Veiled Women. Marmaduke William Pickthall
of righteous anger. “My servant tells me she has islamed. Is that true? If so, why not inform me at the first? My time is wasted. If she has islamed it is a crime most heinous to assail her. May Allah——”
“Mercy! O my uncle, mercy!” Both the women flung themselves upon the wizard, stopping his mouth and dragging down his arm upraised to curse them. “Wait but a moment! Only listen! They say that she has islamed, being all bewitched. She has not gone through all the ceremonies. She refuses, and our lord the Pasha, by her spells, supports her. Whether or no, she weds to-day my first-born son, and she is barren and will keep him from all other women. Thou shalt have much wealth.”
Again the sorcerer went through the process of relenting visibly. “Allah knows,” he groaned, “it is a cruel task you set me. It will take three days and nights of fasting and seclusion spent in ceaseless study, to overcome her servants who are in the air. Not until they are vanquished can I mix the potion, for they would neutralize my spells and make it harmless.”
“But the wedding is to-day!” wailed Fitnah, out of patience.
“What matter, since her bale is of the lingering sort, and not swift-slaying. Hear what I tell thee! If I fight for thee with demons and obtain the potion, use it not till three whole moons have waxed and waned. Watch how thy son looks; notice his behaviour! It may be she has islamed in good faith.”
“All that thou wishest, only give the potion!”
“After three days thou shalt have it, by the leave of Allah!”
The sorcerer then changed his tone for one of caution, urging, “The reward, O blessed lady! It is worth much money. And it is usual to give something in advance by way of earnest.”
Fitnah untied a bundle which had lain beside her all the while, and thrust it towards him. It contained the best of all her jewels. Poor lady, all her treasures—nay, her life itself—seemed light to give to save her Yûsuf from that thirsty ghoul. The wizard’s small eyes gloated on the heap.
“Woe on thee, Abu Sumûm!” cried the old woman. “Art thou not ashamed to take more than is just from so benevolent and kind a lady? Thy heart is of stone, not to be moved to bounty by her pious tears.”
“Silence, woman!” With a dignified and bounteous gesture, the sorcerer pushed back the bag of trinkets, selecting for himself a single ring containing stones of value. “Allah witness, that I did but test the generosity of our good mistress. But, being poor and with some dreadful work before me—having, moreover, risked my two old ears in coming hither—I will, with thy permission, O Most Excellent, accept this trifle. That and thy gracious favour be my only payment!”
Uprising, he resumed again the woman’s headdress, and in a woman’s piping voice enjoined, as he prepared to go, “Forget not to delay three months. A day too soon might cause tremendous evil.”
“Three months—I will remember!” answered Fitnah dutifully; adding beneath her breath, “Three days—too long! I think thou hast a mind to fool me, O thou father of three months! Well, bring thy potion. But first we will essay some common poison without ceremony. Alas for Yûsuf did we wait three months!”
She pressed both hands to her left side as if it pained her.
CHAPTER IX
The Englishwoman had surrendered to the importunities of all the household, and submitted to be dressed entirely as an Eastern bride. Her feet and hands had been well dyed with henna overnight; her hair was intricately plaited, smeared with ointment smelling strong of ambergris and sprinkled with gold dust until it made a close and shining covering; her lips and cheeks were painted, and her eyes enlarged with kohl. Then came the putting on of splendid clothes amid a din of chatter, above which strains of music could be heard, wafted by gusts from the selamlik, where festivity had reigned for two days past. A jewelled crown completing her apparel, she was led with joy-cries to the great reception-room, and there enthroned upon the dais. The room was fairly full of visitors already, and every minute there were fresh arrivals.
Early that morning, Gulbeyzah had shown Barakah her future lodging—five rooms within the women’s portion of the house, but self-contained, and with a private door to the selamlik. She had beheld a salon hung with mirrors, full of gilded chairs and tables; and then the nuptial chamber, the bed with silken bed-clothes, much too good to use, beneath a canopy of cloth-of-gold embroidered. Four monstrous candles placed around the bed looked ceremonial, and the perfume of rare flowers reminded her of English death-rooms.
The vision of that room oppressed her now as she sat idle, feeling like a wooden image, and met the criticizing stare of strangers who perfunctorily blessed her. At first Gulbeyzah stayed with her and played interpreter. Murjânah Khânum came and kissed her, praying: “May the crown upon thy brow inure thee to the burden of responsibility, may the rich robes and the throne foreshadow honour for thee; may the ordeal of long stillness teach thee patience and long-suffering with dignity. May all our blessings and our prayers to-day secure thee fruitfulness, and mayst thou live to see thy children’s children flourish round thee. Our Lord preserve thee ever in His grace. Amîn.”
Apart from this soft murmur of the Turkish lady, she discerned no hint of a religious feeling with regard to marriage. After an hour Gulbeyzah mingled with the throng of visitors, and Barakah was left alone to face the curiosity, the unknown talk about her. Every one of all those women used strong scent, and the smoke of divers kinds of incense dimmed the air. The bride herself was saturated with perfumery; which, however, could not drown the odour of her own new garments. This grew sickening. Her brain swam. She was stuck there like a painted doll to be appraised, inspected.
Anon the crowd was drawn away from her. She sat unnoticed. A group of female musicians had arrived, with them a well-known singer. There ensued a frightful caterwauling, as it seemed to Barakah, but the rest were charmed, to judge from their enraptured “Ah’s!” and ravished gestures.
Then a brown girl, clad diaphanously, writhed a dance of lewd suggestion, ogling the bride the while maliciously. Her performance was applauded even by Murjânah Khânum. Gulbeyzah flew up to the bride and whispered: “We are in great luck! Tâhir, the greatest singer in the world, has been performing for the bridegroom’s friends in the selamlik. He is coming here to sing to us, behind that screen. Look! Those are his children.” A small boy and girl had stolen shyly in, and were made much of, being passed from hand to hand. Gulbeyzah ran off to convey the news to other rooms.
Another minute and dead silence fell. All watched the screen. Up leapt an eerie note, sustained till it became a terror to the ear, when all at once it broke into a shower of trills like impish laughter. This was repeated thrice, and then the singer struck a solemn and majestic measure—a religious strain, which his strange voice embroidered with all human passions in their natural tones. Barakah forgot her weariness. This singing was like nothing she had ever heard. It seemed to dignify all life with a tremendous meaning. All unawares she joined the gusty sigh which swept the whole assembly when the last note died. There followed a quick panting melody of lover’s sighs, more like a bird’s song than the effort of a human voice; then came a wail of more than human anguish, and then the singing ceased quite unexpectedly. There was a storm of moans and prayers for more, but Tâhir, the great singer, had already gone.
Barakah became once more aware of stiffness, headache, and a burning mouth. She called to Hamdi, Yûsuf’s little brother, one of her former pupils, to bring water to her. He ran off at once, but brought, instead of water, cloying sherbet which increased her thirst. Her eyelids were so stiffened they would hardly close; her eyeballs ached; the stiffness of the paint upon her cheeks became an iron mask. She felt pilloried, derided, miserably alone, when lo! a small soft hand touched hers confidingly. It was the singer’s little daughter, who, grown tired of sweets and petting, had come to the one lonely person in the room, the quiet place. She looked up in the face of Barakah and smiled. Her brother, a still smaller child, had followed her. They both sat