MANASSEH AND KEDAR AT MECCA.
"Home, sweet home."
The flame of a smoky oil-dip dimly lighted a spacious room in the house
of Amzi. At the low table sat Yusuf and his friend with a chart before
them, anxiously following, with eye and finger, the course of Mohammed's
northern exploits.
The thoughts of both were with Manasseh. A knock sounded at the bolted
door. Yusuf opened it, and there, like a cameo in the setting of
darkness, was the youth himself.
"Manasseh, my son!" cried both in astonishment.
He stepped in, now laughing, now brushing tears from his eyes. "There!"
he said, freeing himself from their embraces, "I have one more surprise.
I come like a grandee, bearing my company in a litter. Help me bring him
in."
They stepped out, and Manasseh's second face, that of Kedar, peered from
the curtains of the shugduf. None the less warm was the greeting
extended to the Moslem, whose weak and trembling frame was an instant
call upon their sympathy.
"Now," said Manasseh, piling up a heap of cushions, in his impetuous
way, "get us some supper, will you not? I can eat my own share, and half
of Kedar's. Like the birds, he takes but a peck at a time."
Supper was ordered, and soon attendants entered bearing platters, until
the copper table was burdened with the most tempting dishes of
Mecca--roast of spiced lamb, slices of juicy melon and cucumber,
pyramids of rice, pomegranates, grapes of Tayf, sweetmeats, fragrant
draughts of coffee.
Kedar watched with a languid smile. The peace of this quiet home life
affected him almost to tears. Strange had been his emotions when he
awoke to consciousness in the shugduf, alone with Manasseh, in the
wilderness--feelings first of indignation, then of gratitude, then of
admiration for Manasseh, in whom he now discovered the leader of the
Jewish horse. And on the way this admiration had ripened into love for
the unselfish Jewish youth.
The weariness of the long journey began to tell upon him now, and he was
glad that he was among friends. He could eat but little, and was content
to listen to Manasseh's bright talk, and to watch him as, with flashing
eye and eloquent gesture, he fought over again the Battle of Khaïbar, or
when, with hushed tone and tearful eye, he told of the death of Asru,
and his lonely burial.
"I must seek his widow and his children," said he. "This is all I have
brought them;" and he drew the tangled, blood-stained lock of hair from
his bosom.
Silence fell on the little group as they looked upon it, then Yusuf's
tones, falling like the low, deep cadence of a chant, repeated the
words:
"And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb
shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him. And they shall see his
face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no
night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the
Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign forever and forever."
"Amen!" responded Amzi, fervently. And Manasseh looked out of the window
towards the bright heavens above Abu Kubays, imagining that he could see
Asru, clad in shining apparel, with a happy smile on his lips, and the
courageous eyes of old looking forth with a new love-light from his
radiant countenance.
"Do you know his family?" he asked.
"Ah, yes; they are now regular attendants at the Christian church. They
have destroyed all their household gods."
"What!" exclaimed Manasseh, "is this true! How I wish Asru had known it!
What joy it would have given him!"
Amzi smiled. "Dare you think, Manasseh, that he does not know it long
ere this,--that he did not know it even at the breach of Khaïbar? I like
to think that our Asru now has a spiritual body wholly independent of
time or space, capable of transporting itself whenever and wherever the
mind dictates."
"We cannot know these things as they are, in this time," remarked Yusuf.
"But the day is not very far distant now, Amzi, when you and I shall
explore these mysteries for ourselves."
So the talk went on. Kedar listened with interest. He thought it a
curious conversation, and felt so strangely out of place that it seemed
as though he were dreaming, and listening to the talk of genii.
Next morning he was in a decided fever. Then came long days of pain and
nights of delirium, in which Manasseh and his two friends hovered like
ministering spirits about the youth, whose wounds had healed only to
give place to disease far more deadly. In those terrible nights of
burning heat his parched tongue swelled so that he could scarcely
swallow; he tossed in agony, now fancying himself chained to a rock
unable to move, while the prophet urged him on to the heights above
where the battle was raging; now imagining himself fastened near a
burning furnace whose flames were fed by the bodies of those whom he had
slain. He would cry out in terror, and beads of perspiration would start
upon his forehead. He lived the whole war over again, and his only rest
was at times when, partially conscious, he felt kindly hands placing
cool bandages on his burning head, or gently fanning his face.
The time at last came when he sank into a heavy sleep, and awoke calling
"Mother."
It was Manasseh who came, almost startled by the naturalness of the
tone.
"I have been very ill, Manasseh?"
"Very."
"Long?"
"For weeks. But you must not talk. You will soon be well now."
The invalid closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to think. Presently he
opened them.
"Manasseh, if I had died, would I have seen Asru?"
Manasseh was embarrassed. "I--I cannot say," he stammered. "I do not
know you well enough to be sure."
"You do not think I should. I do not think so either," he returned
decidedly, and closed his eyes again.
In a few days he was able to talk.
"Manasseh, did I hear Yusuf praying for me once when I was ill?"
"He prayed for you every day,--not only that you might be spared to us,
but that you might come to know Jesus, and to reject Mohammed."
"I do not think that I ever accepted him--that is, in a religious
sense," he returned.
Manasseh's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Then why did you follow
him?" he asked.
"Because, I suppose, his successes dazzled me. It seemed a grand thing
to be a hero in the war--to ride, and charge, and drive all before me.
Aye, Manasseh, it is after the war that the scales fall from one's
eyes."
"How could you, then, follow one whom you did not accept, and must,
therefore, have deemed an impostor?"
"I tell you, Manasseh, I gave little heed to matters of religion. For
the first time, during the last few days, I have thought of a religious
life, or of a hereafter, as I lay here feeling that but for you and your
friends, I should even now be in the unknown land beyond the grave."
Manasseh talked long and earnestly to the now convalescent youth. Yusuf
and Amzi too talked gently to him when he seemed inclined to hear, but,
in his present weak state, they deemed that the consciousness of living
in a godly house would appeal more strongly than words of theirs. The
weeks passed on, yet he gave no indication that their hopes were being
realized. Once indeed he said:
"Manasseh, would that I had had a godly training such as yours!"
"Did your mother not tell you of these things?"
Kedar shook his head. "My poor mother drifted away from her early
training in our half-heathen Bedouin atmosphere," he said. "The
Bedouins know little of Christ. They have traditions of the creation, of
the deluge, and such old-time stories; in all else they are almost
heathen. When I am well, Manasseh, we will go to them--to my father--and
you will tell them, Manasseh?"
Manasseh nodded a smiling assent.
It was with no little trepidation that Yusuf and Amzi watched for some
sign of spiritual growth in the young Bedouin. As the days wore on, and
he was able to get about, though still weak, he was willing to attend
the Christian meetings; but he sat in silence, and persisted in wearing
the garb of a Moslem. The friends did not understand his attitude. They
did not recognize the sort of petulant shamefacedness that hindered him
from coming forth boldly in defence of principles which he fully
endorsed in his secret heart, and made him fear to cut himself loose
from the side on which he had taken so bold a stand, lest the epithet of
"turncoat," be fixed upon him. Kedar had not yet been touched by that
"live coal" which alone can set man in touch with God, and free him from
all human restrictions. But though he said little, he was thinking
deeply. He was not indifferent; and there is ever great room for hope
where there is not indifference.
And while the little Meccan household was thus engrossed in its own
circle, momentous events were happening without the capital.