The Pasha was too surprised, at first, to move--and too conscious of the
eyes of servants, too uncertain of what he should do, too fearful of
doing the wrong, the un-European, thing. And afterwards it was too late.
He stood watching until the flicker of the lantern disappeared among the
dark trees. Then his eyes met the eunuch's.
'Why don't you go down too?' suggested Zuembuel Agha. The variable climate
of a great house had made him too perfect an opportunist not to take the
line of being in favor again. 'It might be better. Give me the key and I
will do what there is to do. But you might send up Shaban.'
Why not? the Pasha secretly asked himself. Might it not be the best way
out? At the same time he experienced a certain revulsion of feeling, now
that Helene was gone, in the way she had gone. She really was
prodigious! And with the vanishing of the lantern which had brought him
a measure of reassurance he felt the weight of an uncleared situation,
fantastic but crucial, heavy upon him. And the Negro annoyed him
intensely.
'Thank you, Zuembuel Agha,' he replied, 'but I am not the nurse of madama,
and I will not give you the key.'
If he only might, though, he thought to himself again!
'You believe her, this Frank woman whom you had never seen five years
ago, and you do not believe me who have lived in your house longer than
you can remember!'
The eunuch said it so bitterly that the Pasha was touched in spite of
himself. He had never been one to think very much about minor personal
relations, but even at such a moment he could see--was it partly because
he wanted more time to make up his mind?--that he had never liked Zuembuel
Agha as he liked Shaban, for instance. Yet more honor had been due, in
the old family tradition, to the former. And he had been associated even
longer with the history of the house.
'My poor Zuembuel,' he uttered musingly, 'you have never forgiven me for
marrying her.'
'My Pasha, you are not the first to marry an unbeliever, nor the last.
But such a marriage should be to the glory of Islam, and not to its
discredit. Who can trust her? She is still a Christian. And she is too
young. She has turned the world upside down. What would your father have
said to a daughter-in-law who goes shamelessly into the street without a
veil, alone, and who receives in your house men who are no relation to
you or her? It is not right. Women only understand one thing, to make
fools of men. And they are never content to fool one.'
The Pasha, still waiting to make up his mind, let his fancy linger about
Zuembuel Agha. It was really rather absurd, after all, what a part women
played in the world, and how little it all came to in the end! Did the
black man, he wondered, walk in a clearer, cooler world, free of the
clouds, the iridescences, the languors, the perfumes, the strange
obsessions, that made others walk so often like madmen? Or might some
tatter of preposterous humanity still work obscurely in him? Or a
bitterness of not being like other men? That perhaps was why the Pasha
felt friendlier toward Shaban. They were more alike.
'You are right, Zuembuel Agha,' he said, 'the world is upside down. But
neither the madama nor any of us made it so. All we can do is try and
keep our heads as it turns. Now, will you please tell me how you
happened to be up here? The madama never told you to come. You know
perfectly well that the customs of Europe are different from ours, and
that she does not like to have you follow her about.'
'What woman likes to be followed about?' retorted the eunuch with a sly
smile. 'I know you have told me to leave her alone. But why was I
brought into this house? Am I to stand by and watch dishonor brought
upon it simply because you have eaten the poison of a woman?'
'Zuembuel Agha,' replied the Pasha sharply, 'I am not discussing old and
new or this and that, but I am asking you to tell me what all this
speech is about.'
'Give me that key and I will show you what it is about,' said the
eunuch, stepping forward.
But the Pasha found that he was not ready to go so directly to the
point.
'Can't you answer a simple question?' he demanded irritably, retreating
to the farther side of the fountain.
The reflection of the painted ceiling in the pool made him think of
Helene--and Madame Pomegranate. He stared into the still water as if to
find Helene's face there. Was any other face hidden beside it, mocking
him?