BEHIND THE LATTICE
It was late on the day after her arrival in Brusa when Armenouhi awoke
from the long sleep into which she had fallen. Unable to understand
where she was, or how she came there, she stared, bewildered, at
Shareef, who was sitting at her side. For some time her eyes wandered
about the room, until finally she recalled that she had been carried to
Brusa. Her expression of perplexity suddenly turned to intense sorrow.
The massacre, the torture of her father, the unexpected appearance of
Takvor, and his fall beneath the chaoush’s gun, the three days’ journey
over the mountain, the horrible, wrinkled face of the old eunuch, the
thought of being a slave kept for the Sultan, that monster whom she had
been taught to hate more than any other, all seemed like a horrible
nightmare. To convince herself that she was not dreaming, she pressed
the nails of her fingers into the palms of her clenched hands, and
again she looked at the face of Shareef and at the grated window. Thus
awaking from her long stupor to the realization of her misfortune, she
buried her face in the pillow, and wept for the first time. Shareef
tried to comfort her, but for such sorrow as hers there was no comfort.
The eunuch, hearing a voice in the room, entered to examine his charge
by daylight. His opinion, based on long experience with women, was that
crying would do her good, and he left her to obtain whatever benefit
she might derive from her tears. Shareef, however, tried to impress
her captive companion with the thought that she was safe, bathed her
forehead with cold water, stroked her hands, and brought coffee, fruit,
and various dishes which the old servant tried to make tempting; but
she met with little success. The next morning she placed her white
dress before her, from which the stains had been washed, and sitting
by her on the divan at the window, sought to bring to her the peace of
mind that would restore her strength and voice.
The time dragged slowly by. From morning till night Armenouhi reclined
on the divan by the window, apparently listening to the small talk of
the warm-hearted Shareef in a vain effort to drive from her memory the
horrors of the past. Down beneath the bushes, in the ravine across the
street were the rushing waters; how she longed to lie beneath them!
Sometimes, under the observing eye of the eunuch, she was permitted
in the hallway, where, on the floor with Shareef, she watched the
shuttle of the loom traveling slowly back and forth, or listened to
the droll stories of the old servant as she roasted the mutton on the
brasier. Continuing speechless, and being an indifferent listener, she
was more and more frequently left alone. Relieved by the quiet which
the increasing absence of the simple Shareef brought her, she would
sit on the divan, dreamily looking through the latticed window at
the passing people. Early one morning while alone at the window, she
noticed a man sitting by the edge of the ravine thoughtfully looking
down into the water. Although she could see only his back, his figure
seemed familiar, and she watched, hoping to catch sight of his face.
Presently she saw the man turn as if to glance at the house. She no
longer doubted. Trembling with emotion she pressed her face closer to
the lattice.
“Takvor! Takvor!” she cried, unable to restrain herself.
Her speech, taken from her when she saw him fall beneath the soldier’s
blow, had returned with his unexpected appearance. He sprang up and ran
toward the house, unmindful of the danger to them both.
“Go back, quick!” and she calmly resumed her seat on the divan; the
door opened, and the eunuch, who had heard the voice, entered, looked
sharply at her, and started across the room to the window.
Armenouhi was trembling with excitement, and her face, which had been
pale, was now flushed with mingled joy and fear. She knew that if the
eunuch reached the window in time to discover Takvor, her newly found
hope would be destroyed; and stepping boldly before him, she placed
her hand on his arm, and looked smilingly up at the old wrinkled face.
“My voice has returned. Did you not hear me just now? I was trying to
see how loud I could speak?”
The eunuch was satisfied with the explanation, and a feeble light of
joy came to his old eyes; indeed, his young master was right; the fair
young girl could not fail to restore the ruined fortunes of the family.
It was evident that the suspicions of the eunuch, if any existed,
were removed, for hurriedly leaving the room, he returned followed by
Shareef, the old servant, and finally the mother, who had succeeded
in rising from her stool at the loom. Shareef ran to Armenouhi, and
throwing her arms about her neck, poured out a flood of questions.
“You must tell me just how you happened to find your voice. Could you
feel it returning? What did you say first? Is it just the same as it
was before? Now you will tell me all your troubles? Why don’t you
speak?” Thus she went on without waiting for a reply, and at last
turned to the eunuch to upbraid him for having deceived them.
“Give her a chance to speak,” squeaked the eunuch, at the first pause
in her abuse; “give her a chance, and she will speak.”
Had the chaoush been present at that moment, his hope of a generous
reward for presenting Armenouhi at Yildiz would have been prodigiously
strengthened. Her face was lighted with joy; her eyes had suddenly
become wonderfully bright; and like the brave little woman she was, she
endeavored to appear in full sympathy with their wishes, for thus she
could best play her part in the rescue.
“Do you know what I should like to say first?” she asked.
“O, she can really speak,” exclaimed Shareef, in her excitement,
pouring out another flood of questions. “What is it? What would you
say?”
“I was wishing that you would take me to the bath; for then I might
become stronger.”
The openness of her manner concealed her motive, and it carried the
conviction that she was in full accord with the chaoush’s plan.
“You dear child, of course you shall go.”
It was immediately arranged that on the next day they should all go to
the bath.