THE DESERT
We remember seeing once a lithographic print representing a Christmas
legend of the Middle Ages, in which a detachment of the Heavenly
Host--big, ugly, wild-looking angels--are pursuing, with sword and
pike, a group of terror-stricken little devils. The idea in the
picture produced such an impression that one wished to see the
helpless, pitiful imps in heaven and the armed winged furies, their
pursuers, in the other place. Now, as we go through the many pages of
Shakib's, in which he dilates of the mischances, the persecutions, and
the flights of Khalid, and of which we have given an abstract, very
brief but comprehensive, in the preceding Chapters, we are struck with
the similarity in one sense between his Dastur-legend, so to speak,
and that of the Middle Ages to which we have alluded. The devils in
both pictures are distressing, pitiful; while the winged persecutors
are horribly muscular, and withal atrociously armed.
Indeed, this legend of the Turkish angels of Fraternity and Equality,
pursuing the Turkish little devils of reaction, so called, is most
killing. But we can not see how the descendants of Yakut and Seljuk
Khan, whether pursuers or pursued, whether Dastur winged furies they
be, or Hamidian devils, are going to hold their own in face of the
fell Dragon which soon or late must overtake them. That heavy,
slow-going, slow-thinking Monster--and it makes little difference
whether he comes from the North or from the West--will wait until the
contending parties exhaust their strength and then--but this is not
our subject. We would that this pursuing business cease on all sides,
and that everybody of all parties concerned pursue rather, and
destroy, the big strong devil within them. Thus sayeth the preacher.
And thus, for once, we, too. For does not every one of these furious
angels of Equality, whether in Constantinople, in Berlin, in Paris, in
London, or in New York, sit on his wings and reveal his horns when he
rises to power? We are tired of wings that are really nothing but
horns, misshaped and misplaced.
Look at our French-swearing, whiskey-drinking Tataric angels of the
Dastur! Indeed, we rejoice that our poor little Devil is now beyond
the reach of their dripping steel and rickety second-hand gibbets. And
yet, not very far; for if the British Government consent or blink,
Khalid and many real reactionists whom Cairo harbours, would have to
seek an asylum elsewhere. And the third flight might not be as
successful as the others. But none such is necessary. On the sands of
the Libyan desert, not far from Cairo and within wind of Helwan, they
pitch their tents. And Mrs. Gotfry is staying at Al-Hayat, which is a
stone's throw from their evening fire. She would have Khalid live
there too, but he refuses. He will live with his cousin and Shakib
for a while. He is captivated, we are told, by that little cherub of a
babe. But this does not prevent him from visiting his friend the
Buhaist Priestess every day and dining often with her at the Hotel.
She, too, not infrequently comes to the camp. Indeed, finding the
solitude agreeable she has a tent pitched near theirs. And as a relief
from the noise and bustle of tourists and the fatiguing formalities of
Hotel life, she repairs thither for a few days every week.
Now, in this austere delicacy of the desert, where allwhere is the
softness of pure sand, Khalid is perfectly happy. Never did he seem so
careless, our Scribe asserts, and so jovial and child-like in his
joys. Far from the noise and strife of politics, far from the
bewildering tangle of thought, far from the vain hopes and dreams and
ambitions of life, he lives each day as if it were the last of the
world. Here are joys manifold for a weary and persecuted spirit: the
joy of having your dearest friend and comrade with you; the joy of
nursing and helping to restore to health and happiness the woman
dearest to your heart; the joy of a Love budding in beauty and
profusion; and--this, the rarest and sublimest for Khalid--the joy of
worshipping at the cradle--of fondling, caressing, and bringing up one
of the brightest, sweetest, loveliest of babes.
Najib is his name--it were cruel to neutralise such a prodigy--and
he is just learning to walk and lisp. Khalid teaches him the first
step and the first monosyllable, receiving in return the first
kiss which his infant lips could voice. With what joy Najib makes his
first ten steps! With what zest would he practise on the soft sands,
laughing as he falls, and rising to try again. And thus, does he
quickly, wonderfully develop, unfolding in the little circle of his
caressers--in his mother's lap, in Shakib's arms, on Khalid's back,
on Mrs. Gotfry's knee--the irresistible charm of his precocious
spirit.
In two months of desert life, Najib could run on the sands and sit
down when tired to rest; in two months he could imitate in voice
and gesture whatever he heard or saw: the donkey's bray, and with a
tilt of the head like him; the cry of the cock; the shrill whistle
of the train; and the howling of donkey boys. His keen sense of
discrimination in sounds is incredible. And one day, seeing a
Mohammedan spreading his rug to pray, he begins to kneel and kiss the
ground in imitation of him. He even went into the tent and brought
Khalid's jubbah to spread it on the sand likewise for that purpose.
So sensitive to outside impressions is this child that he quickly
responds to the least suggestion and with the least effort. Early
in the morning, when the chill of night is still on the sands, he
toddles into Khalid's tent cooing and warbling his joy. A walking
jasmine flower, a singing ray of sunshine, Khalid calls him. And the
mother, on seeing her child thus develop, begins to recuperate. In
this little garden of happiness, her hope begins to blossom.
But Khalid would like to know why Najib, on coming into his tent in
the morning and seeing him naked, always pointed with his little
finger and with questioning smile, to what protruded under the navel.
The like questions Khalid puts with the ease and freedom of a child.
And writes full pages about them, too, in which he only succeeds in
bamboozling himself and us. For how can we account for everything a
child does? Even the psychologist with his reflex-action theory does
not solve the whole problem. But Khalid would like to know--and
perhaps not so innocently does he dwell upon this subject as upon
others--he would like to know the significance of Najib's pointed
finger and smile. It may be only an accident, Khalid. "But an
accident," says he, "occurring again and again in the same manner
under stated conditions ceases to be such." And might not the child,
who is such an early and keen observer, have previously seen his
mother in native buff, and was surprised to see that appendage in you,
Khalid?
Even at Al-Hayat Najib is become popular. Khalid often comes here
carrying him on his back. And how ready is the child to salaam
everybody, and with both hands, as he stands on the veranda steps.
"Surely," says Khalid, "there is a deeper understanding between man
and child than between man and man. For who but a child dare act so
freely among these polyglots of ceremony in this little world of
frills and frocks and feathers? Who but a child dare approach without
an introduction any one of these solemn-looking tourists? Here then is
the divine source of the sweetest and purest joy. Here is that one
touch of Nature which makes the whole world kin. For the child, and
though he be of the lowest desert tribe, standing on the veranda of a
fashionable Hotel, can warm and sweeten with the divine flame that is
in him, the hearts of these sour-seeming, stiff-looking tourists who
are from all corners of the earth. Is not this a miracle? My professor
of psychology will say, 'Nay.' But what makes the heart leap in that
grave and portly gentleman, who might be from Finland or Iceland, for
all I know, when Najib's hand is raised to him in salutation? What
makes that stately and sombre-looking dame open her arms, when Najib
plucks a flower and, after smelling it, presents it to her? What makes
that reticent, meditative, hard-favoured ancient, who is I believe a
psychologist, what makes him so interested in observing Najib when he
stands near the piano pointing anxiously to the keyboard? For the
child enjoys not every kind of music: play a march or a melody and he
will keep time, listing joyously from side to side and waving his hand
in an arch like a maestro; play something insipid or chaotic and he
will stand there impassive as a statue."
And "the reticent hard-favoured ancient," who turns out to be an
American professor of some ology, explains to Khalid why lively music
moves children, while soft and subtle tones do not. But Khalid is not
open to argument on the subject. He prefers to believe that children,
especially when so keenly sensitive as his prodigy, understand as
much, if not more, about music as the average operagoer of to-day.
But that is not saying much. The professor furthermore, while
admitting the extreme precocity of Najib's mind, tries to simplify by
scientific analysis what to Khalid and other laymen seemed wonderful,
almost miraculous. Here, too, Khalid botches the arguments of the
learned gentleman in his effort to give us a summary of them, and
tells us in the end that never after, so long as that professor was
there, did he ever visit Al-Hayat.
He prefers to frolic and philosophise with his prodigy on the sands.
He goes on all four around the tent, carrying Najib on his back; he
digs a little ditch in the sand and teaches him how to lie therein.
Following the precept of the Greek philosophers, he would show him
even so early how to die. And Najib lies in the sand-grave, folds his
hands on his breast and closes his eyes. Rising therefrom, Khalid
would teach him how to dance like a dervish, and Najib whirls and
whirls until he falls again in that grave.
When Mrs. Gotfry came that day, Khalid asked the child to show her how
to dance and die, and Najib begins to whirl like a dervish until he
falls in the grave; thereupon he folds his arms, closes his eyes, and
smiles a pathetic smile. This by far is the masterpiece of all his
feats. And one evening, when he was repeating this strange and weird
antic, which in Khalid's strange mind might be made to symbolise
something stranger than both, he saw, as he lay in the grave, a star
in the sky. It was the first time he saw a star; and he jumped out of
his sand-grave exulting in the discovery he had made. He runs to his
mother and points the star to her....
And thus did Khalid spend his halcyon months in the desert. Here was
an arcadia, perfect but brief. For his delight in infant worship, and
in the new Love which was budding in beauty and profusion, and in
tending his sick cousin who was recovering her health, and in the
walks around the ruins in the desert with his dearest comrade and
friend,--these, alas, were joys of too pure a nature to endure.
AL-KHATIMAH
"But I can not see all that you see."
"Then you do not love me."
"Back again to Swedenborg--I told you more than once that he is not my
apostle."
"Nor is he mine. But he has expressed a great truth, Jamïlah. Now, can
you love me in the light of that truth?"
"You are always asking me that same question, Khalid. You do not
understand me. I do not believe in marriage. I tried it once; I will
not try it again. I am married to Buhaism. And you Khalid--remember my
words--you will yet be an apostle--the apostle--of Buhaism. And you
will find me with you, whether you be in Arabia, in America, or in
Egypt. I feel this--I know it--I am positive about it. Your star and
mine are one. We are born under the same star. We are now in the same
orbit, approaching the same nadir. We are ruled by our stars. I
believe this, and you don't. At least, you say you don't. But you do.
You don't know your own mind. The trend of the current of your life is
beyond your grasp, beyond your comprehension. I know. And you must
listen to me. You must follow my advice. If you can not come with me
now to the States, you will await me here. I am called on a pressing
business. And within three months, at the most, I shall return and
find you waiting for me right here, in this desert."
"I can not understand you."
"You will yet."
"But why not try to understand me? Can you not find in my ideas the
very essence of Buhaism? Can you not come up to my height and behold
there the star that you have taken for your guide? My Truth, Jamïlah,
can you not see that? Love and Faith, free from all sectarianism and
all earthly authority,--what is Buhaism or Mohammedanism or
Christianity beside them? Moreover, I have a mission. And to love me
you must believe in _me_, not in the Buha. You laugh at my dream. But
one day it will be realised. A great Arab Empire in the border-land of
the Orient and Occident, in this very heart of the world, this Arabia,
this Egypt, this Field of the Cloth of Gold, so to speak, where the
Male and Female of the Spirit shall give birth to a unifying faith, a
unifying art, a unifying truth--"
"Vagaries, chimeras," interrupted Mrs. Gotfry. "Buhaism is established,
and it needs a great apostle. It needs you; it will have you. I will
have you. Your destiny is interwoven with mine. You can not flee it,
do what you may. We are ruled by our stars, Khalid. And if you do not
realise this now, you will realise it to-morrow. Here, give me your
hand."
"I can not."
"Very well, then. Good-bye--_au revoir_. In three months you will
change your mind. In three months I will return to the East and find
you waiting for me, even here in this desert. Think on it, and take
care of yourself. _Au revoir._"
In this strange, mysterious manner, after pacing for hours on the sand
in the sheen of the full moon, Mrs. Gotfry says farewell to Khalid.
He sits on a rock near his tent and ponders for hours. He seeks in the
stars, as it were, a clue to the love of this woman, which he first
thought to be unfathomable. There it is, the stars seem to say. And he
looks into the sand-grave near him, where little Najib practises how
to die. Yes; a fitting symbol of the life and love called modern,
boasting of freedom. They dance their dervish dance, these people,
even like Khalid's little Najib, and fall into their sand-graves, and
fold their arms and smile: "We are in love--or we are out of it."
Which is the same. No: he'll have none of this. A heart as simple as
this desert sand, as deep in affection as this heaven, untainted by
the uncertainties and doubts and caprices of modern life,--only in
such a heart is the love that endures, the love divine and eternal.
He goes into Najma's tent. The mother and her child are sound asleep.
He stands between the bed and the cot contemplating the simplicity and
innocence and truth, which are more eloquent in Najib's brow than
aught of human speech. His little hand raised above his head seems to
point to a star which could be seen through an opening in the canvas.
Was it his star--the star that he saw in the sand-grave--the star that
is calling to him?--
But let us resume our narration.
A fortnight after Mrs. Gotfry's departure Shakib leaves the camp to
live in Cairo. He is now become poet-laureate to one of the big
pashas.
Khalid is left alone with Najma and Najib.
And one day, when they are playing a game of "donkey,"--Khalid carried
Najib on his back, ran on all four around the tent, and Najma was the
donkey-driver,--the child of a sudden utters a shriek and falls on the
sand. He is in convulsions; and after the relaxation, lo, his right
hand is palsied, his mouth awry, and his eyes a-squint. Khalid finds a
young doctor at Al-Hayat, and his diagnosis of the case does not
disturb the mind. It is infantile paralysis, a disease common with
delicate children. And the doctor, who is of a kind and demonstrative
humour, discourses at length on the disease, speaks of many worse
cases of its kind he cured, and assures the mother that within a month
the child will recover. For the present he can but prescribe a
purgative and a massage of the arm and spine. On the third visit, he
examines the child's fæces and is happy to have discovered the seat
and cause of the affection. The liver is not performing its function;
and given such weak nerves as the child's, a torpid liver in certain
cases will produce paralysis.
But Khalid is not satisfied with this. He places the doctor's
prescription in his pocket, and goes down to Cairo for a specialist.
He comes, this one, to disturb their peace of mind with his
indecision. It is not infantile paralysis, and he can not yet say
what it is. Khalid meanwhile is poring over medical books on all the
diseases that children are heir to.
On the fifth day the child falls again in convulsions, and the
left arm, too, is paralysed. They take him down to Cairo; and
Medicine, considering the disease of his mother, guesses a third
time--tuberculosis of the spine, it says--and guesses wrong.
Again, considering the strabismus, the obliquity of the mouth, the
palsy in the arms, and the convulsions, we guess closely, but
ominously. Nay, Medicine is positive this time; for a fifth and a
sixth Guesser confirm the others. Here we have a case of cerebral
meningitis. That is certain; that is fatal.
Najib is placed under treatment. They cut his hair, his beautiful flow
of dark hair; rub his scalp with chloroform; keep the hot bottles
around his feet, the ice bag on his head; and give him a spoon of
physic every hour. "Make no noise around the room, and admit no light
into it," further advises the doctor. Thus for two weeks the child
languishes in his mother's arms; and resting from the convulsions and
the coma, he would fix on Khalid the hollow, icy glance of death. No;
the light and intelligence might never revisit those vacant eyes.
Now Shakib comes to suggest a consultation. The great English
physician of Cairo, why not call _him_? It might not be meningitis,
after all, and the child might be helped, might be cured.
The great guesswork Celebrity is called. He examines the patient and
confirms the opinion of his confrères, rather his disciples.
"But the whole tissue," he continues with glib assurance, "is not
affected. The area is local, and to the side of the ear that is sore.
The strabismus being to the right, the affection must be to the left.
And the pus accumulating behind the ear, under the bone, and pressing
on the covering of the brain, produces the inflammation. Yes, pus is
the cause of this." And he repeats the Arabic proverb in broken
Arabic, "A drop of pus will disable a camel." Further, "Yes, the
child's life can be saved by trepanning. It should have been done
already, but the time's not passed. Let the surgeon come and make a
little opening--no; a child can stand chloroform better than an adult.
And when the pus is out he will be well."
In a private consultation the disciples beg to observe that there was
no evidence of pus behind the ear. "It is beneath the skullbone," the
Master asserts. And so we decide upon the operation. The Eye and Ear
specialist is called, and after weighing the probabilities of the case
and considering that the great Celebrity had said there was pus,
although there be no evidence of it, he convinces Khalid that if the
child is not benefited by the operation he cannot suffer from it more
than he is suffering now.
The surgeon comes with his assistants. Little Najib is laid on the
table; the chloroform towel is applied; the scalpels, the cotton, the
basins of hot water, and other accessories, are handed over by one
doctor to another. The Cutter begins. Shakib is there watching with
the rest; Najma is in an adjacent room weeping; and Khalid is pacing
up and down the hall, his brows moistened with the cold sweat of
anguish and suspense.
No pus between the scalp and the bone: the little hammer and chisel
are handed to the Cutter. One, two, three,--the child utters a faint
cry; the chloroform towel is applied again;--four, five, six, and the
seventh stroke of the little hammer opens the skull. The Cutter then
penetrates with his catheter, searches thoroughly through the
brain--here--there--above--below--and finally holds the instrument up
to his assistants to show them that there is--no pus! "If there be
any," says he, "it is beyond the reach of surgery." The wound,
therefore, is quickly washed, sewn up, and dressed, while everybody is
wondering how the great Celebrity can be wrong....
Little Najib remains under the influence of anæsthetics for two
days--for two days he is in a trance. And on the third, the fever
mounts to the danger line and descends again--only after he had
stretched his little arm and breathed his last!
And Khalid and Najma and Shakib take him out to the desert and bury
him in the sand, near the tent round which he used to play. There,
where he stepped his first step, lisped his first syllable, smacked
his first kiss, and saw for the first time a star in the heaven, he is
laid; he is given to the Night, to the Eternity which Khalid does not
fear. And yet, what tears, Shakib tells us, he shed over that little
grave.
But about the time the second calamity approaches, when Najma begins
to decline and waste away from grief, when the relapse sets in and
carries her in a fortnight downward to the grave of her child,
Khalid's eyes are as two pieces of flint stone on a sheet of glass.
His tears flow inwardly, as it were, through his cracked heart....
Like the poet Saadi, Khalid once sought to fill his lap with celestial
flowers for his friends and brothers; and he gathered some; but, alas,
the fragrance of them so intoxicated him that the skirt dropt from his
hand....
* * * * *
We are again at the Mena House, where we first met Shakib. And the
reader will remember that the tears rushed to his eyes when we
inquired of him about his Master and Friend. "He has disappeared some
ten days ago," he then said, "and I know not whither." Therefore, ask
us not, O gentle Reader, what became of him. How can _we_ know? He
might have entered a higher spiritual circle or a lower; of a truth,
he is not now on the outskirts of the desert: deeper to this side or
to that he must have passed. And passing he continues to dream of
"appearance in the disappearance; of truth in the surrender; of
sunrises in the sunset."
Now, fare _thee_ well in either case, Reader. And whether well or ill
spent the time we have journeyed together, let us not quarrel about
it. For our part, we repeat the farewell words of Sheikh Taleb of
Damascus: "Judge us not severely." And if we did not study to
entertain thee as other Scribes do, it is because we consider thee,
dear good Reader, above such entertainment as our poor resources can
furnish, _Wassalmu aleik_!
IN . FREIKE . WHICH . IS . IN . MOUNT . LEBANON
SYRIA . ON . THE . TWELFTH . DAY . OF
JANUARY . 1910 . ANNO . CHRISTI . AND . THE
FIRST . DAY . OF . MUHARRAM . 1328 . HEGIRAH
THIS . BOOK . OF . KHALID . WAS . FINISHED
[Illustration]
Transcriber's Notes:
Typographical problems have been changed and are listed below.
Author's archaic and variable spelling is preserved.
Author's punctuation style is preserved.
Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
Transcriber Changes:
"_Les dessons[** Was 'dessous']_"--and the Poet who intersperses
under their heavy burdens, upsetting a tray of sweetmeats[** Was
'sweet-meats across lines]
occasionally meets with a native who, failing as peddler[** Was
pedler]
nevertheless[** Was 'neverthelesss'] significant to remark that
the City of
that makes me sad.'"[** Added closing double-quote]
land. See him genuflecting now, to kiss the curbstone[** Was
'curb-stone' across lines]
his _Al-Mutanabby_[** As originally printed]. In relating of
Khalid's waywardness
Old Arabic books, printed in Bulaq,[** Added comma] generally
""No[** Added extra opening double-quote] more voyages, I trust, O
thou Sindbad.' And
more than one vice to demand forgetfulness[** Was 'forgetfuless'].
keep at the Jesuits.'[** Removed closing double-quote]
can not understand them. They are like the sweetmeats[** Was
'sweet-meats' across lines]
each other, 'Ah, Adam, ah, Eve!'[** Added closing single-quote]
sighing likewise
we will ..." Khalid makes no reply.[** Changed ',' to '.']
the _zeffah_ (wedding procession)[** Removed extra ')'] of none
but she and
hermit."[** Added closing double-quote] (Strange coincidence!) "On
your way here
out, so to speak, exposing its boulders, its little windrows[**
Was 'wind-rows' across lines]
of the stars, I can tell thee this about them all:[** Original may
be ';'] they
Health; in thy temples of worship, to universal Goodwill;[** Was
'Good-will' across lines]
on the _gulma_ (oustraation of animals)[** Added closing ')'],
called forth, we
regret and sorrow.[** Changed ',' to '.'] That such a beautiful
face should
"I am a Christian, too."[** Added closing double-quote]
Meanwhile, she goes to her room, brings some sweetmeats[** Was
'sweet-meats' across lines]
as a statue."[** Added closing double-quote]