Beyond the ancient town and its dark green orange gardens, between the
tilled plain and the shore, the sandhills roll away to north and south,
with here a dwelling, there a patch of herbage. To Iskender, lying
prone on the crest of the highest dune, caught up into the laugh of
sunset, their undulations appeared flushed and softly dimpled, like the
flesh of babes. Returning homeward, hungry, from a day of much
adventure, he had espied from this eminence a camp of nomads in a
certain hollow, and at once forgot his supper in desire to sketch it.
He had settled to the work with such complete absorption that Elias
Abdul Messîh, his companion, for once grew tired of the sound of his
own voice, and left him, with a sigh for his obtuseness. And Iskender
was glad to be rid of him, to lie alone and nurse his secret joy; for
he had this day made the acquaintance of an Englishman, whose
affability restored his pride of life. Might Allah bless that
light-haired youth, for he was the very lord of kindness, and beautiful
as an angel from Allah. His cheeks had the same rose-bloom as the Sitt
Hilda's, while his blue eyes danced and sparkled like sea-waves in
sunlight. How different from the priest of the Mission, whose gaze was
of green ice! Moreover, he had praised Iskender's painting and taught
him a trick of colouring, which consisted in washing the page yellow
and letting it dry before setting to work on it. The artist had never
been so happy since the day, six months ago, when the missionary had
declared against his sketching as mere waste of time. The ladies of
the Mission, who had fostered it, obsequious to the edict, then
condemned it strongly. His mother, too, turned round and blamed him
for it. Only the Sitt Hilda still was kind, comforting him in secret,
till his love leapt up. And then came outer darkness. Iskender was a
profligate, and driven forth.
Debarred from Christian society, hardly less than Muslim, by his
English education and his Protestantism, he was a pariah in his own
land. This very morning, sketching a gateway in the town, he had been
beaten by some Muslim boys and called an idol-maker; and, traversing a
Christian hamlet among the gardens, had been reviled and pelted by its
Orthodox inhabitants. For company he had been obliged to consort with
English-speaking touts and dragomans, who welcomed his proficiency in
the foreign tongue; and these he hated, for they mocked his art. The
one exception was Elias Abdul Messîh. Elias could read Arabic fluently
(a feat beyond Iskender, who had been schooled in English), and from
trips to Beyrût and the towns of Egypt had brought back any number of
miraculous romances, which he read and read again until they turned his
brain. Impersonating the chief characters, he dwelt in a world of
magical adventure, and spoke from thence to ears that understood not.
For this he was named the Liar and the Boaster, and, though well liked,
derided. He had taken a fancy to Iskender, and often sat beside the
artist while he sketched.
His talk revealed new worlds to the pupil of the English missionaries,
who hitherto had looked to England as the realm of romantic
ambition--the land where, by simply entering holy orders, a poor son of
the Arabs could attain to wealth and luxury. Now, for the first time,
he was shown the wonders of the East. Elias, in his tales, despised
the Christians, his own folk, anathematised the Jews, and praised the
Muslims, till Iskender longed to embrace the doctrine of Muhammad, and
become a freeman of the land of old romance. But when he said as much,
Elias shook his head. It was known that every Muslim would be damned
eternally.
Moved by the example of this friend, Iskender's brain conceived wild
dreams of greatness, enabling him in imagination to enslave the wicked
missionaries and carry off his blushing love amid applause. He told
Elias that his father, Yâcûb, had left a treasure buried in the ground,
which he would dig up some day, and astound mankind; and Elias accepted
the statement as quite probable. But such fancies were of no real
comfort to Iskender, being rendered feverish by his sense of wrong. He
had known no solace till this day at noon, when the English youth from
the hotel had smiled on him. Now, once again, he looked to England as
of old--to England where great honours were conferred on painters.
With a final dab at the sky, he held his picture off from him, to mark
the effect. In love with the figure of a camel belonging to the camp,
which was chewing the cud superbly in the foreground, he had at
unawares so magnified the creature that it bestrode the whole page of
his drawing-book; while the camp itself, the sandhills, some scattered
houses and a palm-tree in the distance, the very sky, seemed no more
than the pattern of a carpet upon which it stood. There was something
wrong, he perceived--something to do with that perspective which,
despite instructions from the Sitt Hilda, he could never rightly
comprehend.
But his pride in the monster camel condoned everything. He just
lengthened all the tent-ropes a little with his smallest paint-brush,
thereby imparting to the black pavilions a look of spiders squashed by
the triumphant beast, and laid aside his work, well pleased. There
were many groups abroad, of people enjoying the cool evening; he saw
them stalking ghostlike in the coloured light; but they kept to the
bound sand of the trodden pathways, and if any one descried him on his
perch, none laboured up to see what he was after.
At ease upon the ground, with chin on palm, he tried to judge what
colours would be needed in order faithfully to reproduce the sunset
glow. He compared that glow to the insurgent blood ever ready to
mantle in the cheeks of the Sitt Hilda; but this was a warmer,
swarthier flush than ever dyed the white skin of a Frank. Then,
looking east, he watched the blue increase on the horizon, its drowsy
glimmer radiating thoughts of rest, as if a hovering spirit whispered
"Hush!" A star glanced out above the distant palm-tree; in that
direction it was night already behind the crimsoned earth. A flash
from the grand glass windows of the Mission, ruddy with the last of
daylight, caused him to wag his head and sigh:
"Would to Allah I were rich like one of them!" The English youth from
the hotel had laughed at missionaries. Though here so great and
powerful, it seemed they were little thought of in their own country.
When Iskender eagerly inquired whether a famous painter would take rank
before them, the Englishman had said: "Yes, rather!" with his merry
laugh.
"O Allah, help me," was Iskender's prayer now, "that I may travel to
the countries of the Franks, and reap the honour they accord to
painters!"
This with a fond glance at his drawing-book, which contained a
camel--ah, but a camel such as Allah made him!--a camel worthy to be
framed in gold and hung in king's palaces!
"Is--ken--der!" A shrill, trailing cry disturbed his reverie; when,
looking forth in the direction of the sound, he saw in a dell beneath,
where ran a footpath, a man and a woman standing still amid the
shadows, gazing up at him.
"Ya Iskender! Make haste, descend, come down to us!" The call came
again more peremptorily.
The voice was his mother's. Muttering, "May her house be destroyed!"
he emptied the pannikin of paint-foul water which he had carried with
him all day long, picked up his drawing-book, and obeyed. As he
prepared to descend, the last red gleam forsook the sand-crests,
leaving them ashy white.
"Make haste, O shameless loiterer. We bring thee news--fine news!
Praise Allah who assigned to thee Abdullah for an uncle--one so kind,
so considerate, so thoughtful for thy welfare.~.~.~. But first I must
tell thee how the three ladies came in thy absence to inform me of
their intention to educate the son of Costantîn to be a clergyman;
whilst thou, whose mother has washed for them these twenty years, art
required to sweep their house."
"What matter!" rejoined Iskender, with a listless shrug. "My ambition
is to visit the country of the Franks and gain the honour of a mighty
painter."
His mother stretched out her hands to heaven, screaming:
"Hear him, Allah! Is he not bewitched? Desire of the lady Hilda has
made him mad. O Holy Maryam, O Mar Jiryis and all saints, condemn
those who have led him thus to ruin. Hear him now; he would make
pictures! Well, to Allah the praise; but it is their doing!~.~.~.
Now, for the love of Allah, put such toys aside and hear Abdullah's
generous plan for thy advancement. Know that a young Englishman has
lately come to the Hotel Barûdi----"
"I know that well," Iskender grunted irritably. "He is my friend.
This day he spent two hours with me."
"Thy friend!~.~.~. O merciful Allah!" cried his mother.
"Thou knowest him?" exclaimed Abdullah, much affronted.
"Come, cease thy dreaming, tell the story, mad-man!" His mother shook
his arm and screamed at him. "Art possessed with thy dumb devil.
Speak! What sayest thou?"
"May thy father perish!" cried Iskender, startled.
"Curse thy religion!" retorted his mother hotly. "Is thy uncle dirt to
be thus disregarded? Ask his pardon, O my dear!"
Abdullah the dragoman laughed at that, and suggested they had best be
moving, for the night was near. A trace of grievance lingered in his
voice and manner, for he loved ceremonies, and had looked forward to a
formal presentation of his nephew to the English nobleman.
"Come, tell the story of thy day!" he too insisted. At first it had
not been a happy one, Iskender told them. He had tried to paint the
beauty of the sea between two dunes, but it turned to a blue gate on
yellow gate-posts; then a boat turned upside down upon the beach, but
the portrait made resembled nothing earthly. Then the Englishman had
taught him a new way, and things went well, and he had drawn a
camel.~.~.~.
He was opening his sketch-book to display the masterpiece; but his
mother shrieked:
"Who cares to hear all that. Tell of the Englishman; how came he with
thee?"
"They stoned me," he replied indifferently; "and I was running from
them, weeping, when he met me, and I cried to him in English to protect
me. He had compassion on me, and admired my pictures----"
Iskender became aware that his companions were no longer listening, so
stopped abruptly. His uncle seemed to think some miracle had happened,
for he heard him praising Allah and the Holy Virgin, the while his
mother kept exclaiming in her shrill-pitched tones. His mind strayed
far from them, occupying itself with distant features of the landscape.
All the earth was now obscure: stars sparkled in the dome of the sky.
From a high, sandy neck their path surmounted, he beheld the minarets
of the town, seeming to cut the sky above the sharp sea-line. The
timbre of his mother's voice made for inattention like the monotonous
shrill note of the cicada; and he had at all times a trick of
projecting his wits into the scene around him, whence it needed a shout
to re-collect them, as she knew to her grievance. She shouted now, and
punched him in the back:
"Forget not to tell the Emîr that thou art a Brûtestant, which is half
an Englishman."
Jarred in his bones by her shrillness, he exclaimed:
"Merciful Allah! Is my mother mad? The Emîr! In the name of angels,
what Emîr?"
"O Holy Maryam! Am I not unblessed in such a son? What wonder that
the priest and the ladies favour the son of Costantîn--may his house be
destroyed!--who has at least the grace to listen when one speaks to
him.~.~.~. Thou goest in the morning to the Hotel Barûdi, to visit
formally this English youth, who is an Emîr in his own country, and
proffer thy services. Thou wilt present thyself before him, not as now
in a soiled kaftan, but in thy best. Give him to know how thy mother
is esteemed by the missionaries, how thou art thyself a Brûtestânt of
the English Church."
"Whist!" said Abdullah warningly.
Some one was hurrying towards them down the path.
"Who is it?" breathed the mother of Iskender.
It was Elias, who was looking for his friend.
"No word to him, or all is lost!" hissed old Abdullah.
But Elias for the moment had no ears. After parting from Iskender he
had been seized with a new and vivid inspiration, and felt the need of
his accustomed listener. Dragging his friend aside he whispered
breathlessly:
"I am in great haste. A lady--ah, a beauty!--waits for me--a Muslimeh,
I do assure thee--one of the most closely guarded. I go now to the
tryst. It is to risk my life; but what care I, for love has maddened
me. I would not tell a living soul save thee; but if I die in the
adventure, thou wilt pray for me. I sought thee in thy house, but
found thee not."
"May Allah guard and prosper thee!" replied Iskender.
But by then his friend was gone, driven on by the fierce wind of his
imagining towards the house-door, not far distant, where his wife stood
looking for him. Iskender could not prevent a lump from rising in his
throat at the vision of requited love, however perilous. From a dream
of the Sitt Hilda he was roused by his mother saying:
"Thou must sup with us, O Abdullah! After all thy kindness to
Iskender, thou canst scarce refuse me."
They were at the house.
With a polite show of reluctance Abdullah entered, and sat down beside
the wall, while Iskender helped his mother spread the feast for him.
Then, when all was ready, the young man wrapped some morsels in a piece
of bread, and carried them out beyond the threshold, to be alone.
Squatting there, he was once more happy in thoughts of the fair young
Englishman who, though a prince, had shown such kindness towards him.
By Allah, he would give his life for that sweet youth. He asked no
better than to serve him always.
The highest lobes of the cactus hedge before him were like great hands
shorn of fingers thrust against the sky. Through a gap he beheld the
lights of the Mission--fierce hostile eyes intent upon his thoughts.
The wail and bark of a jackal came from the landward plain.
"Praise to Allah!" The voice of his mother raised for a moment above
its monotone caused him to turn and look into the house.
They had made an end of eating in there and were now arranging the
programme of Iskender's conduct towards the young Emîr. His uncle sat
cross-legged by the wall, puffing slowly at a narghîleh, his mother
opposite to him, in the same posture, also with a narghîleh, not
smoking for the moment, but leaning forward with one hand out, talking
eagerly. A saucer-lamp stood on the floor between them, among remnants
of the feast; it caused their faces to look ghastly, lighted thus from
below, and sent their shadows reeling up the wall. The woman declaimed
untiringly with gestures of demonstration, and the man kept acquiescing
by a nod which set the tassel of his fez in motion.
The dull sententiousness of the dragoman and his mother's shrill, rash
judgments were alike irritating to Iskender. They claimed to
understand the foreigners perfectly; and in truth they knew enough of
the foibles of the lords of gold to secure to themselves a livelihood.
They had never, either of them, loved a Frank.