Part 7 (2/2)
With a fine contempt for Egyptians generally, and Egyptian camel handlers specifically, Ali had decided to his own satisfaction that these last fell back on forceful crudity simply because they were too stupid to master the right ways of handling camels. Ali's curiosity mounted because, contrary to their usual procedure, these handlers were gently trying to make the camel get up.
Then the scow reached the s.h.i.+p, the men who had been on the scow disappeared on the _Supply_ and took the camel with them, whereupon the Egyptian handlers abruptly changed tactics. Kicking together a pile of rubble, someone started a fire. A pail appeared from somewhere and was put over the fire. A raging Ali leaped from Ben Akbar and toward the group.
He had not intended to interfere. If the Egyptians were stupid enough to abuse their own camel, then let them be deprived of the beast that much sooner. Ali would not have interfered if the Egyptian handlers had done almost anything except what they were obviously about to do--make the camel get up by pouring boiling pitch over its tail. Hearing Ali, the eight turned as one and greeted him with hostile stares.
”Swine!” Ali snarled. ”Offspring of diseased fleas! Eaters of camel dung!”
He emphasized his insults with a blow to the midriff that sent the nearest Egyptian spinning, and immediately the seven were upon him. Ali delivered a smart kick to the s.h.i.+n that left one hopping about on one foot and howling with pain, landed a clenched fist squarely on the jaw of another, and then a sledge hammer collided with his own head.
Night came suddenly. Then light shone through the dark curtain, and Ali looked up at two men who stood before him. One, a native interpreter, was foppish in garment and manner. The other, arrayed in clothing such as Ali had never seen, commanded instant respect. Tall, slim, strong and young, he had the same air of strength and authority that marked Al Misri. He spoke in a strange tongue to the interpreter, who addressed Ali.
”Lieutenant Porter demands to know why you attacked his men.”
Ali gestured toward the kneeling camel. ”They would have made it rise by pouring boiling pitch on its tail.”
The interpreter conveyed this information to Lieutenant Porter, who whirled at once on the Egyptians.
”I've told all of you that I will tolerate no cruelty,” he began.
Not understanding a word, nevertheless Ali listened with mingled awe and admiration as Lieutenant Porter continued to speak. His words, Ali thought happily, were a lion's roar, and it was better to be whipped than to endure them because a whip could not remove skin nearly as well.
The eight Egyptians, like eight beaten dogs, slunk away. Lieutenant Porter addressed the interpreter, who conveyed the message to Ali.
”Can you make the camel rise?”
Ali got to his feet, smoothed his burnous and went to the stubborn camel. He took hold of the tether rope while he stooped to whisper in its ear, ”Rise, my little one. Rise, my beauty. The trail is long and the day is short.”
The camel rose and began to lick Ali's hand. Ali addressed the interpreter. ”Where are these camels going?”
”To America,” the interpreter a.s.sured him.
”But--” A bewildered Ali looked from the stately s.h.i.+p to the tethered camels. ”Is a land wealthy enough to have such a s.h.i.+p, so poor as to have no camels?”
Treating this question with haughty disdain, the interpreter relayed another message. ”Lieutenant Porter wishes to know if you will go to America with the camels?”
Ali hesitated, then asked, ”Is America a land of Moslems?”
The interpreter conferred with Lieutenant Porter and turned to Ali.
”There are no Moslems.”
Ali indicated Ben Akbar, silhouetted on top of the ledge. ”May my _dalul_ come, too?”
”He may,” the interpreter a.s.sured him.
Ali said joyously, ”Then we will go.”
He didn't know where America was or what he might find on arrival, but he was sure that he and Ben Akbar, together, could make their own way anywhere at all.
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