The Frankish doctor—an Italian—had pronounced her much too frail to nurse her baby—a decision which excited such dependants of the house as were eligible for the post of foster-mother. This was a great prize, kinship by milk, among the Muslims, being esteemed as genuine and binding as by blood. The wet-nurse thus became a near relation of the family, and all her race had claims upon its bounty. Barakah felt jealous of the woman who usurped her function, till she heard from Fitnah Khânum that the choice had fallen on the wife of her old friend Ghandûr. The girl, a former slave of the harem, was then presented to her, the baby in her arms; and won her heart by her excessive gratitude. She was touched, too, by the transports of Ghandûr, who sang thanksgiving to her lattice in his simple way. His chant was something in this manner:
“The sun is in my eyes! O happy day!
I grope as one half-blind. Behold the bounty of my lord!
I, the poor slave of Allah,
Am now the father of his son Abdallah,
My wife the mother of his son, by leave of Allah,
My little boy the brother of a child most blest, inshallah!
The gracious consort of my lord, istaghfar Allah!
Has granted to our lowliness a share in her good gift from Allah.
May Allah bless my lord and lady in their noble offspring, and preserve his life to be the luminary of our future days.”
She liked to hear him, his voice so near at hand produced a sense of true devotion and security. Missing his chant upon the following day, she inquired what had become of him. She was informed that, consequent upon his wife’s preferment, he had been appointed to a small position in the Government. It made her sad.
Her son was given over to the harem midwives to fulfil no end of ceremonies destined to frustrate the powers of evil. For a week he was not left alone or in the dark a single second. They carried him in a procession through the house, his future kingdom, and as each door was opened, sprinkled salt mixed with the seven seeds to exorcize the jinn who lurked within. Soon after birth his face had been defiled with certain powders, which Barakah could not persuade the women to wash off. It was a necessary precaution, they assured her, against jealous powers of darkness who, if they had an inkling of his beauty, would destroy him. Chief among these was the discarded wife of Adam, alluded to as El Carînah (the companion), the cause of man’s first fall, who hates Eve’s daughters and resents their great fertility. Where a child seems lovely and the mother shows delight in its appearance, she attacks them both; if, on the contrary, she sees it ugly and hears words of disappointment, she lets it live to spite the seed of Adam. For one so powerful, she must be very stupid to be taken in by such pretences, Barakah remarked; but they cried out that such was not the case, but Allah in His mercy had set limits to her sight and hearing. Each day the infant was the central figure in some ancient rite believed essential to its welfare.
As Barakah lay in bed and watched the pattern of the lattice, her whole existence passing like a dream before her, she sought to reconcile her former English with her present Eastern life. Her son was a fine boy, they all assured her. It saddened her that she had no relations of her own to take a pride in him. In this mood she asked Yûsuf to write a little note to Mrs. Cameron entreating her to come one day and see the baby. He did so, and the answer was that she would come with pleasure.
Elated by the prospect of this visit, Barakah wished to have her offspring made presentable; but when she gave command to wash his face and wrap him in nice clothes, the goodies screamed aloud, and fetched the lady Fitnah to remonstrate with her. She gave way, perforce; and Mrs. Cameron beheld the infant at his worst.
The visitor was very kind in her address to Barakah; but, when she held the baby for a minute, looking down at it, the latter, watching keenly, saw upon her face a quiver of extreme disfavour mixed with pity. The whiteness of her hands and face showed the child yellow; Barakah had thought him white as snow till then. A flush of anger and humiliation reached her brain.
“His face is dirty, the poor little one! Our Lord preserve him!” the visitor remarked in Arabic as she returned the baby to his nurse; at which there was an outburst of applause from the onlookers. They called down blessings on the lady’s head, desiring she might have herself a thousand children, not like this one, puny and unpleasant, but most beautiful.
Barakah, consumed with rage, murmured hoarsely in response to Mrs. Cameron’s farewell. The moment she was gone she burst out weeping.
“She did not like the child! She scorned my son, because he is not altogether white as she is.”
“Thou mistakest, O my dear! Be comforted!” cried Fitnah Khânum, while the other women round her exchanged pitying glances.
“Thou art not yet perfect in our prudent customs; but thy friend, though not a Muslimah, has learnt them, having been much longer in the land. Hast thou forgotten my instructions touching El Carînah? Nor is she alone to be redoubted, since Allah Himself abhors a boastful spirit, and dishonours those who make too much of any creature. …”
“O Lord! I know all that!” wailed Barakah. “But she disliked my child,
