Lounging on a bench under the tall date-palms in the market-place of
Hamman-el-Enf, I smoked a rank _cherbli_ in dreamy laziness. The day
was dying; the blazing African sun sank, flooding the broad Bay of Tunis
with its blood-red afterglow, and the giant palms cast their long,
straight shadows over the hot, sun-blanched stones. There are no half
lights in Northern Africa; all is either glaring brilliance or sombre
shadow. Little twilight is there in that land of mosques and marabouts;
night follows the death of day with astonishing rapidity. Even while I
sat, darkness crept on; the squatting, chattering crowd of
white-burnoused Moors and Arabs and red-fezzed negroes had dispersed,
and the sunbaked little village seemed almost deserted. Suddenly the
white figure of an Arab woman glided slowly and ghost-like from the deep
shadow of the ilexes. Like all others of her sex, she was enshrouded in
a _haick_, and the lower portion of her face was hidden by her thick
white veil, only a magnificent pair of black sparkling eyes, and a
forehead upon which rows of gold sequins tinkled, being visible.
Halting for a few seconds, she stared at me as if in surprise, then, in
soft musical Arabic, gave me peace, exclaiming--
"Sadness dwelleth in the heart of the Touareg. Of a verity thou art not
more sad than I," and, sighing, she drew her _adjar_ closer across her
face, and was about to pass on.
"Sad, art thou?" I answered, surprised that she should address me, a
veiled man of the desert. In the dim light I could distinguish that her
hose were of the finest white silk, that her tiny shoes were Paris made
and of patent leather, and that the hand which held the _haick_ around
her was loaded with valuable rings. "Loosen thy tongue's strings, O one
of beauty," I said, gallantly. "Tell me why speakest thou unto me; why
unhappiness hath fallen upon thee."
"Ah, no!" she replied, in a hoarse half-whisper, glancing round in
apparent fear. "My people must not observe me having speech with thee.
Ah, Allah may bring one of us to Certainty before to-morrow, and--if
thou wouldst only help me!"
"What service can I render?" I asked, quickly, well aware that the fact
of her speaking to a Touareg in a public place was of itself a very
grave offence in the eyes of the fanatical Aissawa. The barrier between
the Berber and the Touareg in Tunis is still insurmountable.
"First, thou must trust me," she said frankly. "I am called Fathma
Khadidja; and thy name--already I know it. It is dangerous for me to
hold converse here with thee. Let thy footsteps follow mine. Come, and
may Allah, who knoweth the innermost parts of the breasts of men, shower
upon thee bounteous blessings," and she turned and started off with that
waddling gait peculiar to all Arab women.
I hesitated. If really in distress, it was strange that she had not
called upon her own people to help her, instead of requesting a Touareg
and a stranger to render assistance.
No. I decided not to go, and sat watching her receding figure cross the
market-place where slaves were sold even within recent years, and
disappear in the shadow of the mosque.
In an hour I had forgotten the mysterious Fathma and her troubles, and
returned to Tunis.
Next afternoon, as I entered my temporary abode in the Kasbah-Kasneh, my
slave handed me a note. As I tore it open it emitted an odour of
geranium, the favourite perfume of the harem. Having read the three
long lines of sprawly Arabic characters it contained, I placed the
missive in my pocket and turned away. If I valued my life, I was to
meet Khadidja that evening. Was that a threat, or a warning? During
the remainder of that day I lounged outside the cafes and pondered
deeply. For hours I ruminated over absinthe and mazagran, cassis and
bock; and, after much consideration, I at length resolved to keep the
appointment, and ascertain the extent of the mysterious danger of which
she wrote.
At the appointed hour I awaited her at a secluded spot outside the Bab
Alewa. The clock of the Mosque of Sidi Mahrez, close by, struck
solemnly, and as the last sound died away I heard the _frou-frou_ of
feminine garments, as a shrouded figure advanced to meet me.
"Ah, so thou hast kept thine appointment, O Touareg!" she exclaimed,
stretching forth to me a soft white hand. "Thou thinkest, because I
believe in the One, and in Mahomet his Prophet, that I am unworthy thy
regard; that I am not to be trusted, eh?" Then she laughed lightly,
adding, "Come, let us hasten. I want to have serious speech with thee
upon a matter that affecteth us both."
Without replying, I walked on beside her, wondering whether she were
ugly or beautiful. Crossing a deserted garden, we passed out to where
two asses were tethered, and, mounting them, rode away into the
darkness. I remember that we went through several villages, and at
length came to a larger place built upon the low cliffs, where a number
of spacious flat-roofed houses overlooked the sea.
Suddenly she dismounted before a low arched door in one of the great
square, inartistic, whitewashed residences, and placed her fingers upon
her lips indicative of silence. Taking a key that was suspended around
her neck, she unlocked the door and led me into a dark passage so
thickly carpeted that my feet fell noiselessly as she guided me onward.
Once I caught a glimpse of a spacious patio, rendered cool by a plashing
fountain and green with many leaves; then through two small chambers we
passed, until we came to a closed door, which she opened, and I found
myself in a spacious, dimly illumined apartment, decorated in quaint
Arabesques of dark crimson and dull gold. Everything was rich and
luxurious. The air was heavy with sensuous odours rising in a thin blue
column from the gold perfuming-pan. On the floor lay costly Arab rugs,
and a couple of lion skins were thrown down on each side of the centre
mat. A _derbouka_, and a _ginkri_, fashioned from a tortoise-shell, lay
thrown aside, while from a magnificent hanging-lamp of gold a soft,
mellow light was diffused, though scarcely sufficient to show the heavy
draperies that concealed the walls.
"Best thee a moment, and I will return," my mysterious veiled guide
said; and then, drawing aside some of the silken hangings, she
disappeared through a door that had been hidden.
With hands behind me, I slowly wandered round, wondering what apartment
of the house this was, when some half-finished embroidery that had
apparently been tossed hurriedly aside upon a coffee stool of inlaid
pearl and silver caught my eye. That told me the truth. My heart gave
a sudden bound. I was in the harem!
A French novel lay open on one of the little tables. I took it up, and,
as I stood in wonderment, a movement behind me caused me to turn, and
then I beheld the most beautiful woman I had ever gazed upon. She was
not more than twenty-two, with a complexion fresh as a Frenchwoman's,
features that were perfect, pretty lips parted in a glad smile, and a
dress that was the most gorgeous I had ever seen. The ugly _haick_ had
been replaced by a _rlila_ of palest leaf-green brocaded silk, beneath
which showed a rose-pink velvet vest; and, in the place of the baggy
trousers, she wore the _serroual_, of silken gauze. Her tiny bare feet
were thrust into slippers of rose velvet; on her head was set jauntily a
little crimson skull-cap embroidered with seed-pearls; and her _fouta_,
or sash, was of tricolour-striped silk, richly ornamented with gold.
Upon her bare arms and ankles diamonds flashed and sparkled with a
thousand fires, and her bangles jingled as she moved. She dazzled and
fascinated me.
With an apology for having left me, she sank slowly among her cushions
with graceful abandon, at the same time losing one of her slippers, and
motioning me to a seat near her.
"Thou thinkest it strange," she said; "perhaps even thou art angry, that
I have brought thee hither alone unto this gilded cage. But I must
speak with thee, O Man of the Desert--to warn thee;" and her dimpled
chin rested upon her dainty palm as she, with seriousness, looked
straight into my eyes.
"To warn me! Of what?"
"Thou art threatened," she answered slowly. "Thou wilt, perhaps,
remember that a month ago thou wert in Kabylia, and left Fort National
for Tizi Ouzou. Thou hadst the careless indifference that thy free life
giveth, and, no doubt, thou wert prepared to meet Eblis himself if he
promised an adventure. On that occasion with whom didst thou travel?"
"I journeyed in company of a wealthy man of thy people, who was
returning from the wine market."
"True, O friend," she replied. "A week ago thou didst describe that
journey to a Frank of the _Moniteur de l'Algerie_, and ridiculed thy
companion. See here!" and stretching forth her hand, she took up a
paper containing an interview in which I had treated the journey in a
comic vein, and had denounced in no measured terms the bigotry of my
fellow-traveller.
"Thou art a Veiled Man; and that man," she continued, "hath sworn upon
the book of Everlasting Will to kill thee!"
"How dost thou know this, O thou whose face is rivalled only by the
sun?" I asked quickly.
"Because--because the man thou hast ridiculed is my husband!" she
replied, rising, and adding wildly, "Because I overheard the villainous
scheme that he hath planned with his brother to take thy life, and at
the risk of mine own honour I determined to save thee. Allah alone
knoweth how terrible is my life alone in this place with my servants,
bound to a fierce, brutal man who loveth me not, and upon whose brow the
Cafer hath set seal."
"Is thy husband neglectful, then?" I asked, noticing the poignant
sorrow that in that moment seemed to have crushed her.
"Alas! yes. Whithersoever I go the curse of Sajin seemeth upon me," she
sighed, passing her slim, bejewelled hand slowly across her white
forehead. Tears welled in her brilliant eyes, as she added in a broken
voice, "I am lost--lost to all; soulless, uncared for, unloved."
She hesitated a moment thoughtfully, glancing first at her own
bejewelled hands find then at mine. With a quick movement she drew from
one of her fingers a curious ring of silver, around which were Arabic
characters in gold.
"See!" she cried, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her. "Take
this, and wear it. It is my talisman, and as long as it is upon thy
finger no harm can befall thee. It beareth the stamp of `La Belle,' and
will preserve thee in health and guard thee in the hour of tribulation."
She took my hand in hers, and drawing my own ring from my finger,
replaced it by her strange-looking talisman, afterwards slipping my own
ring upon her hand. A sob escaped her. "We have exchanged rings!" she
exclaimed brokenly, looking up into my face with tear-stained,
world-weary eyes. Then, clutching her bare breast as if to still the
throbbing of her heart, she cried, "When--when thou art far away, thou
wilt, peradventure, sometimes gaze upon mine, and remember that a
service was once rendered thee by a poor, unhappy woman--thou wilt
recollect that her name is Fathma Khadidja--that--that--ah! forgive me,
for I am mad! mad!"
Raising my hand to her warm lips, she kissed it passionately with all
the fire and ardour of the Child of the Sun. Then, releasing me, she
tottered back, panting, and sank upon her silken divan, with her face
buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break.
"_Cama tafakal kathalika tola ki_," I said, quoting at random from the
Koran. "Come, come," I added sympathetically, sinking down beside her,
tenderly stroking her long, silky tresses. "Despair not. The One
Worthy of Praise knoweth how thou sufferest, and will give unto thee
strength in the hour of thy need, and bring thee into the shadow of the
great lote tree."
"Ah! Thy mouth uttereth pearls of wisdom," she cried wildly. "But I
have touched thee, a Touareg, and am accursed by Allah. I care nought
for the future, for already am I forsaken, already have I tasted of the
bitter fruit of Al-Zakkum, and am doomed to the torture of Al-Hawiyat,
the place prepared for the evil-doers." Then, raising her face to mine,
with an intense look of passionate love, she said in a soft, sibilant
whisper, "Once only! Kiss me once! Then thou mayest go, and never
shall we meet--never!"
Her beautiful head fell upon my shoulder, and her hair--soft as spun
silk--strayed across my face. For a moment her lips met mine in a hot,
passionate kiss, a caress enough to make any man's head reel.
"I love thee," she whispered, in low, half-frightened tones, as she
clung to me, and would not allow me to release myself. "Unseen by thee,
I have watched thee many moons, and to-night have I brought thee hither
to tell thee--to confess to thee my secret."
I tried to draw my lingering lips from hers, but with the fire of
passion gleaming in her brilliant eyes she gripped me with a force I
should not have supposed her capable of.
"Stay," she whispered. "Without thee the canker-worm of love eateth
away my heart."
But I tore myself from her and left.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Next day my business of selling sheep took me to the Haras Fortress,
away behind the hills of Ahmar, and the voices of the _muddenin_ were
already calling the faithful for the _maghrib_ when I re-entered the
Kasbah. Kasneh, my slave, was playing _damma_ in the courtyard, but
rose quietly, saluted, and told me that he had taken to my room a small
package which had been left by the negro servant that had brought the
letter on the previous day.
Could it, I wondered, be a present from Khadidja? Rushing in, I found
on my table a small box, packed in white paper and secured with black
seals. Eagerly I tore away the wrappings and opened it.
As I did so a shriek of horror escaped me. I fell back awe-stricken at
the sight presented. Inside a satin-lined bracelet-case, bearing the
name of a Paris jeweller, on a piece of pale-blue velvet, there was
stretched a human finger that had been roughly hacked off at the joint!
It lay stiff, white, and cold, with the blood coagulated where the blunt
knife had jagged the flesh. The finger was a woman's--slim,
well-formed, with the nail stained by henna. It was loaded with costly
rings, which scintillated in the golden ray of sunset that strayed into
the room, and fell across them. As I looked, breathless in amazement, I
saw among the ornaments my own ring!
A scrap of paper that fluttered to the ground bore the words, scrawled
in Arabic character, "From the husband of Fathma Khadidja!"
That same night I strode furiously along the seashore, watching the
glimmering lights in the distance. In fear and trepidation, I took the
hideous souvenir of love, and, when far from the city, cast it away from
me into the dark rolling waters.
Perhaps there, deep in its lonely hiding-place, it met the white, dead
thing of which it had once formed part--the body of the matchless
daughter of the sun whose wondrous hair enmeshed me, whose full, red
lips held me like a magnet, shackling me to the inevitable. Who can
tell?
Truly, in that brief hour when I lounged at her side, I was at the
dreaded Bab-el-Hawiyat.