Abdullah's furious indignation with Elias was complicated by a strain
of keen anxiety upon his own account. Though most of the story seemed
absurd to his intelligence, there remained enough of possible and even
probable to justify dismay in so respectable a man. It seemed more
than likely that his nephew, that unlucky boy, had led a British
subject into lawless regions quite unknown to him; if harm ensued there
would be trouble with the consul; and the power called Cook was so
careful for its dragomans that the mere relationship to one whose face
was blackened might involve dismissal. The bare idea of this
contingency swamped Abdullah's intellect in pure amazement, for since
his vision of the Blessed Virgin years ago he had believed that the
breath of scandal could not come near him. He crossed himself
repeatedly and muttered prayers. But these misgivings were secreted
from the world, before which he appeared as the intrepid champion of
his absent nephew, prepared to refute the story in its entirety.
His first thought was to make Elias eat his words either by bribes or
violence; but a little reflection sufficed to show it worthless. For,
once pronounced, those words were all men's utterance; the town, the
countryside, was now ablaze, and Elias but a fuse that had done its
work. Abdullah demanded on behalf of Iskender that all who professed
any knowledge of the matter should be called and questioned in the
hearing of the group of dragomans. The proprietor and servants of the
khan, who had beheld Iskender's mad excitement on the morning of the
start, the discarded muleteer, Aflatûn and Fâris, who still lingered in
the town in hopes to recover their expenses from Elias, with others
quite unknown, bore witness to the suspicious manner of the young man's
flight, and the dance he had led each and all of them. Abdullah gnawed
his heavy grey moustache, with eyes downcast, when Elias turned towards
him with expressive hands.
From the scene of this inquiry, which was the tavern in the ruined
cloister, looking through shadowed arches on the purple sea, a
professional errand led Abdullah to the hotel of Mûsa el Barûdi. The
sons of Mûsa sat on stools before the door, as did also the priest
Mîtri, taking coffee with them. "What news?" they asked. Abdullah hid
his face. Could it be that they had not yet heard those wicked lies
about Iskender? He enlightened them forthwith with fervent crossings
of himself and prayers to Allah; and confessed that he was at his wits'
end, since all the evidence obtainable tended strongly to confirm the
insane story. The laughter of his hearers did him good. They
ridiculed the very notion of Iskender's guile; and they were men of
position, respectable men, whose opinion was worth having, while the
rest were riff-raff. Abdullah went home greatly comforted.
But the story spread and grew in all the land, with variations and most
wonderful additions. People came to Abdullah for the rights of it, and
were visibly disappointed and incredulous at receiving a flat denial.
They wanted the true story to replace the false, and Abdullah knew no
more than that Elias was a liar. He sat still in his house for hours
together, gnawing his thick moustache and staring at the ground. Then
he bethought him to call on the mother of Iskender, who might have
knowledge of her son's true purpose in this mad excursion. If he had
abstained from visiting her till now, it was in the hope to keep from
her a scandal which was sure to wound her. Now the time had come to
try her value as a witness. Though the weather was bad, he could not
wait for sunshine, but, taking his umbrella, walked out on to the
sandhills through the pelting rain. His boots were caked with mud when
he reached the little house; he would not enter therefore, but spoke
from the doorway, sheltered by his umbrella. It seemed she had nothing
to tell him. It was only from the voice of common rumour that she knew
that her precious son had left the town, and since then reports had
reached her which made her wash her hands of him for ever. When those
reports came to the ears of the missionaries, as they were sure to do,
it would ruin his mother in their eyes for ever.
"Take no thought for him, O Abdullah!" she cried furiously. "He is no
son of mine, but a changeling of the children of the Jânn. Doubtless
my true son, whom I loved and nursed, is with the devils somewhere in
the Jebel Kâf. Allah knows he was too good for me; my pride in him was
too great! And so they took him, and put a miscreant, a devil, in his
place. They say he has a mighty treasure written in his name, so that
none but he can free it from the spell that guards it; that shows us
what he really is, for who but a jinni, a vile changeling, would hide
so glad a secret from his loving mother? Thou sayest, Has he killed
the good Emîr? He may have done so, for I say he is no child of mine;
he is a devil. Tell all the world my son is lost to me, carried off to
the Jebel Kâf or some lone ruin; and a jinni masquerades in his
likeness, doing evil."
She screamed her parrot-scream; she could not talk. It was one of her
black days when the world was turned to madness. Abdullah retired from
the vain attempt to get some sense from her with hopelessness increased
instead of lessened.
That same evening, as he sat in his house, enjoying a ray of pallid
sunshine sent through the branches of a leafless fig-tree which
stretched its gnarled, grey twisted arms before his door, Yuhanna
Mahbûb came to him with an angry brow.
"What is this I hear about Iskender?" he inquired. "Within this hour I
have returned with my party from El Cuds. He has gone with the Emîr to
find a treasure; is it true? I came at once to thee, his near
relation. For know that he swore to me by the Blessed Sacrament, in
the presence of witnesses, that he knew nothing of any treasure, nor
was his trip with the Emîr concerned with aught save pleasure. This I
tell thee that thou blame me not hereafter if I take dire vengeance on
the perjured dog."
"Wait a little, O 'Hanna," said Abdullah pacifically, "thou wilt learn,
in sh' Allah, that he did not swear falsely. All this scandal is the
produce of Elias, whom all men know for the very father of lies. Wait,
I tell thee, and the poor lad's innocence will be seen."
"Aye, wait I must perforce, for he is absent. Were he here among us, I
should not have had recourse to thee unless as bearer of his dead body.
He swore, I tell thee, by the Blessed Sacrament! Shall such a wretch
live on, to practise sacrilege?"
"May Allah, of his mercy, show the truth to us," replied Abdullah,
while Yuhanna went off, breathing threats against the perjurer. He
prayed to God that his nephew might not have sworn falsely and so
incurred the punishment of everlasting fire. Yet there was much
treasure lying undiscovered in the land, and it might be that his
nephew had got wind of some of it. He knew not what to think, but
spent most of the night in prayer, prostrate before that tiny picture
of the Mother of God which he had set up to commemorate his radiant
vision.
In the morning came the finishing blow. He stood in the doorway,
watching his chickens pecking amid the wet litter of refuse round the
trunk of the fig-tree, when the sound of a horse's hoof-beats reached
his ears, and presently from a narrow opening in the neighbouring wall
emerged a Frank in black clothes, black, leaf-shaped hat and yellow
riding-boots--the Father of Ice in person. The missionary dismounted,
tied his horse by the head-rope to a loose stone of the wall, and came
forward, stooping to escape the branches of the fig-tree.
"Welcome, sir!" exclaimed Abdullah, smiling and bowing, though his mind
misgave him. "My house a boor one, sir, but at your service."
"Good day to you," replied the missionary coldly, and passed in before
him.
"I have come about this shocking business of your nephew," he observed,
declining to sit down, though Abdullah brought forth cushions. "The
news reached me only yesterday, and I have been this morning to see
that man Elias. His story seems quite clear, in spite of all the
nonsense about buried treasure. The young Englishman doubtless took a
considerable sum of money with him, and Iskender has beguiled him by
the story of the treasure, meaning to rob him, if not worse."
"Oh, sir, it's all a lie, by God!" exclaimed Abdullah; but the Father
of Ice paid no attention to him.
"I grieve to think of that misguided boy. He was like a child of our
own at the Mission, till bad companions led him into evil ways. Of
course, now he must pay the penalty of his transgression. You natives
must be taught once more that the life and property of British subjects
are not to be lightly made away with. I wrote to the consul last
night, directly I had news of this atrocious affair. Iskender, poor
misguided boy, will bear the punishment. But in my opinion, and in the
sight of God, there are others more to blame than he in the matter. I
mean those who led him astray, who first suggested to him a life of
fraud and peculation." The missionary looked straight into Abdullah's
eyes with the sternness of a righteous judge. "It is of no use to deny
your own part in it, for I have spoken with the mother of the wretched
lad, and she has told me how you were the first to propose that he
should attach himself to this young English visitor with a view to
making money, how you egged him on and taught him all the tricks of the
trade. Are you not ashamed of yourself, an old man, with death close
before you? But all you natives are alike conscienceless, blind to the
truth as if a curse from God was on you. Be sure that I, for one, am
not blind to your guilt in this affair, and that I shall mention it to
Cook's agent at the first opportunity. You have led the boy to
renounce his faith, and now to crime! I hope you are proud of your
handiwork! Good-day!"
Abdullah found not a word. He stood staring at his feet, stunned and
trembling. The whole structure of his pride caved in on him. He, the
Sheykh of the Dragomans, the respectable of respectables, made so by
especial favour of the Blessed Virgin, to hear such words from one of
those very English whose esteem upheld him! He soiled his face with
mud and camel's dung and sat in his house, lamenting, refusing every
comfort that his wife or the sympathising neighbours could devise to
offer. Some two hours after noon there came a storm with terrifying
flashes. The thunder shook the house, the solid earth. At one moment
the gnarled and twisted branches of the fig-tree were seen black
against a sharp illumination, the next smoke-grey and weird amid the
inky gloom. They seemed like snakes approaching stealthily, and then
like loathsome arms intent to seize his soul. The storm gave place to
steady rain; the world was lightened somewhat, but without relief.
Abdullah, though a prey to all the horrors, sat there quite still till
evening, when suddenly the force of life returned to him. He rushed
out to the nearest tavern, called for arac, and drank heavily. The
honour which had resulted from his vision now seemed torn from him; and
since She withdrew her favour, he was free to break his vow. That
night, returning home, he snatched the sacred picture from its shelf
and trod it under foot, to his wife's terror.