Mecca, Holy City of the Moslems, spoke in a strangely subdued whisper
when this particular night finally enfolded it. The great _Hadj_ was
ended--the official termination announced when the wealthier pilgrims
sought barbers to shave them and those without money shaved each other.
The unofficial, but more realistic, termination came about in a
different manner.
Whatever their motives, or degree of zeal, an inspired army had gone to
Mecca. With the _Hadj_ ended, suddenly weary human beings thought with
wistful longing of the homes they'd left and the beloved faces that
became doubly precious because they were absent. Thus the sudden silence
in Mecca, where--every night until this one--lone pilgrims and bands of
pilgrims had gone noisily about various errands. However, not all pilgrims
had chosen to spend this night in their beds.
Ali, now Hadji Ali, stood very quietly in the darkest niche he'd been
able to find of The Masa, The Sacred Course between Mounts Safa and
Marwa. Ben Akbar, never far from Ali's side, stood just as quietly
beside him and Ali wanted no other companion. Hoping to ease a troubled
conscience, he had sought this lonely and deserted spot to try to find
the true significance, which he was sure must exist but had so far
escaped him, of the ceremonies in which he had just participated.
Perhaps, he thought seriously, he was now confused because he had had no
real understanding of any part of anything from the very beginning.
Nobody had told him why the _ihram_ must be donned and adjusted in a
certain way, with certain prescribed motions, and in no other fashion.
With Ben Akbar, who followed like a faithful dog but aroused little
comment in this city where camels were the commonest means of
transportation, Ali had entered Mecca in the prescribed fashion, though
he hadn't the faintest idea as to who had prescribed it or why. At
intervals, and solely because all his companions were doing likewise,
he had shouted "_Labbaika_," a word whose meaning he had not known and
still did not know.
At this point, Ali became so hopelessly entangled in matters he did not
understand that it was necessary to start all over again. However, he
decided not to begin with the _ihram_ this time. The Sacred Course was
also a part of the ceremony, and, being near at hand, it might yield
clues that could not be discerned in that which was far away.
The Sacred Course, connecting the eminences of Safa and Marwa and locale
of the liveliest and most unmanageable bazaar in Mecca, was four hundred
and ninety three paces in length. It was the Trail of Torment imposed on
Hagar, who ran it seven times in a desperate effort to find water for
her infant son. Pilgrims arriving in Mecca accepted as part of their own
ceremony a seven times running of The Sacred Course. This, as Ali had
seen with his own eyes, was subject to various interpretations. Some
pilgrims ran the prescribed seven times but some would have difficulty
walking it once, for despite the hardships of the journey, some of the
afflicted, aged and the simply lazy arrived with every _Hadj_. Then
there were always the eccentrics. Ali himself had been an astounded
witness when one fat Amir reclined in a cushioned sedan chair which six
sweating slaves carried over The Sacred Course the requisite number of
times.
Ali tilted his head and stared miserably into the darkness as the utter
hopelessness of his quest for understanding became increasingly
apparent. It had been important that he earn the right to call himself
Hadji Ali, but, in his heart of hearts, he knew that he'd wanted far
more than that from his holy pilgrimage and he had not received it.
Since millions of Moslems who found all they hoped for in Mecca could
not be wrong, it followed that the fault was personal. So--
Ali's meditations were interrupted by that which he understood
perfectly.
Ben Akbar, swinging his head in the darkness as he turned to look toward
something that had attracted him, gave the first sign that they were no
longer alone. Ali had not seen the move, but he knew Ben Akbar had moved
because he always knew everything the _dalul_ did.
Presently, he knew that a man, or men, were approaching because Ben
Akbar always breathed in a certain cadence whenever men came near. Ali
held very still, hoping the strangers would pass without noticing him.
He knew by their footsteps that there were two of them.
Ali sighed in disappointment when the pair halted only a few feet away.
He was about to call out and make his presence known, for those who have
reason for silence in the darkness also have reason to expect violence,
when someone spoke.
"All know of the plan then, Ahmet?" It was the voice of The Jackal!
"All know," a second man replied.
Ali stood very still, holding his breath. The fact that The Jackal,
whose intentions were anything except holy, was with the _Hadj_, had
caused Ali some uneasy moments. But, he reminded himself once more, if
it was the obvious duty of a good Moslem to reveal a Druse or anyone
else traveling with the _Hadj_ and pretending to be a Moslem, it was
equally true that The Jackal was in an excellent position to do some
revealing of his own. Ali had decided he would not be the first to
speak. Evidently The Jackal was not talking either.
"When is the exact appointed time?" the man named Ahmet asked.
"In another hour, when the followers of Mohammed and the worshipers of
Allah will be enjoying their deepest dreams."
The Jackal voiced a low laugh, and, despite his anxiety, Ali had to
wonder. In the heart of Mecca, surrounded by thousands of Moslems and
certainly with no hope of fighting his way clear, The Jackal could laugh
as easily as though he were in a Druse stronghold. His companion was
less assured.
"Speak gently," he cautioned. "Someone may hear!"
"_Pouf!_" The Jackal scoffed. "The Moslems hear nothing tonight save
the hot wind that shall sing about their ears until they are once again
safe in their homes. The city sleeps, Ahmet."