On the recurrence of certain anniversaries, at the two Bairams and in
the month of Ragab, all Muslim Cairo left the city of the living for
the cities of the dead adjoining it upon the east and south. Mothers of
sorrow like Murjânah Khânum, whose heart was with her children in the
grave, inhabited the mausoleums for a week or more; but the majority
performed a one-day visit.
Blue night alive with stars was at her lattice when Barakah was softly
roused by her attendants and arrayed in proper garb. She found Leylah
Khânum and her daughters waiting for her by the mabeyn screen, where
the eunuch had a heap of roses and of henna-flowers to give them, as
well as branches of palm and sweet basil. With these they made their
way out to the carriage.
The principal streets were thronged with people going in the same
direction: men in clean robes, who yawned, still half asleep; women,
black-shrouded, bearing palm-branches, with trays of eatables upon
their heads; small girls in tinselled gauze of divers colours, and
boys in stiff new clothing--all with earnest faces, pressing out
towards the cemeteries. Barakah kept peeping through the shutter at
the solemn crowd, to which the fitful gleam of swinging lanterns added
weirdness. The concourse gave forth a dull clatter, above which was
heard the rumble of the carriage wheels upon the stones, the shouts
the coachman raised to clear a way. Then suddenly all noise of going
ceased, although their wheels still rolled and the besetting throng
was even denser than before. They were on sand. The people murmured
like a shell. The desert hill rose imminent against the stars. On all
sides spread a wilderness of humble graves, each with its family group
encamped beside the headstone. Then came a steep incline, up which
the horses struggled under whip and cursing; and lo! they were once
more in city streets. On every hand rose shadowy buildings, domes, and
minarets. A swarm of beggars went from door to door with sacks and
trays collecting doles of food.
Alighting at the gate of a large mosque-like building, Barakah and her
companions were conducted through a courtyard to the women’s quarters.
Fitnah and Murjânah, who had spent the night there with attendants,
made them welcome; after which they paid a visit to the mausoleum
proper, or the women’s side of it--for the house of death itself was
subdivided by a harîm screen. Here, in a gloom made spectral by the
hanging lamps, women of repute for sanctity, hired mourners, were
reciting the Corân, and through the screen some male professors could
be heard performing the same office in strong nasal tones. The visitors
bestowed their flowers and bits of palm among the graves, and, having
said some prayers, returned to the apartment, where preparations for a
feast were being made.
Already the muezzin’s chant announced the dawn. Murjânah Khânum was
at her devotions on a corner of the dais. The other ladies, who
deemed prayer the man’s affair, helped in the work of setting out the
breakfast. While this was going on, a woman and three children rushed
in from the twilight court, and with loud blessings began kissing hands.
“It is the wife and children of the guardian of this place, who makes
the graves,” Na’imah, her nearest neighbour, informed Barakah. “They
come for their accustomed gifts of food and raiment. See, Fitnah Khânum
is just going to bestow them in the name of all of us.”
A minute later the grave-digger’s wife and children were at Barakah,
kissing her hand repeatedly and crying, “May it be many a year ere we
receive thee here, O queen of charms.”
The Englishwoman shivered at this form of compliment; and then a
strange old woman, who had been observing her, sidled across the room
and squatted at her feet.
“O Umm ed-Dahak, welcome!” exclaimed Na’imah. “Where hast thou been
this long while, that we have not seen thee? There has been no fun at
all in life without thee. How is thy health? What new jests dost thou
bring us?”
But the old woman had not come, it seemed, to talk to Na’imah; for,
replying to these questions in the briefest manner possible, she
addressed herself to Barakah in coaxing whispers.
“Art thou not happy, O my pearl? I could see from over there that
something ailed thee. Is it the thought of death, the air of tombs?
The spectacle of graves should rather cheer the living. Give praise to
God that thou art still alive; enjoy existence! Allah is merciful! It
is certain that He has made provision for our sex hereafter--a finer
paradise than that of men, in sh´Allah! Ha, ha! What faces, thinkest
thou, the men would wear if they knew that we had heavenly youths for
our enjoyment, in our place apart? By Allah, it would spoil their
pleasure in the black-eyed maids! I see them sulking even in the home
of bliss.... The air is chill thus early; the end of night is always a
sad hour. A delicate soft flower like thee is dashed by it. Come, let
me talk to warm thee. I am called the Mother of Laughter, thou hast
heard!...
“Knowest thou what my daughter said in her soul when first her spouse
unveiled her? She said (and be the saying far from thee), the while
she stood with eyes downcast and bosom rising, falling, ‘May Allah
strike me blind this minute if I am half so innocent as thou art, O my
knowing lord!’ And she managed him, I can assure thee. Ah, she fooled
him perfectly--exclaiming ever at his wisdom, bowing to his lightest
word. It is thus we subtle ones beguile the world--the great strong
simpleton!--never opposing, lest he knock us down. By Allah, I must ask
thy pardon for thus prattling; but ladies condescend to find my talk
amusing. I can recount the origin of all that is, being most learned
in religious matters. If I chose, I could be howling with those cats
in there,”--she nodded towards the hired performers in the tomb,--“but
they are hypocrites and gloomy. I love merriment. It has long been my
desire to meet a foreign lady, to whom I might impart my knowledge of
this land. The Franks have great intelligence, and would admire my
lore. All the stories of the harîm I can teach thee....
“Thou knowest the three wives of Ali Bey El Halebi. The red-haired
one--the former slave--was killed last night. I had it but an hour ago
from a sure source. Her sin, though great, was pardonable, Allah knows.
Her husband had neglected her disgracefully: the fact is known. She
turned for comfort to a street musician. She lost her wit, it seems,
and made confession. I could have saved her, with the help of Allah,
had she come to me. The eunuchs held her so--and, click! her neck was
severed. Her corpse is floating down the Nile, dismembered, or buried
in the garden--Allah knows! Ah! I could keep thee interested for a
year together.”
The old creature’s flattery, more subtle in the tone and manner
than the words convey, was irresistible; her twinkling eyes and
ever-shifting wrinkles aroused the Englishwoman’s sense of humour,
which had long been dormant.
“Praise be to Allah, thou art better!” smiled the crone.
The sun had risen now; the lamps were useless; the city of the dead
was blushing like the rose; the chanting of the readers in the tomb
had lost its sadness. Barakah was staring at the strange old woman’s
face, now plainly visible. Where had she known it? Feature for feature,
it resembled one which had been long imprinted in her memory. Umm
ed-Dahak grinned when she became aware of this perplexity. With a very
roguish look for one so old, she laid her cheek upon her open palm and
whispered, “Yûsuf! Come!” It was the same old creature who, luring the
future bride of Yûsuf from her chamber in Muhammad Pasha’s house, had
been seized and beaten by the eunuchs in the hall, and never seen again
until this day.
“Rememberest thou?” she slyly asked. “Allah witness, I was tempted
with a bribe. Young men are devils! Never ask me to explain. I cannot
bear to be reminded of it, may Our Lord forgive me! We are all weak
creatures and succumb occasionally; but Fitnah Khânum will assure thee
I am to be trusted.”
With that and a most friendly smile, she edged away, repairing straight
to Fitnah Khânum, with whom she held some animated conversation in low
tones. The lady, at her instance, shortly came across to Barakah and
whispered:
“That old woman seeks thy patronage. I myself have found her useful
and obliging. To thee, a foreigner, she could afford much help. Thou
needest some one. Umm ed-Dahak is the best I know.”
“Umm ed-Dahak!” cried out Na’imah. “Why, there is no creature in the
world to match her for facetiousness. She was the rapture of our life
as children. Nobody could be dull or sad with Umm ed-Dahak. She is like
a monkey and a clever servant and a mother all in one!”
This joyful cry was overheard by Leylah Khânum, who frowned upon her
daughter and rebuked her sharply. In that place conversation must be
held in whispers and only ritual words pronounced aloud. The party
breakfasted in solemn silence, to the sound of chanting from the tomb.
But the aged Mother of Laughter smiled and nodded--even winked--at
Barakah whenever their eyes met, which was not seldom; and the
Englishwoman had a new sensation of relief and sympathy. At last she
had found somebody who understood her.