Sister Teresa Part 11

"But, _Sidna_, their hunger can be excited by a drug, and this drug is Tahar's secret."

"Then to-morrow we start, though there be sand storms or rain storms, whatever the weather may be."

The dragoman condoned Owen's mistake in feeding the eagles.

"The gazelles come down from the mountains after the rains; we shall catch sight of some on our way."

A few hours after he rode up to Owen and said, "Gazelles!"

When he looked to the right of the sunset Owen could see yellow, spotted with black; something was moving over yonder among the patches of rosemary and lavender.

The gazelles were far away when the caravan reached the rosemary, but their smell remained, overpowering that of the rosemary and lavender; it seemed as if the earth itself breathed nothing but musk, and Owen's surprise increased when he saw the Arabs collecting the droppings, and on asking what use could be made of these he was told that when they were dried they were burnt as pastilles; when the animal had been feeding upon rosemary and lavender they gave out a delicious odour.

Then the dragoman told Owen to prepare for sand grouse; and a short while afterwards one of the Arabs cried, "Grouse! Grouse!" and a pack of thirty or forty flew away, two falling into the sand.

They came upon a river in flood, and while the Arabs sought a ford Owen went in search of blue pigeons, and succeeded in shooting several; and these were plucked and eaten by the camp fire that night, the coldest he had known in the Sahara. When the fire burnt down a little he awoke s.h.i.+vering. And he awoke s.h.i.+vering again at daybreak; and the cavalcade continued its march across a plain, flat and empty, through which the river's banks wound like a green ribbon.... Some stunted vegetation rose in sight about midday, and Owen thought that they were near the oasis towards which they were journeying; but on approaching he saw that what he had mistaken for an oasis was but the ruins of one that had perished last year owing to a great drought, only a few dying palms remaining. Oases die, but do new ones rise from the desert? he wondered. A ragged chain of mountains, delightfully blue in the new spring weather, entertained him all the way across an immense tract of barren country; and at the end of it his searching eyes were rewarded by a sight of his destination--some palms showing above the horizon on the evening sky.

IX

As the caravan approached the beach he caught sight of an Arab, or one whom he thought was an Arab, and riding straight up to him, Owen asked:

"Do you know Tahar?"

"The hunter?"

"Yes," and breathing a sigh, he said he had travelled hundreds of miles in search of him--"and his eagles."

"He left here two or three days ago for Ain Mahdy."

"Left here! Good G.o.d!" and Owen threw up his arms. "Left two days ago, and I have come from Ain Mahdy, nearly from Tunis, in search of him! We have pa.s.sed each other in the desert," he said, looking round the great plain, made of s.p.a.ce, solitude, and sun. It had become odious to him suddenly, and he seemed to forget everything.

As if taking pity on him, Monsieur Beclere asked him to stay with him until Tahar returned.

"We will hunt the gazelles together."

"That is very kind of you."

And Owen looked into the face of the man to whom he had introduced himself so hurriedly. He had been so interested in Tahar, and so overcame by the news of his absence, that he had not had time to give a thought to the fact that the conversation was being carried on in French. Now the thought suddenly came into his mind that the man he was speaking to was not an Arab but a Frenchman. "He must certainly be a Frenchman, no one but a Frenchman could express himself so well in French."

"You are very kind," he said, and they strolled up the oasis together, Owen telling Monsieur Beclere that at first he had mistaken him for an Arab. "Only your shoulders are broader, and you are not so tall; you walk like an Arab, not quite so loosely, not quite the Arab shuffle, but still--"

"A cross between the European spring and the loose Arab stride?"

"Do you always dress as an Arab?"

"Yes, I have been here for thirty-one years, ever since I was fourteen." Owen looked at him.

"Here, in an oasis?"

"Yes, in an oasis, a great deal of which I have created for myself.

The discovery of a Roman well enabled me to add many hundred _hectares_ to my property.

"The rediscovery of a Roman well!"

"Yes. If the Sahara is barren, it is because there is no water." Owen seemed to be on the verge of hearing the most interesting things about underground lakes only twenty or thirty feet from the surface.

"But I will tell you more about them another time."

Owen looked at Beclere again, thinking that he liked the broad, flat strip of forehead between the dark eyebrows, and the dark hair, streaked with grey, the eyes deep in the head, and of an acrid blackness like an Arab's; the long, thin nose like an Arab's--a face which could have had little difficulty in acquiring the Arab cast of feature; and there had been time enough to acquire it, though Beclere was not more than forty-five.

"No doubt you speak Arabic like French."

"Yes, I speak modern Arabic as easily as French. The language of the Koran is different." And Beclere explained that there was no writing done in the dialects. When an Arab wrote to another, he wrote in the ancient language, which was understood everywhere.

"You have learned a little Arabic, I see," Beclere said, and Owen foresaw endless dialogues between himself and Monsieur Beclere, who would instruct him on all the points which he was interested in. The orchards they were pa.s.sing through (apricot, apple, and pear-trees) were coming into blossom.

"I had expected oranges and lemons."

"They don't grow well here, but we have nearly all our own vegetables--haricot-beans, potatoes, artichokes, peas."

"Of course there are no strawberries?"

"No, we don't get any strawberries. There is my house." And within a grove of beautiful trees, under which one could sit, Owen caught sight of a house, half Oriental, half European. He admired the flat roofs and the domes, which he felt sure rose above darkened rooms, where Beclere and those who lived with him slept in the afternoons.

"You must be tired after your long ride, and would like to have a bath."

Owen followed Beclere through a courtyard, where a fountain sang in dreamy heat and shade, bringing a little sensation of coolness into the closed room, which did not strike him as being particularly Moorish, notwithstanding the engraved bra.s.s lamps hanging from the ceiling, and the Oriental carpet on the floor, and the screen inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Owen did not know whether linen sheets were a European convention, and could be admitted into an Eastern dwelling-house, but he was not one of those who thought everything should be in keeping. He liked incongruities, being an inveterate romancist and only a bedouin by caprice. One appreciates sheets after months of pilgrimage, and one appreciates a good meal after having eaten nothing for a long while better than sand-goose roasted at the camp fire. More than the pleasure of the table was the pleasure of conversation with one speaking in his native language. Beclere's mind interested him; it was so steady, it looked towards one point always.

That was his impression when he left his host after a talk lasting till midnight; and, thinking of Beclere and his long journey to him, he sat by his window watching stars of extraordinary brilliancy, and breathing a fragrance rising from the tropical garden beneath him--a fragrance which he recognised as that of roses; and this set him thinking that it was the East that first cultivated roses; and amid many memories of Persia and her poets, he threw himself into bed, longing for sleep, for a darkness which, in a few hours, would pa.s.s into a delicious consciousness of a garden under exquisite skies.

His awakening was even more delightful than he antic.i.p.ated. The fragrance that filled his room had a magic in it which he had never known before, and there was a murmur of doves in the palms and in the dovecot hanging above the dog-kennel. As he lay between sleeping and waking, a pair of pigeons flew past his window, their shadows falling across his bed. An Arab came to conduct him to his bath; and after bathing he returned to his room, glad to get into its sunlight again, and to loiter in his dressing, standing by the window, admiring the garden below, full of faint perfume. The roses were already in blossom, and through an opening in the ilex-trees he caught sight of a meadow overflowing with shadow, the shadow of trees and clouds, and of goats too, for there was a herd feeding and trying to escape from the shepherd (a young man wearing a white bournous and a red felt cap) towards the garden, where there were bushes. On the left, amid a group of palms, were the stables, and Owen thought of his horse feeding and resting after his long journey. And there were Beclere's horses too. Owen had not seen them yet; nor had he seen the dog, nor the pigeons. This oasis was full of pleasant things to see and investigate, and he hurried through his meal, longing to get into the open air and to gather some roses. All about him sounds were hus.h.i.+ng, and lights breaking, and shadows floating, and every breeze was scented. As he followed the finely-sanded walks, he was startled by a new scent, and with dilating nostrils tried to catch it, tried to remember if it were mastick or some resinous fir; and, walking on like one in a trance, he admired Beclere's taste in the planting of this garden.

"A strange man, so refined and intelligent--why does he live here?...

Why not?"

Returning suddenly to the ilex-trees, which he liked better than the masticks, or the tamarisks, or any fir, he sat down to watch the meadow, thinking there was nothing in the world more beautiful than the moving of shadows of trees and clouds over young gra.s.s, and nothing more beautiful than a young shepherd playing a flute: only one thing more beautiful--a young girl carrying an amphora I She pa.s.sed out of the shadows, wearing a scarlet haik and on her arms and neck a great deal of rough jewellery.

"She is going to the well," he said. The shepherd stopped playing and advanced to meet her. Boy and girl stood talking for a little while.

He heard laughter and speech... saw her coming towards him. "She will follow this path to the house, and I shall see her better." A little in front of the ilex-trees she stopped to look back upon the shepherd, leaning the amphora upon her naked hip. The movement lasted only a moment, but how beautiful it was! On catching sight of Owen, she pa.s.sed rapidly up the path, meeting Beclere on his way.

"Speaking to him in Arabic," Owen said, as he continued to admire the beautiful face he had just seen--a pointed oval, dark eyes, a small, fine nose, red lips, and a skin the colour of yellow ivory. "Still a child and already a woman, not more than twelve or thirteen at the very most; the sun ripens them quickly." This child recalled a dream which he had let drop in Tunis--a dream that he might go into the desert and find an Arab maiden the colour of yellow ivory, and live with her in an oasis, forgetful.... Only by a woman's help could he ever forget Evelyn. The old bitterness welled up bitter as ever.

"And I thought she was beginning to be forgotten."

In his youth he had wearied of women as a child wearies of toys. Few women had outlasted the pleasure of a night, all becoming equally insipid and tedious; but since he had met Evelyn he had loved no other. Why did he love her? How was it he could not put her out of his mind? Why couldn't he accept an Arab girl--Beclere's girl? She was younger and more beautiful. If she did not belong to Beclere-- Owen looked up and watched them, and seeing Beclere glance in the direction of the shepherd, he added, "Or to the shepherd."

The girl went into the house, and Beclere came down to meet his guest, apologising for having left him so long alone.... He talked to him about the beauty of the morning. The rains were over, or nearly, but very often they began again.

"_Cella se pent qu'elle ne soit qu'une courte embellie, mais profitons en_," and they turned to admire the roses.