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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79293 ***




                           The Man Who Limped

                        By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE

   _The strange and disagreeable adventure of Hamed the Attar, and
   how he overcame his perverse hatred of women._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
               Oriental Stories, October-November 1930.]




You wonder why I limp, _effendi_? You are too considerate to ask, of
course, but I, whom Allah, in his infinite goodness and mercy, has
already permitted two years beyond man’s allotted three score and ten,
have learned to read the thoughts of people by their expressions.
Serving as a dragoman sharpens the wits.

You will hear the story? So be it. Here is the coffee-shop of Silat
where we can rest in comfort, and the tale will serve to while away the
time. This cushioned _diwan_ is better than the sidewalk stools, and
more quiet.

Ho, Silat! Pipes and coffee for two.

You know me, _effendi_, as Hamed bin Ayyub, the Dragoman, for thus it is
that I have been known for many a year—subsisting on the _baksheesh_ of
worthy travelers like yourself, and showing them the sights of the Holy
City.

None remain who remember me as Hamed the Attar, for full fifty years
have passed since I was a druggist and perfumer with a prosperous shop
of my own.

Looking on this gray beard, this wrinkled countenance, and this withered
frame, you will scarce be able to picture Hamed the Attar, for in those
days I was a handsome youth with a skin as smooth as peach-bloom, a
beard as black as night, and a tall, straight body that was the envy of
many of my less favored acquaintances.

Most of my customers, _effendi_, were women, and I was patronized not
only by the wives and daughters of the middle class, but by many of the
great ladies and kohl-eyed beauties of the harems, as well. Aihee! What
a business I did in scents, cosmetics and unguents, in henna,
depilatories and aphrodisiacs, so that each day added to my profits, and
I was in a fair way to become a man of great wealth.

Each day, also, added to my knowledge of the ways of women, for being
prosperous I attracted flirtations from those of little wealth who
desired husbands, and being also good to look upon, I received signs,
hints, and even plain proposals from those who had wealthy lords but
desired handsome lovers.

Many were the kohl-rimmed eyes that signed to me with signs of
love—many the slender, henna-tipped fingers that sought to thrill me
with their gentle pressures, and many the _yashmaks_ that were dropped
as if by accident from faces of such ravishing beauty as would have
broadened the breast of a sultan.

My father, on whom be peace, was a great and wise _Imam_, and a true and
pious believer. “My son,” he had told me a hundred times, “beware of
women who sign with the eyes and hands—and avoid as thou wouldst the
unclean those who, feigning accident or innocence, disclose their charms
to thy gaze, for if thou wert to take one of them to wife, Eblis himself
could not play thee more falsely, nor wreak more mischief and bring more
sorrow upon thee.”

His words, perhaps because of their repetition, and also of the great
love and respect I bore my father, had made a firm and lasting
impression on my mind. Nevertheless, having an eye to business, I
feigned ignorance to those who signed or hinted, put off with excuses
those who made plain proposals, and turned piously away when aught was
revealed that should not be, though I must confess that I was at times
sorely tempted, and would perhaps have yielded, had it not been for the
timely warning of my father. Thus it came about, that I slowly grew to
be a decided misogynist.

For two years this went on, adding to my wealth and to my distrust of
and dislike for women. That is, _effendi_, I _thought_ I disliked women.

Then I saw _the_ woman.

Having grown sufficiently prosperous, I had taken a pretentious, richly
furnished house in a quarter favored by well-to-do merchants, and had
bought two black slaves to minister to my wants.

So it chanced that, on the evening of the day I took possession of my
new dwelling, when my shop was closed and vesper prayers were over, I
mounted to my housetop to smoke my _shishab_ in the moonlight and enjoy
the coolness of the evening.

Scarcely had I seated myself on the cushioned _diwan_ which my slaves
had brought up for me, ere I heard the soft tones of a woman’s voice, so
silvery sweet that they might have been those of a _houri_ from
Paradise, singing a love song of the _Badawin_.

There was that about the voice which thrilled me unaccountably, and I
was consumed with a desire to see the singer. Presently, unable to
restrain myself longer, I stood up on the _diwan_ and looked over the
wall. With that look, _effendi_, went the heart of Hamed the Attar.

                 *        *        *        *        *

The voice, I have said, might have been that of a _houri_ from Paradise,
but when I looked over the wall it seemed to me that I looked on one
whose comeliness would turn a _houri_ furious with envy. All unmindful
of my ardent gaze, she reclined on a low _diwan_ placed among potted
shrubs and flowers, singing to a bird suspended in a cage before her.
And even as I looked, she finished her song, and the bird answered her
with trilling notes of its own.

[Illustration: _She reclined on a low diwan placed among potted shrubs
and flowers._]

To this day, _effendi_, I see her in my dreams as I saw her that night,
her beauty radiant as the sun at dawn, with hair of spun, red gold, with
Paradise in her eyes, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving like
the tamarisk when the soft wind blows from the hills of Nejd.

At some distance from her on a mat, there sat an old slave-woman with
folded hands. Presently, with croaking voice, she interrupted the sweet
warbling of the bird.

“Salamah Khatun,” she said, “you sing so beautifully that the voice of
the thrush rasps harshly in comparison. It is perhaps for gladness that
you sing.”

“What gladness, _Ya Ummi_? I have no reason to be glad.”

“Is it not, then, an occasion for great joy that your brave and handsome
cousin, Sheik Ali ben Mohammed, comes to take you to wife ere the moon
waxes full again?”

“To be his third wife, and thus subject to the rule of the first and the
jealousies of the second? I do not so understand the significance of
joy.”

“I, too, was young once, my lady, and though a slave, I loved and sang
for love. You can not fool me thus easily, my pretty.”

“Nor do I seek to, _Ya Ummi_, but rather to confide in you. I sing for
love, but not for love of Sheik Ali, who forces his cousinly claims on
me.”

“_Awah!_ I suspected as much. Today I saw the blush that suffused your
cheeks when the youthful attar gazed into your eyes for but a moment.
The _yashmak_ could not hide it from my old, dim eyes, yet that young
and sanctimonious fool did not perceive it. Or if he be not a fool, then
is he like graven stone, and in neither case would he be worth a paring
of your nail.”

Now when I heard these words of the old woman, _effendi_, though they
were not complimentary, my heart leaped with a great joy that knew no
bounds, for it happened that I was the only youthful attar in the city,
and that I now recognized these two as having come into my shop that
very afternoon. I recalled that the young lady had purchased a bottle of
my most expensive scent from me, and had blushed when I looked into her
eyes for a moment, whereat I had tactfully paid no attention, as was my
wont, though marveling at the unusual occurrence. For while signing with
the eyes and hands are voluntary, and denote boldness, a blush is
involuntary and denotes modesty. It was like finding a nugget of pure
gold in a worthless heap of glittering dross.

The old hag continued to vilify me, calling me an “_Akh al-Jahalah_,”
which means “Brother of Ignorance,” and many other unpleasant names
which I will not trouble to repeat, but her tirade was suddenly cut
short by the girl.

“Enough!” she exclaimed. “I will not permit you to slander him thus.
Begone, now, and prepare me a warm bath against my retiring.”

The old woman rose, shaking her head sorrowfully.

“_Awah! Awah!_” she groaned. “If this should come to the ears of the
great Sheik Ali ben Mohammed, what calamities will befall us all! Were
you to marry this fool of a drug-mixer this very night, the next full
moon would find you both dead of his wrath, or you a widow and mayhap a
slave; whence I would either be a slave of nobody or a slave of a
slave.”

“Have no fear, _Ya Ummi_, that I will marry him this night, nor any
other,” said the girl. “He does not even know that I exist; much less
does he care. Go now. Prepare my bath and cease your wailing, or people
will think we have a death in the house.”

                 *        *        *        *        *

Now, _effendi_, having heard all this, and seeing the girl cooing softly
to the little bird, which had grown tired and tucked its head under its
wing, I was more than ever affected by the beauty and modesty of this
maiden, and the secret love she bore me, and desired her above all my
possessions and above all the wealth which it had been my hope to
acquire. Yea, I desired her even above my hope of Paradise.

This being so clear in my mind as to admit of no doubt, and I being a
man of action, I climbed to the top of the wall and noiselessly let
myself down not ten paces from her. So silent was my tread in my _mezz_
of soft morocco, that I stood beside her, yet she was not aware of my
presence.

Folding my arms, and bowing my head, like a slave awaiting the will of
his master, I coughed gently.

She looked up at me, uttered a stifled cry of fear, and sprang to her
feet on the other side of the _diwan_. Then, seizing a wrap of flimsy,
translucent material, she threw it over her head and drew a corner
across her face so that only her glorious, terrified eyes were visible.

“Have no fear, O lady,” I said, “and make no outcry, for I will go at
your command, but only humbly ask leave to say what I have come to say
before I depart.”

“Oh, my misfortune! Oh, my sorrow! Oh, my disgrace!” she exclaimed,
drawing still farther away from me. “And alas, it is Hamed the Attar who
brings this shame upon me.”

“Nay, Hamed your Slave,” I replied. “Wilt vouchsafe me but a moment to
say that which I have come to say?”

For answer, she flashed at me such a look of scorn that I truly felt the
very slave I had named myself. Then she turned her shapely back on me
and started toward the stairway.

“Wait,” I pleaded, whipping my _jambiyah_ from its sheath and poising
its keen, curved blade above my heart, “or you leave only the corpse of
Hamed your Slave behind you.”

At this, she turned and surveyed me with a look of concern that flooded
my heart with hope. Her words, however, were words of scorn.

“Alas,” she said, “that my faith in you has been so rudely destroyed. I
had thought you different from other men, and better, yet you violate
the sanctity of the _harim_ without so much as a single ‘_destoo’r_’ to
warn me to veil my face. You, whom I had thought so good and so pious,
enter my house like a common thief, to my disgrace and your own unending
shame. Now you heap injury upon injury by threatening to take your life
here. Take it, if you will, for it is a worthless thing, but pray do so
elsewhere.”

Humiliated beyond words, I sheathed my _jambiyah_, bowed low, and slowly
walked back to the wall over which I had just come. I realized that
every heart-stabbing word she had uttered was truth, and that I had
committed one of the most disgraceful crimes a believer may commit. I
was about to draw myself up on the wall when, to my surprize, I heard
her speak once more.

“Stay.”

Turning, I saw her coming toward me, and with head bowed and arms folded
once more, I awaited her further words.

“I know not why my heart is softened toward you, transgressor and
profaner though you are,” she said, coming up before me, “yet the deed
is done, and may not be undone by your sudden departure. Nor can it be
made worse by your lingering a moment longer. I therefore grant you
leave to say that which you came to say, providing only that it is
honorable.”

“O, lady,” I replied, “it is honorable in thought and purpose, yet I
dare not say it now, with the full realization of the heinous crime I
have so thoughtlessly committed, upon me. My only words, then, will be
to humbly ask your forgiveness for what I have done.”

“Allah does not withhold His mercy from the truly penitent. Who, then,
am I to refuse you pardon? Take my forgiveness, freely granted, but pray
to Allah for His.”

“May He requite you,” I said fervently, and laid my hand on the wall to
draw myself up.

“Must you go?” she asked.

I paused. There was that in her eyes which somehow reassured me and bade
me stay. After all, I had come with a definite purpose in mind, and it
was the height of folly to leave without accomplishing it, now that I
had the opportunity.

“It lies in your province to say,” I replied.

She laughed softly.

“I fear you have an ally, a very powerful aid on which you have not
counted,” she said. “Woman’s curiosity has got the better of me, and it
seems that I simply must know what you came to tell me. Take your
moment, therefore, and say your say.”

I stood awkwardly before her, not knowing how to begin—seeking suitable
words with which to describe fittingly the depth and purity of my
passion. Finding none, and marking her growing impatience, I blurted it
out in a most unseemly and uncourtly fashion.

“I came to tell you that I love you, and to ask you to become my wife.”

She drew in her breath sharply, and swayed slightly toward me, but when
I would have caught her in my arms she quickly eluded me.

“Your words are no less startling than your manner of entrance,” she
said when she had recovered herself, “nor are they less unconventional.
If what you say be true, why have you not sent _khatibeh_ women to
convey the message, as is the custom? Surely you are not too poor to
employ at least one _khatibeh_.”

“Nor a dozen, nor a hundred,” I rejoined. “I would squander my all on
_khatibeh_ women, if I might thus hope to win you. No, the reason is to
be found in my own foolhardy precipitancy. Tonight, when I heard you
singing, I suddenly realized that I loved you. I wanted to be with you,
if but for a moment, to tell you——”

“Enough,” she said coldly. “You heard me singing, so I presume you also
heard what I said to my slave. If so——”

It was my turn to interrupt.

“I heard you talking to someone,” I lied, instinctively feeling that her
outraged pride would be my undoing, “but as to what was said, I know
nothing.”

“Allah forgive you if you speak not the truth,” she said. “But I will
grant you the benefit of the doubt. As to that which you have asked of
me, it is that which I have not the power to give, even if I were
inclined to give it.”

“You mean that you have parents—a guardian?”

“Not that. My parents have been received into the mercy of Allah, and I
have no guardian. Being of age, I am legally my own mistress, yet I have
a cousin, a powerful and war-like sheik of the Beni Sakr tribe, who has
given notice that he comes next month to claim his cousinly
prerogative.”

Well I knew, _effendi_, the rights which tradition and custom give a
first cousin in such matters, and of the affront which would be placed
upon him if his priority claim were disregarded. And only too well was I
aware of the revenge which a powerful and war-like sheik would take for
a transgression of such rights. Yet so great was my desire for this girl
that I would have risked my life a thousand times to possess her.

“Such little as I have to offer, in comparison to that which your cousin
can give you,” I replied, “is yours for the choosing. Only name your
will, and it shall be the will of Hamed your Slave.”

“I can not answer you now,” she said. “I must have time to think.”

“So be it,” I replied, swinging up on the wall.

“My slave-woman will convey my answer to you,” she said. “Meanwhile,
send no _khatibeh_, for I would spare you all unnecessary expense, and
say nothing to anyone about this, lest it reach the ears of my cousin.”

“To hear is to obey,” I said. Then I dropped onto my own _diwan_ where I
spent the rest of the night smoking, and thinking over my strange
adventure and what it might lead to, until the _mueddin_ called the
summons for the dawn prayer. . . .

                 *        *        *        *        *

After prayers and breakfast, I went to my shop, but found it difficult
to keep my mind on my business. Being lovesick, I mooned about, with the
result that my faculties were not as keen as they should have been, and
I lost several opportunities for quite profitable sales. When
midafternoon came, I made up a package of choice perfumes, cosmetics and
unguents, and sent my apprentice with them to the Lady Salamah, telling
him that all was paid, and forbidding him to accept anything for them.

When he returned he told me that an old slave-woman had met him at the
door, and had taken the package without so much as an offer of
_baksheesh_.

On the following day, I sent a porter with a choice collection of potted
flowers and shrubs which I had purchased at no little cost.

On the third, I forwarded by messenger an assortment of delicious and
costly sweetmeats.

The next day being _El-Goom’ah_, which is our Sabbath, I repaired to the
mosque for worship at the noon call, nor did I reopen my shop
thereafter, but spent the rest of the day in holy contemplation, and in
selfishly praying Allah to soften the heart of the lady toward me.

The fifth day found me still without word from her whose love-slave I
had become, and in the afternoon I purchased a valuable prayer rug on
which were depicted the _mihrab_—the tree of life—and the hands of
Mohammed, the Apostle of Allah, on whom be peace and prayer. This I sent
to the lady by messenger.

On the sixth day I sent a bale of valuable hangings, tapestries and
silks.

The seventh day arrived without word from my beloved, and I sat behind
the curtains in the rear of my shop, leaving my apprentice to attend to
all sales. By this time, hope had so far fled me that my bosom was
constricted, so that I no longer had the power of peace. In the
afternoon, I rose, and taking with me a considerable sum of money,
visited a jeweler, where I purchased an _asawir_ bracelet studded with
diamonds of great price.

I had resolved to deliver this valuable present in person, but passing
my shop on the way, I looked within and was overjoyed to see the
familiar figure of the Lady Salamah’s slave-woman, evidently awaiting my
return.

After I entered, and we had exchanged greetings, I led her into the rear
room, anxious to hear what she would have to say.

“My mistress,” she said, “sends you the peace, and the wish that Allah
may increase your prosperity because of your great thoughtfulness and
generosity. She has directed me to inform you that she will accept your
offer under certain conditions.”

“And what may be the conditions?” I inquired.

“They have to do with her safety, comfort and dignity,” she said.

“Then I accede without further question.”

“But wait,” continued the old slave. “You may find them difficult.”

“Well, name them,” I said.

“My lady will not be married except in a manner befitting her station in
life.”

“That can be arranged,” I answered.

“But not here in Jerusalem. Remember the question of my lady’s safety. A
secret marriage she will not have, but a wedding suited to her position
would instantly be known over the entire city, and her cousin the sheik
would learn of it and come for his vengeance.”

“Then how can it be consummated?”

“By marrying elsewhere. Her desire, in brief, is this: that you sell all
your possessions here, and take her to Damascus, where the ceremony will
be performed. Only thus can you hope to escape the wrath of her war-like
cousin. You can then set up a new business in Damascus without fear of
being molested.”

“But how travel in secret to Damascus?”

“Can you not get camels, and a litter?”

“But if we join a caravan the news will travel back to the sheik, and he
will follow us, even to Damascus; so it were as well to stay here and
have it out with him.”

“Are you then afraid to fare forth with my mistress and me, you and your
two slaves? If she puts her trust in your strength and bravery to
protect her from the _Harami_, are you yourself fearful of them? Are you
less brave than a woman? Fie upon you! I will go back and tell my lady
you are afraid.”

“Stay, and be not so ready to judge me before I have spoken. I am not
afraid for myself—only for the danger which she might run. If it is her
desire to go, her will is my will. Tell her I will be glad to do all she
asks, and only await her final word. Pray convey to her this _asawir_, a
slight symbol of my affection, tendered with the hope that she may
consider it a token of our pledged troth.”

“I go, and will return the answer of my mistress in the morning. . . .”

                 *        *        *        *        *

In the morning, the old woman returned, according to her word, and told
me that her mistress would be ready to go with me in a week, that in the
meantime she would dispose of her property, except such as might be
taken with us. She also told me that her lady did not wish to put me to
unnecessary expense and would therefore be willing to ride in an
ordinary _shugduf_, or one-camel litter, but she added that if I wished
to show true affection I would provide a _takht-rawan_ with two camels
of easy gait to carry it, as she feared her mistress’ frail form would
not stand the swaying and jerking of a _shugduf_. This I promised to do,
and she departed.

I immediately set about disposing of my business, my house, and other
property which I did not have the means or the desire to transport.

Within the week, I had completed all preparations, packed my belongings,
and purchased a gorgeous _takht-rawan_, together with brass and scarlet
trappings and two gentle, sure-footed dromedaries to carry it. My two
black slaves I retained to lead the dromedaries, and purchased also a
third slave and four pack-camels to be haltered together and led by him,
carrying our tents, provisions, rugs, and other possessions. For my own
use I bought a swift-pacing dromedary with a splendid saddle and
equipment. Each of my slaves I armed with two pistols, a simitar, and a
_jambiyah_, and in addition to this armament for myself, I carried a
rifle, slung across my back. The greater part of my possessions I had
converted into gold, which I divided into equal quantities and placed in
strong bags depending from either side of my saddle.

Thus prepared and equipped, it was with no small feeling of pride and
satisfaction that I drew up my cavalcade before the door of my lady’s
house. She was ready to go—a virtue which I understand is quite lacking
with your _Ferringeh_ women—and I noticed with satisfaction that she
had disposed of all but a few of her belongings, which consisted of the
rug and bale of goods I had given her, a small bundle of clothing, her
caged song-bird, and her slave.

I assisted her and the old woman into the _takht-rawan_, while the
slaves loaded her belongings on the pack-camels, and I reflected that
the crafty old hag, when advising a two-camel litter, had probably been
quite as much concerned about her own comfort as that of her mistress.

It was early morning when we set out, and coming to the Via
Dolorosa—along which walked Sayyidna Isa with the cross, nineteen
centuries ago—we passed thence through the Bab es Subat, which the
_Ferringeh_ call St. Stephen’s Gate, and struck out on the Jericho Road,
our first objective the Hajj Road which leads from Mecca to Damascus.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Having traveled all day with but a short stop for prayers, food and
rest, we made camp in a wady, some fifteen miles beyond El Ghor, near
Mt. Nebo. We pitched three tents—one for the lady and her slave, one
for my slaves, and one for me.

My slaves built a fire, and would have prepared coffee, but my lady
insisted on doing this herself, and her old slave, who was busy baking
bread, declared that no coffee was quite so good as that prepared by the
fair hands of her mistress.

As I watched my affianced at her tasks, and noticed her grace, her
skill, and above all, her maidenly modesty—for she continually kept
herself veiled to the eyes—I felt that she was indeed worth a
thousandfold more than any cost I might be able to bear for her.

The coffee prepared, she tasted it, then, as a mark of special favor to
me, stuck a small lump of ambergris in the bottom of my cup, that my
beverage might be perfumed with it. I asked her to enjoy it with me, but
she insisted that she had purchased this ambergris for me alone, and
hoped that her lord-to-be, who being an attar was an excellent judge of
such things, might find it good.

One of my slaves, meanwhile, brought me my _shishah_, and I smoked, and
enjoyed many cups of coffee while the meal was being prepared.
Presently, to my great surprize, I found myself growing drowsy. My head
nodded, and I heard, as if in a dream, my lady commanding her
slave-woman to serve coffee to my slaves, as there was more than enough
for all of us. Then a strange sensation came over me—a feeling of
exhilaration and of lightness, as if I were floating in the air like a
bit of down. This was followed by strange and grotesque hallucinations,
in which I would, at one time, imagine myself as tall as Mt. Nebo, and
at another, as small as the ants that crawled at my feet. A word seemed
to be forming itself in my mind. Presently I saw it flash in letters of
fire from various points of the landscape. I saw it written on a silvery
cloud in the sky above me. The word was “_bhang_.” More I do not
remember, for consciousness left me. . . .

                 *        *        *        *        *

The sun had been near to setting when I lost consciousness. When I awoke
it had just risen. Moreover, I was no longer in the friendly shadow of
Mt. Nebo, but was surrounded by a glittering expanse of rolling sand
dunes. My head ached frightfully, I had a feeling of intense nausea, and
my muscles were sore and bruised as if they had been pounded. Attempting
to move my arms, I found them bound to my sides. My feet, also, were
tied together. I turned on my left side, and saw that my three black
slaves were lying on the sand, all bound and helpless. Turning on my
right side, I beheld two women and a man packing camp equipment and
utensils on my kneeling camels. The man I had never seen before, but the
women, their faces now indecently unveiled, were the two I had brought
out with me. A mule, evidently belonging to the strange man, was
tethered near my beasts.

She whom I had known as the Lady Salamah was the first to notice that I
had awakened. She immediately called this to the attention of her male
companion, and the two walked to where I lay. To my horror, I saw that
she was attired in the costume of a common _ghazeeyeh_, a shameless
dancing girl who displays herself before all men in vulgar postures and
movements, and that her companion was a low and extremely
villainous-looking hautboy player with a warty, bulbous nose and a black
patch over one eye.

The fellow spurned me with his foot.

“Sit up, O son of a disease,” he ordered gruffly.

“Not at your command, O spawn of a pestilence,” I replied.

He kicked me again so that my ribs were near crushed in when I uttered
this defiance, then swung on the girl. “Build a fire, slave, and heat
the oil,” he commanded. “We shall see to the case of this thief who robs
the homes of true believers.”

“Harkening and obedience, master,” she replied, and set about building a
fire.

“Now, stealer of slaves and profaner of the _harim_,” he said addressing
me once more. “You know the penalty the Koran and the law of the land
impose for theft. Can you give me any good reason why I should not
strike off your right hand, which is the legal penalty for the first
offense?”

“What mockery is this?” I asked him. “First I am drugged with _bhang_
and robbed. Then I am accused of theft.”

“First, O father of a calamity, you committed theft. Then you were
drugged and bound, but you have not been robbed. I have taken nothing
from you but my own property, as Allah is my witness. Yours is
untouched, and near at hand.”

“Will you be so kind as to inform me what I have stolen?” I asked.

“In the first place, O dog, you stole my slave-girl, Salamah.”

“She was represented to me as a great lady, whose favors were her own,”
I retorted.

“That does not excuse you, even if true.” So saying, he suddenly seized
me by my beard and jerked me to a sitting posture. Then he unbound my
right hand, and unsheathed his simitar.

“Will you hold out your hand, that I may strike it off?” he asked. “Or
must I have it bound across one of your bales?”

The girl, who had placed a small cauldron of oil over the fire, the
purpose of which I knew only too well, now walked over in front of me,
swaying her hips in the wanton manner of the _ghazeeyeh_.

“Is there no help for it, but that you cut off his hand, my lord?” she
asked.

“There is no help,” he replied. “Hold out your hand, O sink of
corruption.”

“It is pitiful for him to lose his hand,” she said, “when he has worldly
goods with which he may expiate his crime. They can be replaced, but a
hand lost is lost forever.”

“That is true,” he replied. “Offender against the law, how much is your
right hand worth to you?”

Before replying, I considered the situation in which I was placed. What
he had said regarding the law was only too true, and it was quite
apparent that Salamah was really the slave of this villainous musician.
The fact that he and the two women had plotted against me to bring this
very thing about, might or might not be capable of proof. In the
meantime they had not only the Koran and the law of the land on their
side, but the well-known “right of might” as well.

I bethought me of the two bags of gold which hung from my saddle, each
of which represented nearly half of my fortune. After all, what is half
of one’s fortune compared to one’s right hand?

“There is a bag of gold hanging on the right side of my saddle,” I
replied. “If it suffice you not, then strike off my hand.”

Immediately he sent the slave-girl to fetch the bag, and when she
brought it, he examined and hefted it.

“A fair price for a right hand,” he said. Then he turned to my three
slaves, who had by this time regained consciousness. “You have heard and
seen this transaction, and bear witness that your master has purchased
his right hand with this gold,” he said.

All assented.

“It is well. The right hand is secure to your master. Now, the Koran
says that for the second offense, the left foot shall be cut off. Your
master has committed a second offense, in that he stole Marjanah, the
slave of my slave. Unbind his left foot from the other, that I may
strike it off.”

“Is there no remedy, master, but that you strike off his left foot?”
asked the girl.

“There is none,” he answered. “It is the command of the Koran, which
every true believer should obey.”

“But if he make restitution, can not his foot be saved to him?”

“Take the other bag of gold, which hangs on the left of my saddle, and
have done with it,” I groaned.

Whereupon the slave-girl fetched the other bag of gold, and my slaves
were duly exhorted to bear witness to the transaction.

“It grieves me to relate,” said the mendicant, screwing his ugly face
into a look of extreme sternness, “that still another theft has been
committed. The song-bird of my slave was stolen—carried out of my
house, and into the highways and byways. The Koran expressly states
that, for the third offense of this nature, the left hand of the thief
must be cut off. Therefore, O my pretty slave, bind his right hand and
unbind his left, that I may comply with the command of Allah, the great,
the glorious, issued through Mohammed the Apostle, on whom be peace.”

“There lie my three slaves,” I said. “Take them and leave me my hand.”

“Their value is but slight,” said the ruffian, glancing contemptuously
at them. “Now if you will include the camels, together with their
trappings, all weapons and ammunition, and all things which they have
carried to this place, your person excepted, then will I consider your
offer.”

“What! All these for a song-bird?”

“Nay, for your left hand.”

“Take them—take all,” I moaned. “I may as well be utterly ruined.”

“You heard him?” asked the fellow triumphantly.

“We heard, and bear witness,” replied my slaves and his, in a chorus.

“Unbind these slaves, girl, since they are now mine,” he ordered.

When she had unbound them, and they had stretched their cramped limbs,
he said: “Ho slaves! Two of you attend the beasts, and the third come
here. I have yet a duty to perform toward this stealer of slaves and
violator of the _harim_.”

When my former black slave had come up to where I sat, in accordance
with the command of his new master, the mendicant continued: “Much as it
pains me to dwell on the many offenses of this habitual criminal, there
is yet another crime which must be expiated. This villain, who is so
crafty he could steal the kohl from off the eyelid, and so depraved he
would undertake it, has pilfered, in addition to other property, the
cage in which the bird of my slave is confined. He who would steal the
home of a bird must be a scoundrel indeed. Now the Koran explicitly
commands that when a fourth offense of this nature is committed, the
right foot shall be cut off. Who am I to disregard the commands of
Allah, the One and Most High God?”

“It is there you are in error,” I corrected him, “for the _Sooneh_ law
expressly ordains that this punishment shall not be inflicted if the
value of the stolen property be less than a quarter of a _deenar_.”

“Unfortunately for your argument, and your foot,” he replied, “the cage
cost me exactly twice that sum. Unbind his legs, therefore, slave, that
I may comply with the law.”

“Is there no alternative, but that you strike off his foot?” asked the
girl.

“There is absolutely none,” he replied. “Has he not just told us that he
is penniless?”

“Yet he has one thing which everyone has, and which he can give,” said
the girl.

“What is that?” asked her master.

“His blessing,” she replied.

“True enough, yet it does not suffice.”

“But it is something.”

“It is something. If he give me his blessing, I will only strike off
part of his foot.”

And so, near choking with rage at the irony of this final humiliation, I
called upon Almighty Allah to bless this malefactor, his slaves, his
relatives, and his descendants.

Scarcely had I finished, ere he swung his simitar and cut off all the
toes of my right foot. Then, while my former slave held me, he plunged
the wounded stump into boiling oil, and stopped the bleeding. At this, I
swooned dead away. . . .

                 *        *        *        *        *

When I came to my senses, I was alone. There was no sign of the beasts
or the people who had surrounded me when I fainted. My hands had been
unbound, and in one of them was a note. Gritting my teeth with the pain
of my wounded foot, I opened and read the missive:

    In the Name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate!

    To Hamed the Attar, greeting:

    Food, cooking-utensils, water, coffee and tobacco are under the
    mat behind you. There is sufficient of everything to last you
    two weeks, but your foot should be well enough to permit of some
    travel within ten days. It had been spared you entirely, except
    that, as it is, it will effectively dissuade you from the folly
    of following me. Follow the path of the setting sun, and you
    will reach the Hajj Road, where assistance is bound to be
    forthcoming, and

                                                   The Peace.
                                                HE WHOM YOU ROBBED.

I abode in that barren spot for ten days, whereupon my foot was nearly
healed as the note had prophesied. Then I slowly and painfully made my
way to the Hajj Road, and then, with the help of a kind-hearted traveler
who had room for me on his _shugduf_, to Jerusalem.

Being penniless and crippled, I was forced to beg for a living until a
certain learned _Ferringeh_, hearing my story, gave me light work to do
in his home, and in return for my poor services gave me food and
lodging, and taught me your language. My benefactor left, but his
teachings enabled me to make a living thereafter as a dragoman.

And so you will conclude, _effendi_, that I became a confirmed
misogynist, and never married. Not so. It chanced one day, when I was
passing the _hammam_, a well-dressed young lady of pleasing carriage
signed to me with her eyes. Not being employed at the moment, I followed
her at a distance and learned where she lived. I loitered about the
place thereafter when business was poor, and she sat in the window of
the _harim_ and flirted with me. Several times she made it appear that
her veil had slipped out of place, and thereby revealed to me a
countenance of rare beauty. I had saved some money, so I sent a
_khatibeh_ to sue for her hand, and we were married. For forty years she
was a true and faithful wife to me. Then Allah received her into His
mercy.

They tell me, _effendi_, that you have in your country many women and
girls who brazenly expose as much of their persons as the law will
allow—who pluck their eyebrows, kohl their eyes, dye their cheeks, make
scarlet their lips with red grease, and flirt with men. But I am also
informed that you have a few females whose becoming modesty forbids
these things, and who are, therefore, bright and shining examples of
virtue in an otherwise vicious and depraved world.

If I were of your people, _effendi_, I should never cease extolling the
excellence of these modest and reticent maidens who _seem_ too good to
be true—but I would select a wife from among the others.

Ho, Silat! Bring the sweet and take the full!




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79293 ***