Upon the morrow Barakah had quite forgotten the old woman; she was
lounging on a sofa, smoking after breakfast, watching the slave-girls
dress Muhammad, when Umm ed-Dahak stole in barefoot, making reverence.
The crone sank down before her as of right, and kissing her feet, asked
how she did and praised her loveliness. Then, looking at the infant,
she exclaimed in natural tones, “Ma sh´Allah! May Our Lord preserve him
in all times and places!” and straightway began making baby noises.
Barakah thought the moment opportune for getting at the secret of that
incident which teased her memory. But Umm ed-Dahak, though she answered
volubly, made no disclosure. Indeed, as Barakah soon learnt, that
seeming reckless chatterer was in the habit of imparting only what she
chose to tell.
It was manifest that half her compliments were insincere, nor did she
take the slightest trouble to disguise the fact; but in the intervals
of soporific fiction and pure blandishment she spoke of things worth
knowing in a tone of frank goodwill. She knew the why and how of
every custom, the stories giving rise to every proverb, and was so
acute a judge of human character that her gossip had the flavour of
an intellectual game. Her wiles, it seemed, were worn to show her
cleverness, or cynically, to travesty arts which flourish in this
transitory world.
She became a member of the household, but with privileges. Barakah was
the sultan, she the grand vizier, it was agreed. No monarch ever had
a more delightful minister. She made the slave-girls more attentive
to their mistress, whose comfort she increased in a variety of ways.
She knew where to lay her hands upon the leading story-tellers and
musicians, and was herself the most accomplished female mountebank at
that time living. She soon learnt every mood of her protectress, and
its antidote. The latest scandal dwelt at her tongue’s tip.
The whole harîm knew Umm ed-Dahak as a joker. Slaves from outside were
always coining pretexts to enter the apartment, just to look at her;
and the more frivolous among the ladies came to hear her stories.
“I am for them a comical performance, not a child of Adam,” she told
Barakah. “How different from thy kindness, O my sovereign lady! Thy
gracious condescension feeds and clothes me.”
Therewith she kissed the hand of Barakah, who was affected. By such
small means did she confirm her sway.
Her intelligence, her laughing view of life, were stimulating, and
prevented Barakah from brooding upon hopeless problems.
Without attempting to fatigue her mind in vain attempts to grasp the
universe--as Europeans do, inviting pessimism--this old woman took her
portion as it came, with relish and a very searching scrutiny. She
likened herself sometimes to a fisher of the Nile, who all his life
frequents one reach alone. He knows the currents and the mud-banks,
marks the winds, and, without preoccupation with the river’s source or
outlet, is cunning in the art of bringing fish to land. The soul of her
philosophy was non-resistance; her morality held all means lawful to
escape oppression.
“God is gracious and all-knowing,” she would shrug. “He gives to all
His creatures, great and small, the wherewithal to move in their
appointed element--to birds wings, fins to fishes, guile to women.”
In her time, she admitted, many sins had soiled her hands; shameful
employments had defiled her countenance. They would be pardoned, being
but a means to live. She held, against the world’s opinion, that Allah
is indulgent to the faults of women and even has a secret fondness for
them. Yet, with her guile, she had an admiration for pure virtue, a
teardrop for true love, wherever found. And with all her common sense
and her acuteness she was superstitious. As the fisher of the Nile,
her chosen image, wears an amulet and names the name of power before
he casts his net, so Umm ed-Dahak armed herself against malignant
influences. Her belief in witchcraft, philtres, and all kinds of charms
was quite beyond the reach of argument.
The old woman never asked for any wages. She took what food she wanted,
helped herself to cigarettes, and called for a narghileh when the fancy
seized her. By the Pasha’s order, in accordance with a pious custom
observed at that time in good Muslim houses, eatables, such as meat
and milk and vegetables which might go bad, were not kept overnight,
the remainder of each day’s provision being given in the evening to
the poor dependants. Of this dole Umm ed-Dahak claimed her share. If
she required a garment or a gift of money, she did not beg for it, but
told some tortuous and lengthy story which ended in a present as snakes
end in tails. When Barakah saw through the artifice, she was in no way
disconcerted. She merely smiled and praised her quick intelligence.
“Her need is real, for she is poor,” said Fitnah Khânum, when Barakah
remarked on the old woman’s foibles. “But she loves subtlety far more
than comfort, and would refuse high monthly wages, to obtain a lesser
sum by stealth and coaxing, as occasion offered. She has had much money
given to her, to my knowledge; but it is as dust to her. She is like
the clever fellow in the story, who, having earned much money by his
ingenuity, scrambled it among the crowd; and in the end, when it was
finished, sighed, ‘O Allah, would that I had all the gold on earth to
go on flinging it and see men fight like dogs for its possession!’”
Fitnah, though she scolded the old woman, had a liking for her company
and waggish talk. And Umm ed-Dahak, being very diplomatic, paid her
court. Indeed, she flattered all the ladies of the house with the
assurance that she wished to be the spokesman of their will with
Barakah, and went to them for orders every day.
The only person whom she feared was Yûsuf Bey, though she had known him
from a child. At the first hint of his approach she fled the house. In
vain did Barakah assure her he had no objection to her presence--nay,
had said more than once that he would like to see her. The old creature
smiled and wriggled, “May our Lord preserve him!” but fled no less. It
all came of her desire for surreptitiousness. She would not have felt
well in a harîm of which the lord approved of her.
Contentment grew in Barakah from day to day, and as the months wore
on she lost the wish to go abroad. The young Muhammad could now run
about, although he sometimes tumbled and set up a howl. He had been
taught to testify to his religion in a piping voice and screamed at
visitors, “There is no God but God. Muhammad is the apostle of God”;
for which they blessed him. He had also learned to curse the infidels
ferociously. A turbulent and wilful child, his mother and old Umm
ed-Dahak thought him perfect. They never tired of watching him torment
the slave-girls. “Ma sh´Allah!” the Mother of Laughter would croak
rapturously. “A blusterer, by the Most High! A boy with all the signs
of manhood on him! In sh´Allah, he will live to bully grown-up men!”
Occasionally Barakah paid visits as in duty bound; but she much
preferred to stay indoors, to smoke and dream and talk with Umm
ed-Dahak. Her husband, by his father’s influence, obtained a post
of some importance, necessitating their removal shortly to a proper
house, with a selamlik of its own where he could see his courtiers.
Barakah looked forward to the change with high indifference, though Umm
ed-Dahak strove to waken her enthusiasm, crying:
“Thou wilt now have eunuchs and a carriage of thy very own. In
sh´Allah, Yûsuf Bey will go on rising till thy pomp excels the dignity
of mighty queens.”
Her life could hardly be more easy, she considered; she was quite
content. The Pasha’s ladies would be grieved to lose her, and she would
feel quite lost apart from them. She thought they all respected and
admired her.
It was therefore a great shock to her when one afternoon Murjânah
Khânum sent for her and read her a kind lecture on her way of life.
“My pearl,” she said, “I am the head of this harîm and in some sort
responsible for all its members. I do not see a slave degenerating
without endeavouring to stop the process by a word of warning. How
much greater is my duty towards a near relation! My flower, thou art
an Englishwoman and we Turks of Europe and of Asia welcomed thee to
El Islâm as our own sister. We looked to thee for force of character,
for the light of education, for refinement. What has happened, on
the contrary? Thou shunnest us for boon companions, persons of the
country, who, however estimable, are inferior. Amînah Khânum yesterday
complained that thou art growing a fellâhah both in speech and
conduct. I do not hold with her, I only tell thee what she said--a
thing I cannot bear to hear of my dear daughter. My child, I speak in
tenderness. Give thought to higher things--our holy Faith, the dignity
of life--and spend not all thy time in mere frivolity. Keep that old
woman in her place; I say not shun her, since she is amusing. Frequent
good houses, study holy books. To spend one’s whole life in the hot
room of the bath is not existence.”
Barakah was deeply hurt. To have her harmless pleasures so severely
criticized was as cruel as to see a flower destroyed by hail. She could
not take the lofty standpoint of the Turkish lady. Had she done so,
viewing life in all its horror, she would have gone mad. How could she
bear to look upon herself, the renegade? She was now glad that she was
soon to leave that hateful house.
When she told Umm ed-Dahak of her grief, expecting sympathy, the latter
smiled and said:
“The right is with her. We must not neglect the things divine. I will
myself instruct thee in them, having some small learning. In sh´Allah,
I will teach thee to endure those thoughts which now appal thee.”
Instruction of that kind was needed two days later, when Barakah was
driven to her new abode. As she alighted from her carriage at the
door, some men in waiting cut the throat of a live buffalo by way of
compliment. Blood spurted in her path across the threshold.