As they emerged from the house, Saadi drew Jaffer aside. “Go to Europa,
and pay bill and say man will come for horse. Is it any Muhammedan
clothes in your bag?”
“Yes, an old suit and a new one.”
“Put on oldest and put others in dirty bundle. Come with bundle to big
mosque—Husrev Beg.”
Jaffer obeyed orders, remarking to the clerk at the hotel that he was
not enjoying Serajevo, and was going into the country to find peace. The
clerk replied that he could blame no guest for doing so; already the mob
was attacking Serbian shops and throwing the wares into the streets.
At the mosque Jaffer found Saadi under the old sycamore. “We go now into
crowd and cross river by Bendbashi. It is not any use to try to get by
railroad station. We will try to get past Koniak and go up mountain. You
are pilgrim. I wish you were more dirty—here, I will wash hands and face
for you with good dirt, so! Well, if any gendarme arrests me, scoot.
Drop bundle and scoot! Dear Jaffer, is it what you say impossible to
exaggerate how fast you must scoot. Imagine Dr. Trench is in mountain
with nine babies bleeding to death for want of your shirt to tie up
little legs. When you are lost in mountains—all lost as possible,
Jaffer—hire kmet to guide to Starigrad.”
“Very good, Saadi. But I shan’t drop the bundle. It has a canister of tea
for the doctor.”
They walked in leisurely fashion down Saratchi Street, Jaffer carrying
his own bundle. They bought a dozen rolls, and Jaffer ate one as he
slouched along, trying to feel like a pilgrim. They reached the Rathaus,
and Saadi calmly approached a gendarme and asked him if there was any
truth in the report that the assassins came from Belgrad. Twice he found
it advisable to execute the same manœuvre again before they reached the
other side of the river. Near the Koniak he did not wait to be halted,
but addressed the first pair of gendarmes and informed them that the only
way to get any peace from the accursed Serbs was to spend the night at
the shelter house on Mt. Trebevitch.
This was the critical moment. The bodies of the Crown Prince and his
Duchess lay within eight hundred feet, and the orders were strict.
For that matter the orders are always strict about Serajevo, which is
surrounded by a ring of concealed fortifications, and persons leaving the
main highways have been fired on at sight. The guard ordered them back.
Saadi flew into a rage. “If I go back,” he said, “my first job will be
to smash Tankossitch carriage factory, and I will say that you told me
to go ahead. Tausend Teufel! I promised to see the Pilgrim out of town.
He returns from the tomb of Gul Baba in Budapest, and the accursed Serbs
make Serajevo a hell for him.”
The guard hesitated, but repeated the command. Saadi sank upon his
knees before the turbaned tower of melancholy called Jaffer. “Farewell,
holy Hadji. Give me your blessing.” Jaffer slowly extended his arms and
bestowed an Afghan benison, adding a few well chosen Persian words. In
fact, he bestowed so many, and kept on bestowing, that Saadi began to
weep. The gendarmes grew tired of so much religion, and ended by letting
them both pass.
Four hours later, having dodged forts and folks, they reached the shelter
house, and got something to drink. Not a word of the trouble down below
had reached those heights, but Saadi made the story very clear. Serajevo
was no place for a pilgrim. The noble Hadji had frowned and turned his
back upon it.
Not until darkness made going unsafe did the fugitives pause again. Saadi
stood leaning on Jaffer’s shoulder, surveying the horizon. There they
stood, drawn together from the ends of earth, two cells in the web of
life. Stars were coming out. Earth was no longer blindly busy to improve
the shining hours of one bright particular star, but was beginning to
notice those about it. But even as they gazed, clouds gathered till the
sky was all welkin.
Silently the two men found a sheltered place among the rocks, gathered
withered stalks, and made a friendship fire.
“Now we will talk. Oh, my Jaffer, you are wonderful as Devil himself. Did
Chat give you message? Did you go to Tashkent? Only one man in Tashkent
knows Saadi.”
“I found him. Now read what I have for you.”
Jaffer opened his raiment and extracted from his money-belt a letter
addressed in a feminine hand, “Aux soins de Dr. Jaffer.” Having delivered
it at last, he took his sharp Afghan knife from the sheath and daintily
split a roll, and held it on the point of his dagger over the flame.
Saadi leaned forward by the friendship fire and read. Jaffer calmly
shifted the position of the toast lest his companion’s shapely head
should knock it off the dagger. Suddenly Saadi pressed the paper fiercely
to his lips.
“God in heaven! Son, Jaffer, I shall have son!”
“It is a pleasure to be the first to congratulate you. Will you have a
piece of toast?”
“No, no! Eat, Jaffer. Play it is wedding cake! Oh, Elsie, you are Mecca
and Mecca’s eight kinds of honey! But—”
“But what?”
“I am not much of doctor. I never guessed.”
Jaffer bit into the toast. “Spare your blushes, Saadi. I suppose that
even doctors have some natural sense of delicacy. Had you made up your
mind to remain in Chicago?”
“Yessiree. Soon I was going to tell Dr. Trench. But always something was
hanging over me. My promise!”
“With Mohammed Beg?”
“Yes, Jaffer. We had sworn to kill Franz Ferdinand. But I had bad record.
I went from Vienna to America because already I was suspected.”
“And there you lost your nerve?”
“No, Jaffer! But there I got word about Archduke. Long I knew—all boys in
University knew—that he had same trouble that killed his brother. They
both got infection at same place, Göding, up on river Märch. But Franz
seemed awful strong. When he stole Bosnia I hated him for strongest enemy
of Slavs. Papa said, ‘You do not hate him, you hate Kismet that made his
soldiers kill Stepanie; you must learn to be impersonal.’ But after two
years I hated him worse than before, and made Mohammed swear with me to
end him. Well, Jaffer, two days before Lister opened came letter from
medical man in Vienna who knew. He wrote, ‘Saadi, Archduke will live one
year, maybe two, but not three.’ My God, what was use to shoot him! It
would only give Austria excuse to wipe Servia off map, and Germany would
jump at chance to get to Stamboul while Franz Joseph was alive to help.
Then came worst of all!”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother died. Why should it almost kill me? What is one mother in
whole world of mothers? I got papa’s letter on day before Lister opened.
I entered, but that night all was too much. In your room I tried to end
up Saadi with gas.”
“Poor kid! I didn’t know that. Who found you?”
“Dr. Trench. He was shorter with me than what you say piecrust. He did
not give one damn. He was colder than Allah and harder than army of
Turks. It did me lot of good, Jaffer. I could see inside him. He had
worse despair than I had. I said, If this man can stick it out, so can
Saadi. You must be good to him, Jaffer.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“I mean what you say _simpatico_. It is big internal wound in doctor. I
do not know what.”
“And thinking him wounded, you proceeded to lie to him.”
“Suremike. I told him Arabian Nights about Bokhara. He did not believe
one word. He just said, ‘Let me look at wound in neck!’ He looked, and
knew I was lying, and said, ‘Go on.’ He is best of all men.”
“Was it necessary to fill him up like that?”
“Suremike. Doctor is Vienna man. Suppose he went to dinner of Vienna men.
Suppose Silvestri talked to him. Silvestri is consul in Chicago, and he
is not anybody’s fool. Suppose doctor said, ‘I know Vienna man named
Saadi Sereef.’ That would be nice business!”
“I see. And you had to keep up the Bokhara bluff till the last minute, I
suppose.”
“Suremike. When cable came, I had to have money quick. I could not get
up nerve to bleed doctor with direct operation. I went to Congress Hotel
and hired room, and put on whiskers and eyeglasses same as when I handled
teachers in Bosnian schools. I was Rosenvine, agent of Kushbeg wishing
to find wandering kid. Becker came to see Rosenvine, and I filled him up
to neck—only I made one little break when I tried to quote Jew proverb.
I followed him to Western Union, and after he sent wire I went in and
read torn up scraps he left. It was funny, Jaffer. All dear boys in
Caravansery offered Saadi money, and Becker told doctor, and doctor
handed me thousand dollars in gold. But something made me awful sick when
Deland talked to me so kind. I had to lie about mamma. I had to kill her
once more, for Bosnia.”
“You certainly missed your calling, Saadi. Anybody who can play the Jew
well enough to fool Becker, and play the Bokharan well enough to fool
Ameen—well, he has most actors beaten to what Deland would describe as a
frazzle.”
Saadi sighed. “We are all actors. We go to play to get points about daily
acting, which is serious business. Issa was great actor.”
“What!”
“I say, Issa was great actor. Did you ever read third sura of what you
say Fourth Gospel?”
“Not on your life, Saadi. It is bad enough for a binamaz[6] to go to the
mosque and act like the faithful, as I do sometimes when it will help
business.”
“Well, my Jaffer, sometime you read third of John, and see Issa pretend
damn war-machine of universe had son called prince of peace. It is good
business. He pretended so hard he went glorious crazy and believed it.
Elsie made me read, because friend of hers dared her to. It seemed to
inject good big dose digitalis in poor old Saadi’s circulation. If not
that last dose for nerves, I think Saadi would have wired Mohammed Beg to
please go to hell.—Well, Jaffer, go on tell how you tracked me.”
“Why, the doctor sent me a telegram containing the mystic letters
B.S.V.D. It took me some time to get the ingredients of that formula.”
“Oh, ho! I was careless child to leave it in your room. I thought it was
in my flat, in grate fire. It was signal with Mohammed. We had long code.
It was wonderful you could guess ‘Bosna Serai, Vidov Dan!’ But how you
knew boys in Belgrad?”
“Yukitch told me that you used to haunt the Green Wreath, and so I went
there to find you.”
“It is wonderful. It is very wonderful. And all this you did for me. No,
you did not do one damn thing for me. You did for Dr. Trench.”
“Yes,” said Jaffer, “and partly because I don’t like to be beaten.”
“It was for Dr. Trench,” repeated Saadi. “It was for living breath of
science in damned unscientific world. Jaffer, it is terrible thing that
is going to happen in two three months.”
“You scared Ilitch, my friend, but you can’t scare me.”
“Of course I can’t scare you. When Franz Ferdinand walks straight into
trap with eyes open, how can I scare wide-awake Dr. Jaffer aus Peshawar?
But look!”
Saadi rose and thrust his finger into the western darkness. “It is about
nine miles down to Ilidze as raven flies. There is old arsenal in ground,
where neolithic men made stone weapons. In six months all Europe will be
back to neolithic stage. Bogomi, Bogomi! Tell Dr. Trench never to let
Elsie come to Starigrad to live. Let my little Saadi grow up in Chicago,
and Dr. Trench keep eye on him. My father will send money always. My
father will settle money on Elsie. But it is end of Starigrad.”
“Don’t get gloomy, Saadi. Where are you going to be all this time?”
“In grave, Jaffer. But we will give both sides good run for money. I
wonder if they have taken Haidar yet.”
Jaffer emptied his bundle, drew Saadi close to him beside the little
fire, and spread his European clothes and the Bokhara suit over them.
“Rest now, my friend. Dream that you are at Starigrad safe in the kula,
or in Halsted Street safe in our room.”
Jaffer fell asleep at once, but he slept so quietly that Saadi thought
him still awake. “Jaffer,” said Saadi softly.
Jaffer heard, far away, and slowly came back.
“Jaffer, when Kaiser of Germany goes to sleep you think he feels like
child?”
“Khuda medanad,” growled Jaffer.
“Well, Jaffer, I do not see how in such big lonesome world any man can go
to sleep—I do not care how big is jaw or cerebrum—unless he plays he is
child again.”
“All right, Saadi. Try it on.”