Oriental Encounters Part 5

'Is there a moral to it?' asked Ras.h.i.+d.

'The moral is self-evident,' replied the story-teller. 'It is this: however bad the woman whom one happens to possess may be, be certain it is always possible to find a worse.'

'It is also possible to find a better,' I suggested.

'Be not so sure of that!' said Suleyman. 'There are three several kinds of women in the world, who all make claim to be descended from our father Noah. But the truth is this: Our father Noah had one daughter only, and three men desired her; so not to disappoint the other two, he turned his donkey and his dog into two girls, whom he presented to them, and that accounts for the three kinds of women now to be observed. The true descendants of our father Noah are very rare.'

'How may one know them from the others?' I inquired.

'By one thing only. They will keep your secret. The second sort of woman will reveal your secret to a friend; the third will make of it a tale against you. And this they do instinctively, as dogs will bark or a.s.ses bray, without malevolence or any kind of forethought.

'That same priest of the Maronites of whom I told just now, in the first days of his married life was plagued by his companion to reveal to her the secrets people told him in confession. He refused, declaring that she would divulge them.

'"Nay, I can keep a secret if I swear to do so. Only try me!" she replied.

'"Well, we shall see," the priest made answer, in a teasing manner.

'One day, as he reclined upon the sofa in their house, that priest began to moan and writhe as if in agony. His wife, in great alarm, inquired what ailed him.

'"It is a secret," he replied, "which I dare not confide to thee, for with it is bound up my earthly welfare and my soul's salvation."

'"I swear by Allah I will hide it. Tell me!" she implored.

'"Well," he replied, as if in torment, "I will risk my life and trust thee. Know thou art in the presence of the greatest miracle. I, though not a woman, am far gone with child--a thing which never happened on the earth till now--and in this hour it is decreed that I produce my first-born."

'Then, with a terrific cry, he thrust his hand beneath his petticoat, and showed his wife a little bird which he had kept there hidden. He let it fly away out through the window. Having watched it disappear, he said devoutly:

'"Praise be to Allah! That is over! Thou hast seen my child. This is a sacred and an awful mystery. Preserve the secret, or we all are dead!"

'"I swear I will preserve it," she replied, with fervour.

'But the miracle which she had witnessed burned her spirit. She knew that she must speak of it or die; and so she called upon a friend whose prudence she could trust, and binding her by vows, told her the story.

'This woman also had a trusted friend, to whom she told the story, under vows of secrecy, and so on, with the consequence that that same evening the priest received a deputation of the village elders, who requested, in the name of the community, to be allowed to kiss the feet of his mysterious son--that little, rainbow-coloured bird, which had a horn upon its head and played the flute.

'The priest said nothing to his wife. He did not beat her. He gave her but one look. And yet from that day forward, she never plagued him any more, but was submissive.'

'The priest was wise on that occasion, yet so foolish in the other story!' I objected.

'The way of the majority of men!' said Suleyman. 'But women are more uniformly wise or foolish. A happy night!' said Suleyman conclusively, settling himself to sleep.

The usual night-light of the Syrian peasants--a wick afloat upon a saucerful of oil and water--burned upon the ground between us, making great shadows dance upon the walls and vaulting. The last I heard before I fell asleep was Ras.h.i.+d's voice, exclaiming:

'He is a famous liar, is our wise man yonder; yet he speaks the truth!'

FOOTNOTES:

[5] 'Ya takbar jarak, ya jari!'--a very common cry of grief in Syria.

[6] Something like 'Pooh-pooh to you!' but more insulting.

CHAPTER VII

THE SACK WHICH CLANKED

The sand which had been a rich ochre turned to creamy white, the sea from blue became a livid green, the gra.s.s upon the sand-hills blackened and bowed down beneath a sudden gust of wind. The change was instantaneous, as it seemed to me. I had observed that clouds were gathering upon the mountain peaks inland, but I had been riding in hot sunlight, only a little less intense than it had been at noon, when suddenly the chill and shadow struck me. Then I saw the sky completely overcast with a huge purple cloud which bellied down upon the land and sea. The waves which had been lisping all day long gave forth an ominous dull roar. White horses reared and plunged. A wind sang through the gra.s.s and thistles of the dunes, driving the sand into my face.

Ras.h.i.+d, who had been riding far behind, in conversation with our muleteer, came tearing up, and I could hear the shouts of the mukari urging his two beasts to hurry.

'There is a village on the headland over there--a village of Circa.s.sian settlers,' cried my servant, breathless. 'It has a bad name, and I had not thought to spend the night there. But any roof is good in such a storm. Ride fast! We may arrive before the downpour.'

My horse had broken to a canter of his own accord. I urged him to a gallop. We flew round the bay. The village on the headland took shape rapidly--a few cube-shaped, whitewashed houses perched amid what seemed at first to be great rocks, but on a close approach revealed themselves as blocks of masonry, the ruins of some city of antiquity.

From time to time a jet of spray shot up above them, white as lilies in the gloom. The sea was rising. I discerned an ancient gateway opening on the beach, and set my horse towards it, while the rain came down in sheets. I saw no more until the ruins loomed up close before me, a blind wall.

'Your right hand!' called Ras.h.i.+d; and, bearing to the right, I found the gateway. We waited underneath its vault until the muleteer, a dripping object, shrouded in a sack, came up with his two mules; and then we once more plunged into the deluge. The path, a very rough one, wavered up and down and in and out among the ruins. There were, perhaps, a dozen scattered houses without gardens or any sign of cultivation round them. Only one of them possessed an upper storey, and towards that, supposing it to be the guest-room, we now picked our way. It stood alone right out upon the promontory, topped by clouds of spray.

A little courtyard gave us partial shelter while Ras.h.i.+d ran up some rough stone steps and hammered at a door, exclaiming:

'Peace be on this house! My master craves for food and shelter, and we, his servants, ask the same boon of thy goodness. O master of the house, G.o.d will reward thy hospitality!'

The door was opened and a man appeared, bidding us all come in, in Allah's name. He was of middle height and thick-set, with a heavy grey moustache. An old-fas.h.i.+oned, low-crowned fez, with large blue ta.s.sel, was bound about his brow with an embroidered turban. A blue zouave jacket, crimson vest and baggy trousers of a darker blue completed his apparel, for his feet were bare. In his girdle were a pair of pistols and a scimitar.

He bade us welcome in bad Arabic, showing us into a good-sized room--the upper chamber we had seen from far. Its windows, innocent of gla.s.s, were closed by wooden shutters, roughly bolted, which creaked and rattled in the gale. A very fine-looking old man rose from the divan to greet us.

'What countryman art thou? A Turk, or one of us?' he asked, as I removed my head-shawl. 'An Englishman, sayest thou?' He seized my hand, and pressed it. 'An Englishman--any Englishman--is good, and his word is sure. But the English Government is very bad. Three Englishmen in Kars behaved like warrior-angels, fought like devils. And while they fought for us their Government betrayed our country. What? Thou hast heard about it? Praise to Allah! At last I meet with one who can confirm the story. My son here thinks that I invented it.'

I happened to have read of the defence of Kars under the leaders.h.i.+p of three heroic Englishmen--General Williams, Captain Teesdale, and Doctor Sandwith--and of the betrayal of the Circa.s.sian rising under Shamyl at the time of the Crimean war.

The old man was delighted. 'Listen, O my son!' he called out to the person who had let us in. 'It is true what I have often told to thee.

This Englishman knows all about it. So does all the world, except such blockheads as thyself and thy companions.'

His son begged to be excused a minute while he put his crops into the barn. Therewith he dragged a sack out of the room. What crops he may have grown I do not know; but this I know--the contents of that sack clanked as he dragged it out.

When he returned, he brought a bowl of eggs cooked in clarified b.u.t.ter, two slabs of bread, and a great jug of water, apologising for the coa.r.s.eness of the fare. We all supped together, the old man babbling of the days of old with great excitement. His son stared at me with unblinking eyes. At last he said:

'I like thee, O khawajah. I had once a son about thy age. Say, O my father, is there not a strong resemblance?'

Thereafter he talked quite as much as the old man, giving me the history of their emigration from the Caucasus to escape the yoke of the accursed Muscovite, and enumerating all the troubles which attended their first coming into Syria.

'We are not subjects of the Government,' he told me, 'but allies; and we have special privileges. But the dishonoured dogs round here forget old compacts, and want us to pay taxes like mere fellahin.'

We sat up talking far into the night, while the storm raged without, and the rain and the sea-spray pounded on the shutters; and never have I met with kinder treatment. It was the custom for chance comers to have food at evening only and leave betimes next morning. But our host, when I awoke in splendid sunlight, had breakfast ready--sour milk and Arab bread and fragrant coffee--and when I went out to my horse he followed me, and thrust two roasted fowls into my saddle-bags, exclaiming 'Zad!'--which means 'food for the road.' And much to my abashment he and the old man fell upon my neck and kissed me on both cheeks.

'Good people! The very best of people! They would take no money. G.o.d reward them,' chanted Ras.h.i.+d, as we rode out of the ruins inland through a garden of wild flowers. The storm had pa.s.sed completely. Not a cloud remained.