Part 13 (2/2)

He held up a hand. ”Where,” he inquired, ”is our third guest?”

”Oh,” said Nur Rahman airily, ”he is outside with the-”

”Send for him,” Haji Khan snapped. ”Such a man is not to be left standing in the courtyard.”

Such a man. From the way Haji Khan spoke, Yar Mohammad was worth more than Mariana and Nur Rahman together. From the way Haji Khan spoke, Yar Mohammad was worth more than Mariana and Nur Rahman together.

As before, a filigreed copper lamp illuminated the far end of the blind man's windowless room, now unoccupied save for Haji Khan and a small, mild-looking person, presumably the owner of the jezail, who ran dark eyes over Mariana and her companions, greeted them, then fell into contemplative silence.

Mariana arranged herself on the straw stool, the honey ready in her hand, and looked about her. The room, with its wall hangings, was unchanged. The heavy perfume in the air smelled vaguely familiar.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have a power of its own, for she felt her breathing deepen.

”Well, Khanum,” Haji Khan inquired, as she laid her offering beside him, ”what have you to tell me? What have you learned?”

”Haji Khan, I have learned nothing.” Mariana cleared her throat nervously. The confidence she had felt when she started off earlier had drained away when she stepped over his threshold. Once again, her concerns, so pressing at home, now seemed petty and unimportant.

”Did you recite the durood I have given you?”

”Not as it is written,” she said, too loudly, then dropped her voice. ”I am Christian, you see.”

She heard the Afghan visitor s.h.i.+ft on the floor behind her.

”You, Khanum,” Haji Khan snapped, ”are a very very foolish woman. Islam is meant for all the people who roam the face of the earth. It acknowledges one G.o.d. It shares its laws and its faith with Jews and Christians. Why do you not know this? foolish woman. Islam is meant for all the people who roam the face of the earth. It acknowledges one G.o.d. It shares its laws and its faith with Jews and Christians. Why do you not know this?

”Have I asked you,” he added irritably, ”to recite the Shahada Shahada, the attestation of faith? Have I asked you to recite La illaha illa Allah, Muhammad Rasul Allah?” La illaha illa Allah, Muhammad Rasul Allah?”

”No,” she said in a small voice.

”Then I have not asked you to embrace Islam. You have more to decide than who is to be your husband,” he went on. ”If you recite the durood exactly as it is written, you will receive the answers you seek. If you do not, you will have wasted my time. In any case, I have no more to say about it.”

”Haji Khan,” Nur Rahman called eagerly from the doorway, ”speak to us of Paradise.”

The blind man did not reply. Instead, he lifted his head, as if searching for someone. ”Third visitor,” he commanded, ”speak to us. Tell us of the key to Paradise.”

Yar Mohammad's resonant voice came from a shadowy corner of the room. ”It is peace,” he said.

”And what is the key to life?”

”It is ishq ishq, the Essence of Love,” Yar Mohammad responded, without hesitating. ”When a man has peace and love in his heart, he will travel far toward the Goal.”

Mariana breathed in. She should have known he was more than a simple groom.

Haji Khan sighed gustily. ”It is so good to hear these words. Truly, brother, your murs.h.i.+d murs.h.i.+d is a great man. Or, I should say, your two murs.h.i.+ds, for you, unlike most men, have the good fortune to have more than one great teacher. Yes,” he continued. ”You are blessed with guidance from both Shaikh Waliullah Karakoyia of Lah.o.r.e, and Shafiuddin Khan, the great interpreter of dreams. It has given me signal pleasure to sit so many times with my friend Shafi over these past months.” is a great man. Or, I should say, your two murs.h.i.+ds, for you, unlike most men, have the good fortune to have more than one great teacher. Yes,” he continued. ”You are blessed with guidance from both Shaikh Waliullah Karakoyia of Lah.o.r.e, and Shafiuddin Khan, the great interpreter of dreams. It has given me signal pleasure to sit so many times with my friend Shafi over these past months.”

Shafiuddin Khan? But that was Muns.h.i.+ Sahib's real name. No one had told Mariana of those visits. How many times had he come?

”And now,” Haji Khan said, ”I only lack the joy of meeting Shaikh Waliullah.”

”But what is is the Goal Yar Mohammad speaks of?” Nur Rahman's voice came from the back of the room. the Goal Yar Mohammad speaks of?” Nur Rahman's voice came from the back of the room.

”It is to see the face of the Beloved,” Yar Mohammad and Haji Khan responded in unison.

Nur Rahman sighed rapturously. ”In the Garden?”

”Yes,” responded Haji Khan.

The room around Mariana, with its embroidered hangings and heavy, scented air, seemed to alter. In her imagination, it was no longer a dark and windowless chamber, but a gateway, leading to another world. It almost seemed that, past the string bed where blind Haji Khan sat motionless in the light of his copper lamp, a door had opened. Beyond it lay a vista shrouded in fog, its only visible feature a path leading away to another, more beautiful world.

Gate and path beckoned to her.

Mariana's unasked question returned. It tugged urgently at her, demanding to be asked.

”What must I I do,” she blurted out, ”to attain the Garden, and see the face of the Beloved?” do,” she blurted out, ”to attain the Garden, and see the face of the Beloved?”

The image disappeared. Light-headed, she imagined Papa in his vicar's robes, and her mother dressed for church, both their faces filled with horror.

But why should she not call G.o.d the Beloved? Why should she not aspire to Paradise? Everyone knew Eden had been a garden. Besides, this was her her life, life, her her adventure. adventure.

Haji Khan's rasping voice brought her back to reality. ”Only do as I have said. Recite-”

”Listen!” The silent guest spoke for the first time. Mariana turned and saw him sitting bolt upright, his face alert, a hand raised for silence.

Outside, faint shouting arose. It grew louder, as if a large, triumphant crowd were approaching.

Something in the quiet man's face frightened Mariana.

”What is it?” she asked. ”What is wrong?”

”I fear, Khanum,” Haji Khan said gently, ”that your Mr. Alexander Burnes is in grave trouble. You have chosen,” he added, ”a difficult day to enter the city.”

”But why? What has he done?”

Before the words had left Mariana's throat, her hand was over her mouth. All the hints that Burnes, Macnaghten, and the others had ignored came rus.h.i.+ng back to her-the closing of the pa.s.ses to India; the fighting in the north; Akbar Khan's movements around the country; the fighting that Fitzgerald had met with on the road from Kandahar.

Each time they come back, Fitzgerald had said, there are more of them. there are more of them.

The Kabulis must know of Burnes's drinking, of the women he lured into his house. Who knew what else he had done to cause hatred to spread like poison through the city?

Living here, within reach, he was an easy target.

”What will they do to him?” she asked, and immediately regretted her question.

No one replied.

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