in passing, thinking shame that the wife of a Muslim should converse with an unbelieving pig. When he was a little way beyond them the voice of the woman startled him. For a moment he could have sworn that it was Ferideh speaking. He turned sharply to look back, but the conversation was over and the woman lost to sight in the throng.

He felt uneasy. It was the hour when Ferideh and her handmaid were wont to visit the bath. He had sometimes remarked upon the length of time she spent there, and had heard her excuses. Could it be that she was deceiving him? The more he thought of it the less likely it seemed. She had been most docile of late, fulfilling his heart’s desire gladly in all things. Besides Ibrahìm, the doorkeeper, was there to watch her, and he at any-rate was trusty; he would never suffer her to go forth alone. A little reflection showed his fear groundless.

A loud shout to clear the way disturbed his musing. He looked and saw a rider drawing near, well seen above the press of foot-passengers. The crowd parted, making way for an old man of exceeding fatness mounted upon an ass, which was kept at an ambling pace by the vigorous prods of one who walked behind, using his staff for a goad.

“May thy day be happy, O Abu Khalìl!” cried Saïd, merrily. “Whither away so early?”

The fat taverner, who of all men was used to be most friendly to Saïd, for once seemed alarmed to encounter him. He returned the merchant’s greeting falteringly, as one aghast at some sight of terror. He neither reined in his steed nor showed the least wish to parley, but rather urged the donkey to greater speed by vicious digs with the sharp corners of the iron stirrups.

“Cut short thy life!” cried Saïd after him. “What ails thee, old man? Surely thou art possessed with a devil!⁠ ⁠… Allah keep thee, O Camr-ud-dìn; what is amiss with thy father?”

The young man stood still to scowl at the speaker. Then, seized with sudden anger, he threatened Saïd with his stick.

“My father is a just man and honourable, and thinks shame to speak with a murderer!” he hissed. “Who was it that slew his father shamefully for the sake of gain? Thou knowest not who it was, I warrant! The blood of Mustafa, my father’s friend, is between us, O thou false saint!”

He spat on the ground for very loathing, and so ran on to catch up the donkey which, curbed only by the weak hands of Abu Khalìl, was making sad havoc of the crowd.

Saïd had shrunk back, fearing violence. For some time he strove to collect his wits. Roused at length by the servant’s inquiries touching his health, he became aware that people were staring at him.

“By Allah, it is a lie!” he gasped. “May Allah strike me dead if one word of what the dog said is true!”

The bystanders thought him raving. They murmured of compassion one to another. The servant took his arm respectfully to lead him home; but Saïd, recovering his balance, shook him off and ordered him angrily to lead on. He was glad to be sure that few, if any, had observed the true cause of his discomfiture.

As he pursued his way through the shaded markets like passages in a vast house, he pondered the words of Camr-ud-dìn with mingled anger and distress. It was not hard to guess the source of the libel. Nûr had sworn to make him rue the day he flouted her, and this foul slander was undoubtedly the firstfruits of her spite. The lie was chosen with devilish cunning. He could by no means disprove it, for there had been no eyewitness to the manner of Mustafa’s death. His only course was one of flat and obstinate denial, and even then many were sure to think he spoke false.

But in the very midst of gloomy forebodings a droll memory came to make him chuckle. He grinned broadly, and his eyes twinkled under brows still lowering. It had often been told him how, at the burying of Mustafa, Abu Khalìl had all but met his death through excess of mourning. The faithful have the custom to put a little soap in their mouths when attending a funeral, that the foam on their lips may vouch for the frenzy of their grief. Now Abu Khalìl, being an elderly man and wheezy, had managed to swallow his piece of soap at the very outset, before it was well melted. It had stuck in his throat, choking him; so that he flung himself on the ground, spitting, coughing and struggling in mortal terror. All those who walked with him, ascribing these antics to respect for the deceased, looked on admiringly; until Camr-ud-dìn, divining the true cause, rolled his father over and thrust a finger down his throat, when they saw the fun of it and fell a-quaking, exaggerating the gravity of their faces to mask the untimely mirth convulsing them.

He had always felt friendly towards Abu Khalìl, and to know the old man’s mind estranged from him was of itself a cruel blow. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that on the morrow he would be the peer of princes, owning a great palace, and so out of reach of the malice of these low people.

No sooner did he arrive at the shop than all cares were drowned in the instant bliss of counting out a great sum of money all his own. His entire wealth was there before him, bestowed in leathern bags whose fullness was a joy to see. He abode in that upper room, drinking sherbet, smoking and gloating over his riches till the fall of night, when, with the help of Selìm and his son, he conveyed the treasure privately to the hiding-place prepared for it in his own house. The delight of possessing so much made him generous, and Selìm’s faithfulness was suitably rewarded. Saïd sat late upon the housetop that night, looking out over the city and up at the moon, a great pride choking him and bringing tears to his eyes.