Part 49 (2/2)

”The honourable _Sitt_ has a n.o.ble nature, a clean heart. She is not like Madam. The Effendi's thoughts make his own unhappiness, they are not the thoughts of the gracious lady. The thoughts that come from her travel on angel's wings; they gave the Effendi dreams last night.”

”You are right, Abdul. Ah, thank goodness!” Michael gave an exclamation of pleasure; he had caught a glint of suns.h.i.+ne, had felt a breath of desert air. The Living Aton was penetrating the rat-pit.

”_Aiwah_, Effendi, that is the exit of the village. The _Omdeh's_ house is not far off--in less than five minutes the Effendi will be reposing in his cool _selamlik_, his throat refreshed with caravan tea.”

In a native house the _selamlik_ is a s.p.a.cious room or summerhouse, set apart for the receiving of guests. To Michael the _Omdeh's selamlik_ seemed like a foretaste of paradise. The _Omdeh_ was a courteous old gentleman, who played the part of host and government official with a simple dignity and friendly hospitality.

The open front of the _selamlik_ faced a beautiful orange orchard; low seats, comfortably cus.h.i.+oned, ran round its three walls. The _Omdeh_ sat on his feet on his _mastaba_. His splendid turban and flowing white robes gave him the appearance of a _Kadi_ dispensing justice from his throne. Abdul and Michael reclined on the seat which faced him.

They had both been presented with an elaborate fly-switch, whose handles were decorated with bright beads.

The old man was astonished and delighted to find that Michael could speak Arabic. He was an intelligent, well-read man and something of a politician, an ardent supporter of the British rule in Egypt. He was greatly interested in all that Michael could tell him relating to the news from the outer world.

In his turn, he expressed his regret that more trouble was not taken to suppress the secret, seditious, and anti-English propaganda which was being taught and preached in the desert schools and mosques.

”Where they started, no man knows,” he said. ”Nevertheless, Effendi, their headquarters is 'somewhere.'” He smiled the peculiar smile of the Eastern, so baffling to the Western mind. ”The English are without suspicion, Effendi; they trust everyone.”

Michael expressed his ignorance as to what he alluded to. Was he referring to the Nationalist Party in Egypt?

”They do not know their worst enemies, Effendi. They tolerate the presence of mischief-makers, who seduce the ignorant. And these strangers are clever, Effendi, they spare no trouble. In the mosques and the schools they are teaching, or causing to be taught, strange and new ideas. No village is too far off for this propaganda to reach. It is well to believe in others as we would be believed in ourselves, Effendi, but England is like the ostrich which buries its head in the sand. I grieve to tell the Effendi these truths.”

To Michael the man's words rang with the truth of conviction. They suggested a new danger to British rule in Egypt. And yet he had heard nothing of the unrest to which he alluded while he was in Luxor or in Cairo; it seemed to flourish in the desert. When he questioned the old man, he became as secret as an oyster; what he definitely knew he did not mean to present to every pa.s.sing stranger.

While they had been talking, Michael had enjoyed countless small cups of tea. It was so good and fragrant that he realized that for the first time he had drunk tea as it was meant to be drunk. He understood how greatly it deteriorates by crossing the ocean; this tea had journeyed all the way to the _Omdeh's_ house by caravan; it had been brought overland by the old trade-route.

When Michael had rested he began the lengthy preliminaries of saying good-bye. The _Omdeh_ would not hear of his going; he invited him to visit his orchard, a beautiful Eden of fruits and exotic flowers, abundantly irrigated by rivulets of clear water. The contrast between this emerald patch, where golden globes of fruit were still hanging from some of the orange-trees, struck Michael as flagrantly cruel. The _Omdeh_, because of his wealth and social position, was living in a cool, well-built house, surrounded by all that was fresh and fair, an ideal home; yet, not a stone's throw from his secluded orchard and cool _selamlik_, were the narrow streets, littered over with filthy children, encrusted with scabs and black with flies! An overwhelming pity for the ignorant, subterranean people, who were content to live like rats in their holes, filled his soul. How could the _Omdeh_ permit it? He seemed kind and he knew that he was intelligent.

Probably when the poor were in trouble they instinctively came to him; he administered the affairs of the village, no doubt, with scrupulous impartiality. In this ancient and conservative land it was simply a part of his inherited belief and tradition that such extremes would always exist, that the condition of these people was the condition of which they were worthy, that it was no man's business but their own.

They were in Allah's hands. If He willed it, He would help them to rise above it. Our wants make us poor--these men and women had no wants; they were not poor.

It was with much difficulty that Michael at last bade his host adieu, an adieu of abounding phraseology and grace of speech. The _Omdeh_, with native hospitality, had tried to persuade his guest to remain with him for some days, or if he could not do that, to at least do honour to his humble house by spending one night in it. If the honourable Effendi would only remain, he would tell his servant to kill a sheep and have it roasted; he would send for a noted dancer, to beguile the later hours of the evening; he would have his four gazelles brought to the _selamlik_ and Michael should see how beautifully they ran and jumped--they were of a very rare species, much admired by all who could appreciate their points.

To all these inducements Michael turned a deaf ear, even to the last, a blind musician, whose _'ood_ playing was greatly celebrated. It was not easy to refuse these pressing inducements, which were all put before Michael with the elaborate charm of Arabic speech. It was he who was to confer the pleasure by remaining; it was he who was to be unselfish and bestow so unexpected and great a pleasure on his humble host.

Determined to get on his way that same afternoon, Michael hardened his heart. He told the _Omdeh_ that Abdul had arranged that they were to travel to within one day's journey of their destination that same day; their camp would be in readiness. On the following day Abdul and he were to leave the servants in charge of the camp and start out on the last portion of their journey. They were now but one day and a half from the Promised Land.

Michael had agreed with Abdul that their secret must not be divulged, that the servants must remain in ignorance of the real purpose of their tour. They imagined that it was to visit the ancient Pharaoh's tomb.

Just as they were leaving the orchard the _Omdeh_ said: ”There have been strange rumours afloat, Effendi. Men say that a wealth of buried treasure has been discovered in the hills to which you are travelling.

Is it known to you?”

”Indeed?” Michael said evasively. ”What sort of treasure? Do the authorities know of it? Who has discovered it?” He managed to speak calmly and without emotion.

The _Omdeh_ threw back his head. ”It is not worth a wise man's breath inquiring. It is but one of the many foolish fables which travel with the winds.” He shrugged his shoulders.

”What started the rumour? Where did it originate? There is generally some fire where there's smoke.”

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