Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:
“Cora, I love you very much.”
Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:
“I am not free; I belong to the master.”
“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”
Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.
“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich … then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world … to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divert you, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”
“I am listening, Caleb.”
“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are temples of chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabaeans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods. … When we are rich and you are my wife … we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and little golden, tinkling bells. … When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Caesar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”3
“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabaeans one and all suffer from headache.”
“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”
“No, Caleb.”
“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”
“Yes. I fear the Sabaean amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”
“Cora, I love you so much. … Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”
“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free … because I should be so far from my master. …”
“Whom you love.”
Cora hesitated. Then she said:
“Whom I love, Caleb … but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star … from afar and from the depths … without hope.”
The
