Serapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.
The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents;
the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns
into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the
Nilometers [2] at every place, declared that the sacred stream was
steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that
summer.
The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.
The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made
his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.
There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh;
though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolness tempered the
atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease;
and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had
dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.
The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus,
Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking
himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.
Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied
books, maps and globes.
In the porch of the slaves' quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden
to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees,
gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord's sickness spread melancholy
among all his household.
Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his
knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:
"Cora, I love you very much."
Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:
"I am not free; I belong to the master."
"I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free."
Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet;
and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his
dripping slaves.
"You would be free," Caleb repeated. "You would not be my slave,
but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very
good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We
make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at
our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have
slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked;
it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you
know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then,
Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba,
to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in
the world ... to live in, you know. But there's no business to be
done there. You have to be rich there; then it's delightful. When we
are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba,
about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divert you, now that
it's raining and you mustn't sing?"
"I am listening, Caleb."
"Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is
Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees
grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense
and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba;
there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky,
which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft
up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly
upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there
and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms
there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the
trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild
and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days
for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep
in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital
of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams,
Cora? That is Mariaba. There are temples of chrysolite with domes
of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn
with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of
a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen,
who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba
in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like
blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and
hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred,
but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his
people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his
palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce,
there is no business. The Sabaeans surrender the trade in the precious
products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They
themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and
you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall
see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while
he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster,
which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge
of blue leather with red-silk tassels and little golden, tinkling
bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands
at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum,
which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even
to Caesar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch
inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an
elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and,
at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be
happier than you can imagine or than I can tell." [3]
"What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I
have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country,
the Sabaeans one and all suffer from headache."
"When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a
goat's beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or
else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet,
which I have always worn."
"No, Caleb."
"Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?"
"Yes. I fear the Sabaean amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them
that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad."
"Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from
your master?"
"If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing
and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were
your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master...."
"Whom you love."
Cora hesitated. Then she said:
"Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth
loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope."
The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master
Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic
and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.
Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in
melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:
"You would go hunting with me, Cora, and you would sit in front of
me on a Sabaean stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we
should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and
they would follow you about like big cats."
Cora only smiled and said nothing.
"I know, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It is not because you
love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would
be a slave. My wife would be a free woman and reign as queen in
my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the
Sabaean law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of
all her husband's brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to
touch even the hem of your garment."
"I did not know that law," said Cora.
"There was a king's daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly
beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All
the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers
wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door,
as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of
their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks
made for her, like the brothers'. When one of the princes left her,
she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she
enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in
the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit
her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom
he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife,
the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a
sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his
suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only
the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the
stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a
stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla,
and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment."
Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and
glittered.
"In that case, I'll think it over, Caleb!" laughed Cora. "In that case,
I'll think it over!"
"Do think it over, Cora," laughed Caleb. "If you are willing, I'll buy
you from your master. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood,
but with sails like a bird's wings, so that we can either sail about
on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we
could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like
shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it's as I tell you. We
have those magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over,
Cora! Do think it over!"
And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his
tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden,
looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him
to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the
rain-water to the cisterns.