“Behold the man he is! He can dispense with all things. That which would ruin the performance of another singer is a joy to him.”
Hamdi acquitted himself fairly well of the task of accompaniment and won a word of praise from Tâhir, which so moved him that when the singer was departing the next morning early, he stole out to him, and, looking round to ascertain that he was heard of none save Barakah, entreated:
“Take me with thee, O my uncle. Instruct me, let me play for thee forever. This girl, thy daughter, this little sugarplum, shall be my bride. Then we can all live happily together.”
“The honour is too high for us, O my small lord!” the singer answered, with his charming smile. “Thy lot in life is better far, inshallah, than that of us poor players.”
“But they say that thou canst earn a hundred pounds a night.”
“Seldom as much as that, beloved. And my living is at Allah’s pleasure. It is a gift from Him, to whom be praise. Come to me four years hence, and we will think about it.”
With a dignified salute he started off; the children, on their donkey, waved their hands and screamed farewell. Hamdi was left standing disappointed and a trifle injured.
“O my misfortune!” he exclaimed to Barakah. “I would have given my right hand to go with him. Like that I could escape from persecution and accursed Na’imah, and dwell forever in the sound of music which transports my soul. Allah is greatest!”
And he heaved a mighty sigh.
When the month of fasting ended, there were mild rejoicings. The fellahin fired guns and let off fireworks. The women smoked too much and over-ate themselves, and felt aggrieved at being far from Cairo, where the means of satisfaction were more varied and abundant.
Then Yûsuf and the Pasha came and stayed a week; delighted, coming fresh to it, with the unoccupied existence over which the others had begun to yawn. At the end of the week they all returned to Cairo, the procession of the ladies keeping half a mile behind their lords. The first view of the citadel on one hand, the pyramids of Gîzah on the other, called forth thankful shouts. The coloured, noisy streets, the odours sweet and foul, the atmosphere of teeming life, excited Barakah. She joined in exclamations of delight.
While she gazed with strange eyes at her gilded salon, superintending the disposal of her baggage, a letter was presented to her by Fatûmah. It had been given to the latter that same minute by Sawwâb the eunuch, who had had it in safe keeping for two months. It was from Mrs. Cameron.
Barakah, frowning, opened it and read:
“It grieves me much to learn that you have been seriously ill. I heard of this quite by accident from Doctor Torranelli, whom I chanced to meet at a friend’s house. In some anxiety, I tried to call upon you yesterday, but learnt that you are absent in the country. I trust that the dear baby flourishes. He must be a great comfort and delight to you. Please never forget that I am your sincere friend.”
With an exclamation of annoyance, she tore up the note.
XXI
The idea of seeing Mrs. Cameron again was quite intolerable. She therefore wrote that lady a brief note, an asp for venom, designed to terminate acquaintance and to rankle, and plunged into the harem pleasures with sensations of defiance.
One morning, as she lounged upon her cushioned window-seat, smoking her narghile and listening to the voices wafted with the sunlight through her lattice, Fatûmah came and with a grin announced that Hamdi Bey desired an audience of her Honour. She gave the word, and in came Hamdi, knuckling his two eyes.
“O day of pitch!” he cried. “O vile nefarious day! O my beloved sister, hide me, save me! My father has enforced my mother’s harsh command. I am to be married today to that unholy child of dogs—against my will. I wished to wait a thousand years. Ghandûr is waiting at this minute to conduct me to the bath.”
As if in confirmation of his words, the voice of Ghandûr shouted in the street without: “Make haste, O Hamdi! Lo, the sun is high! The shadow is already on the stone thou fixedst for a limit when I let thee enter.”
“Thou hearest,” snuffled Hamdi, “how they hound me? He has my wedding garments in a bundle—O my hatred! Guests have been bidden—may their fathers perish! Go to my mother (she will hear thee); plead that I may be allowed a few months’ respite. It is Na’imah who, through her mother, hastens on the match. She would destroy my newfound freedom and torment me.”
Barakah could not help laughing, though she uttered words of comfort. Na’imah was a very pretty girl, she pointed out, and not ill-natured, though a great coquette. He would have none of it, but shook his head with ominous frowns.
“I hate her!” he declared. “And knowest thou? I have a mind to drown myself this morning at the bath.”
Then, as Ghandûr’s calls became insistent, he left the room with slow, reluctant steps.
The wedding was a small affair, the parties being children of one house, and their betrothal (which is legal marriage) having taken place in infancy. The bride, enthroned, showed none of the reluctance felt by Hamdi. A bright-eyed and determined little maiden, she was wreathed in smiles; and when Barakah inquired if she were truly happy, replied, “The praise to Allah!” with decision.
Next day the house was full of smothered laughter. Hamdi was completely changed. He and his bride were now the fondest pair. The lady Fitnah, who had always held that matrimony was a panacea for the crotchets of young people, male and female, rendered praise where praise was due. For many days, through shame, the bridegroom hid from Barakah, and from
