"Trust in God, But Tie Your Camel!"
Do you believe in portents? I do. Whenever in the East the first
two statements that a man has made in my presence, and that I
have a chance to test, prove accurate, I go ahead and bet on all
the rest. I don't mean by that that because a man has told the
truth twice he won't lie on the third and fourth occasion; for
the East is like the West in that respect, and usually seeks to
turn its virtue into capital. But in a land where, as old King
Solomon, who knew his crowd, remarked, "All men are liars," you
must have some sort of weathervane by which to guide your
national optimism, so I settled on that one long ago.
Ali Baba had said there was a bad stink in the camel stables. A
natural expert in hyperbole, he had not exaggerated in the least.
And he had said that they were good camels; it was true. You did
not need to be a camel expert to know those great long-legged
Syrian beasts for winners. They looked like the first pick of a
whole country-side, as he maintained they were--twenty-five of
them in one string, representing an investment at after-war
prices of the equivalent of five or six thousand U.S. dollars.
"Who has been looted to pay for these?" asked Grim.
"Allah! You have put an end to our proper business, Jimgrim. What
could we do? We took our money and bought these camels, thinking
to take a hand in the caravan trade."
Grim looked into the old rogue's eyes and laughed.
"In the land I come from," he said, "a capitalist with your
predatory instincts would pay a lawyer by the year to tell him
just how far he could safely go!"
"A _wakil?"_ sneered Ali Baba. "The _wakils_ are all scoundrels.
May Allah grind their bones! No honest man can have the advantage
of such people."
Grim looked the loads over, but there was nothing that any one
could teach that gang about desert work. The goat-skin water-bags
were newly patched and moist; the gear was all in good shape,
none new, but all well-tested; and there was food enough in
double sacks for twenty men for a month. Mujrim, Ali Baba's giant
oldest son, picked up the loads and turned them over for Grim
to examine with about as much apparent effort as if he were
tossing pillows.
Presently Grim laughed again, and looked at the line of fifteen
other sons and grandsons, all squatting in the shadow of the wall
watching us.
"Which is the chief Lothario?" he asked; only he used a much more
expressive word than that, because the East is frank where the
West deals in innuendo, and vice versa.
"They are all grown men," said Ali Baba. "There's a woman named
Ayisha--a Badawi (Bedouin)--who has lately come from El-Maan with
a caravan of wheat merchants."
"How did you know that, Jimgrim?"
"I'm told she has been buying things in the _suk_* that no Badawi
could have use for, and has sent to Jerusalem for goods that
could not be obtained here. I want to speak with her. Has any
of your"--he smiled at the line of placidly contented sons
again--"fathers of immorality made her acquaintance by some
chance?" [* Bazaar]
Every one of the sixteen sons instantly assumed an expression of
far-away meditation. Ali Baba looked shocked.
"I see!" said Grim. "Um-m-m! Well--none of my business. But one
of you go fetch her to the governorate. You may tell her she's
not in trouble, but an officer wants first-hand information
about El-Maan."
"Shall my sons be seen dragging a woman through the streets?"
asked Ali Baba.
"Let's hope not. But I don't care to send the police. I don't
want to put her to indignity, you understand. Suppose you arrange
it for me, eh?"
"Listen, Jimgrim; that woman is a strange one! Men have spoken
evil of her, but none can prove it. I have heard it said she has
a devil. `Trust in God, but tie your camel!' says the Book.* The
wisest among wise men would be he who let that woman alone!"
------------
* The Moslems attribute all their favorite proverbs to the
Koran, whether they are in the book or, as in this case, not.
------------
"I suppose I'll have to get Captain de Crespigny to arrange it
for me."
_"Tfu!_* There is no need for a man like you to appeal to the
governor. _Taib._ It shall be done. Have no doubt of it."
----------
* An exclamation of contempt
----------
"All right. Send her up to the governorate--and no delays, mind!
We start tonight at sundown."
On our way back we met Narayan Singh returning from the _suk_
with parcels under his arm. That in itself was a sure sign of the
lapse of contact with law and order; in Jerusalem he would have
had an Arab carry them, because dignity is part of a Sikh's
uniform. You realized without a word said that the uniform
would be discarded presently. He looked me up and down as the
quartermaster eyes a new recruit, and nodded in that exasperating
way that makes you feel as if you had been ticketed and numbered.
If Grim had not told me that the Sikh had been first to suggest
taking me to Petra I would have insulted him painstakingly there
and then; but you learn a certain amount of self-restraint, I
suppose, before such a man as Narayan Singh ever approves of you
for any purpose.
He undid the parcels on the dining-room table in the governorate,
and the next half-hour was spent in rigging me up as an
ascetic-looking Indian Moslem, with the aid of a white turban
wound over a cone-shaped cap, great horn-rimmed spectacles, and
the comfortable, baggy garments that the un-modernized _hakim_
wears over narrow cotton pantaloons.
Over it all they put a loose, brown Bedouin cloak of camel-hair
such as any man expecting to travel across deserts might invest
in, whatever his nationality; it was hotter than Tophet, but, as
the Arabs say, what keeps the heat in will also keep it out. It
gives you a feeling of carrying your home around with you
on your back, the way a snail totes its shell, and there are
worse sensations.
"Now consider yourself a while in the mirror, sahib," said
Narayan Singh. "When a man knows how he looks he begins to
act accordingly."
Have you ever stopped to think how true that is? There was a
full-length mirror upstairs in de Crespigny's bedroom, left
behind by a German missionary's wife when the Turks and their
friends stampeded, and Narayan Singh watched while I posed in
front of it. Before many minutes, without any deliberately
conscious effort on my part, gesture and attitude were molding
themselves to fit the costume, in somewhat the same way, I
suppose, that a farm-hand from Montenegro shapes himself into a
new American store suit.
"But it is necessary to remember!" warned Narayan Singh. "We
should have done this sooner. There should be a photograph to
carry with you, because a man forgets his own appearance where
there are no mirrors and none others resembling himself.
Henceforward, sahib, sleeping or waking, be a _hakim!_ There is a
chest of medicines downstairs."
By the time I had got down Grim had already changed into Bedouin
dress--stepped simply out of one world into another. All he does
is to stain his eyebrows dark, put on the clothes, and cease to
resemble anything on earth except a desert-born Arab. I don't
know how long he was learning to make the transformation, but no
man could learn the trick in twenty years unless he loved the
desert and the sinewy men who live in it.
He looked me over again narrowly, and then decided I must return
upstairs and shave my head. "The only chance you've got of not
being pulled apart between four camels, or pushed over a
precipice, is to look like darwaish. Have Narayan Singh stain the
back of your neck with henna--not too much of it--just a
little--you're from Lahore, you know--a university product."
By the time I had carried out that order I could not even
recognize myself without the turban on. "No matter how many
mistakes now, Sahib!" grinned the Sikh. "None but a crazy Moslem
would travel in this sun with his head shaved. Better put a cloth
inside the cap, thus, for greater safety."
The only other thing Grim did to me was to throw away my toothbrush.
"They're suspicious in these parts," he said. "They'd figure it
was hog-bristles. You'll have to make shift with a chewed stick,
and pick your teeth between times with a dagger the way the rest
of us do. Hello! Here she comes. You do the honors, 'Crep; we're
in the game from now on."
De Crespigny went to the door and Grim and I squatted cross-legged
in the window-seat. I tried to feel like a middle-aged native
of the East under the rule of that twenty-six-year-old governor;
but it couldn't be done. I don't know yet what the sensations
are of, say, a bachelor of arts of Lahore University who has
to take orders from a British subaltern. I expect you have
to leave off pretending and really be an Indian to find out
that; otherwise your liking for the fellow himself offsets
reason. No white man could have helped liking young de Crespigny.
He came in after a minute perfectly self-possessed, leading a
young woman who took your breath away. I have heard all the usual
stories about the desert women being hags, but every one of them
was pure fiction to me from that minute. If all the rest were
really what men said of them, this one was sufficiently amazing
to redeem the lot. De Crespigny addressed her as Princess, and
she may have really ranked as one for all I know.
She sat on a chair, rather awkwardly, as if not used to it, and
we stared at her like a row of owls, she studying us in return,
quite unabashed. The Badawi don't wear veils, and are not in the
least ashamed to air their curiosity. She stared uncommonly hard
at Grim.
Of middle height, supple and slender, with the grace of all
outdoors, smiling with a dignity that did not challenge and yet
seemed to arm her against impertinence, not very dark, except
for her long eyelashes--I have seen Italians and Greeks much
darker--she somewhat resembled the American Indian, only that her
face was more mobile.
Part of her beauty was sheer art, contrived by the cunning arrangement
of the shawl on her head, and kohl on her eyelashes. That young
woman knew every trick of deportment down to the outward thrust
of a shapely bare foot in an upturned Turkish slipper. Her clothing
was linen, not black cotton that Bedouin women usually wear, and
much of it was marvelously hand-embroidered; but all the jewelry
she wore was a necklace made of gold coins. It gave a finishing
touch of opulence that is the crown of finished art.
But it was her eyes that took your breath away, and she was
perfectly aware of it; she used them as the desert does all its
weapons, frankly and without reluctance, sparing no consideration
for the weak--rather looking for weakness to take advantage of
it. They were wise--dark, deadly wise--alight with youth, and yet
amazingly acquainted with all evil that is older than the world.
She was obviously not in the least afraid of us.
"You are from El-Maan?" asked de Crespigny, and she nodded.
"Did you come all this way alone?"
"No woman travels the desert alone."
"Tell me how you got here."
"You know how I got here. I came with a caravan that carried
wheat--the wife of the sheikh of the caravan consenting."
She spoke the clean concrete Arabic of the desert, that has a
distinct word for everything, and for every phase of everything
--another speech altogether from the jargon of the towns.
"Are they friends of yours?"
"Who travels with enemies?"
"Did you know them, I mean, before you came with them?"
"No."
"Then you are not from El-Maan?"
"Who said I was?"
"I thought you did."
"Nay, the words were yours, khawaja." * [* Lit., gentleman-sir]
"Please tell me where you come from."
"From beyond El-Maan."
She made a gesture with one hand and her shoulder that suggested
illimitable distances.
"From which place beyond El-Maan?"
She laughed, and you felt she did it not in self-defense, but out
of sheer amusement.
"Ask the jackal where his hole is! My people live in tents."
"Well, Princess, tell me, at any rate, what you are doing here in
El-Kalil." [Hebron]
"Ask El-Kalil. The whole _suk_ talks of me. I have made purchases."
"That's what I'm getting at. You've made some unusual purchases,
and you've sent to Jerusalem for things that people don't use as
a rule in tents out in the desert--silk stockings, for instance,
and a phonograph with special records, and soft pillows, and
writing-paper, and odds and ends like that. Do you use those things?"
"Why not?"
"Do you use books in French and English?"
She hesitated. It was the first time she had not seemed perfectly
at ease.
"Can you even read Arabic?"
She did not answer.
"Then the books, at any rate, are meant for some one else? Tell
me who that some one is."
"Allah!" she exploded "May I not buy what I will, if I pay
for it?"
But that was a false move. You can't upset the young British
officer by storming at him. De Crespigny smiled, and came back at
her with his next question suddenly.
"Are not those things for the wife of Ali Higg, and are you not
from Petra?"
"If you know so surely whence I come, why do you ask me?"
"Are you a slave?"
"Allah!"
"How many wives has Ali Higg?"
"How should I know?"
"Because I think you are one of his wives. Is that not so?"
"I am Ayisha. I claim Your Honor's protection."
That was no false move. It was so nearly a checkmate that de
Crespigny went to the sideboard for the silver box of cigarettes,
to offer her one and gain time for thought.
Ever since the days of Ruth, and no doubt long before that, it
has been the first law of the desert that man or woman claiming
protection can no longer be treated as an enemy. It is possibly
the earliest form of freemasonry, and it survives.
Arab history is full of instances of a warrior laying down his
life for an enemy who has claimed protection from him. And young
de Crespigny was ruler of the most unruly city in the Near East
because he understood better than most men how to respect Arab
prejudices. Ayisha accepted a cigarette, fitted it into a long
amber tube, and watched him.
"Very well," he said at last. "If I protect you you must answer
questions. Are you Ali Higg's wife?"
"Have I Your Honor's promise of protection?"
"Yes. Are you Ali Higg's wife?"
"I am his second wife."
"Thought so! And you've been sent to make purchases for
number one?"
She nodded.
"How do you propose to convey all these things back to Petra?"
"Surely it is not difficult now that I am promised Your
Honor's protection!"
"My district extends half-way to Beersheba and to the eastward as
far as the shore of the Dead Sea--no farther," said de Crespigny.
"I can wait. I must wait for the purchases from Jerusalem. Sooner
or later there will be a caravan across the desert to El-Maan. I
have two servants here to make inquiries for me."
"Yes, and two more who went to Jerusalem. Four men. Tell me this,
Princess Ayisha: how came Ali Higg to trust you, alone with four
men, on such a long and difficult journey?"
"Is he not my lord?"
"But the men?"
"Is he not also their lord? And he holds their wives and sons in
trust at Petra."
"You'll admit it's unusual?"
"Do you find it strange that a woman should be faithful to
her lord?"
"But to Ali Higg? He has a name--a reputation! How many wives
has he?"
"The Koran permits but four. The others are not wives."
"And you're going back?"
_"Inshallah."_ [If God is willing.]
It was obvious that no alternative would have the least appeal
for her.
"Well, your movements have all been known to me. Your men have
been watched. The word from Jerusalem is that the two you sent
there have made their purchases. I heard over the telephone that
they are on their way here. A suggestion has been made to me
that you five might be held here as hostages to bring Ali
Higg to terms."
She laughed. "He would raid, and make prisoners, ten for one. If
an exchange were not made promptly his prisoners would be put to
torture, and--"
De Crespigny saw fit to bring the conversation back to its other
foot, as it were. Not the whole British Army was in a position
just then to impose its will on Ali Higg, so certainly de
Crespigny was not; and if you are any kind of real diplomatist,
with a career in front of you, you don't talk fight unless you
mean it.
"But of course, as you've claimed my protection I couldn't dream
of that," he assured her. "Now, is there anything else you want
after those men get here from Jerusalem?"
"Nothing else."
"They'll be here in an hour or so. Would you be ready to leave at
once for Petra?"
"As soon as I can join a caravan."
"Today? This evening, for instance?"
"Allah provide it!"
"That's settled, then."
He turned toward Grim.
"This is Sheik Hajji,* Jimgrim bin Yazid of El-Abdeh, who has
twice made the pilgrimage to Mecca. He is my honored friend. He
starts tonight with a caravan toward Petra. You may travel with
him and be in safe hands all the way."
----------
* One who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca
----------
She eyed Grim curiously, startled, it seemed to me. Then her
expression changed slowly to excitement, followed by a look of
baffling wisdom, as much as to say she knew something and would
not tell. I don't think it was his name that startled her; that
sounded Arabic enough.
"What business has he at Petra?" she asked.
De Crespigny let Grim answer that conundrum.
_"Ya sit Ayisha,"_* said Grim, "I carry a letter to Sheikh Ali
Higg from some one in Arabia. I will deliver you along with the
letter. You may have a place in my caravan--provided you have
camels, provisions, and a litter," he added; for the surest way
to increase her already alert suspicion would have been to offer
to provide everything. [* O lady Ayisha.]
"Let me see the letter!"
Grim produced one instantly--an envelop with a big red seal on
it. It was marked across the top in large letters "On His
Majesty's Service," but addressed in Arabic to somebody, and as
she could not read she was satisfied.
"Ali Higg will hold you answerable for my safety if he has to
destroy armies to reach you!" she said simply.
_"Ya sit Ayisha,"_ Grim answered solemnly, "may Allah turn my
face cold if Sheikh Ali Higg shall have fault to find with me in
this matter!"
"How many is in your caravan?" she asked. "Twenty armed men."
She nodded. "I will pay for my place in the caravan, according to
the custom--the half now and the other half on arrival."
Without gesture, without moving a muscle of his face, Grim
turned down that proposal desert-fashion, that is emphatically,
with a reservation.
_"Ya sit Ayisha,_ may Allah do so to me, and more, if I will
accept a price for this. Between Ali Higg and me let this
thing be."
_"Taib,"_ she answered. "My men shall look for camels. I will go
with you tonight."
She went away then, leaving a smile behind her that would have
coaxed the Sphinx, and rode down-street toward the ancient city
on a big gray donkey guarded by two Bedouins armed with swords
and spears.
"Did I do all right?" asked de Crespigny.
"Fine!" Grim answered. "You'll be ruling England one of these
days, 'Crep. Good job I had that letter to show her, though,
wasn't it?"