the garden of allah-第10章

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a　coal…black　beard；　moved　so　majestically　that　he　seemed　almost　a
giant。　His　face　was　very　pale。　On　one　of　his　small；　almost　white；
hands　glittered　a　diamond　ring。　A　boy　with　a　long；　hooked　nose
strolled　gravely　near　him；　wearing　brown　kid　gloves　and　a　turban
spangled　with　gold。

〃That　is　the　Kaid　of　Tonga；　Madame；〃　whispered　Batouch；　looking　at　the
pale　man　reverently。　〃He　is　here　/en　permission/。〃

〃How　white　he　is。〃

〃They　tried　to　poison　him。　Ever　since　he　is　ill　inside。　That　is　his
brother。　The　brown　gloves　are　very　chic。〃

A　light　carriage　rolled　rapidly　by　them　in　a　white　mist　of　dust。　It
was　drawn　by　a　pair　of　white　mules；　who　whisked　their　long　tails　as
they　trotted　briskly；　urged　on　by　a　cracking　whip。　A　big　boy　with
heavy　brown　eyes　was　the　coachman。　By　his　side　sat　a　very　tall　young
negro　with　a　humorous　pointed　nose；　dressed　in　primrose　yellow。　He
grinned　at　Batouch　out　of　the　mist；　which　accentuated　the　coal…black
hue　of　his　whimsical；　happy　face。

〃That　is　the　Agha's　son　with　Mabrouk。〃

They　turned　aside　from　the　road　and　came　into　a　long　tunnel　formed　by
mimosa　trees　that　met　above　a　broad　path。　To　right　and　left　were　other
little　paths　branching　among　the　trunks　of　fruit　trees　and　the　narrow
twigs　of　many　bushes　that　grew　luxuriantly。　Between　sandy　brown　banks；
carefully　flattened　and　beaten　hard　by　the　spades　of　Arab　gardeners；
glided　streams　of　opaque　water　that　were　guided　from　the　desert　by　a
system　of　dams。　The　Kaid's　mill　watched　over　them　and　the　great　wall
of　the　fort。　In　the　tunnel　the　light　was　very　delicate　and　tinged　with
green。　The　noise　of　the　water　flowing　was　just　audible。　A　few　Arabs
were　sitting　on　benches　in　dreamy　attitudes；　with　their　heelless
slippers　hanging　from　the　toes　of　their　bare　feet。　Beyond　the　entrance
of　the　tunnel　Domini　could　see　two　horsemen　galloping　at　a　tremendous
pace　into　the　desert。　Their　red　cloaks　streamed　out　over　the　sloping
quarters　of　their　horses；　which　devoured　the　earth　as　if　in　a　frenzy
of　emulation。　They　disappeared　into　the　last　glories　of　the　sun；　which
still　lingered　on　the　plain　and　blazed　among　the　summits　of　the　red
mountains。

All　the　contrasts　of　this　land　were　exquisite　to　Domini　and；　in　some
mysterious　way；　suggested　eternal　things；　whispering　through　colour；
gleam；　and　shadow；　through　the　pattern　of　leaf　and　rock；　through　the
air；　now　fresh；　now　tenderly　warm　and　perfumed；　through　the　silence
that　hung　like　a　filmy　cloud　in　the　golden　heaven。

She　and　Batouch　entered　the　tunnel；　passing　at　once　into　definite
evening。　The　quiet　of　these　gardens　was　delicious；　and　was　only
interrupted　now　and　then　by　the　sound　of　wheels　upon　the　road　as　a
carriage　rolled　by　to　some　house　which　was　hidden　in　the　distance　of
the　oasis。　The　seated　Arabs　scarcely　disturbed　it　by　their　murmured
talk。　Many　of　them　indeed　said　nothing；　but　rested　like　lotus…eaters
in　graceful　attitudes；　with　hanging　hands；　and　eyes；　soft　as　the　eyes
of　gazelles；　that　regarded　the　shadowy　paths　and　creeping　waters　with
a　grave　serenity　born　of　the　inmost　spirit　of　idleness。

But　Batouch　loved　to　talk；　and　soon　began　a　languid　monologue。

He　told　Domini　that　he　had　been　in　Paris；　where　he　had　been　the　guest
of　a　French　poet　who　adored　the　East；　that　he　himself　was
〃instructed；〃　and　not　like　other　Arabs；　that　he　smoked　the　hashish　and
could　sing　the　love　songs　of　the　Sahara；　that　he　had　travelled　far　in
the　desert；　to　Souf　and　to　Ouargla　beyond　the　ramparts　of　the　Dunes；
that　he　composed　verses　in　the　night　when　the　uninstructed；　the
brawlers；　the　drinkers　of　absinthe　and　the　domino　players　were
sleeping　or　wasting　their　time　in　the　darkness　over　the　pastimes　of
the　lewd；　when　the　sybarites　were　sweating　under　the　smoky　arches　of
the　Moorish　baths；　and　the　/marechale/　of　the　dancing…girls　sat　in　her
flat…roofed　house　guarding　the　jewels　and　the　amulets　of　her　gay
confederation。　These　verses　were　written　both　in　Arabic　and　in　French；
and　the　poet　of　Paris　and　his　friends　had　found　them　beautiful　as　the
dawn；　and　as　the　palm　trees　of　Ourlana　by　the　Artesian　wells。　All　the
girls　of　the　Ouled　Nails　were　celebrated　in　these　poemsAishoush　and
Irena；　Fatma　and　Baali。　In　them　also　were　enshrined　legends　of　the
venerable　marabouts　who　slept　in　the　Paradise　of　Allah；　and　tales　of
the　great　warriors　who　had　fought　above　the　rocky　precipices　of
Constantine　and　far　off　among　the　sands　of　the　South。　They　told　the
stories　of　the　Koulouglis；　whose　mothers　were　Moorish　slaves；　and
romances　in　which　figured　the　dark…skinned　Beni　M'Zab　and　the　freed
negroes　who　had　fled　away　from　the　lands　in　the　very　heart　of　the　sun。

All　this　information；　not　wholly　devoid　of　a　naive　egoism；　Batouch
poured　forth　gently　and　melodiously　as　they　walked　through　the
twilight　in　the　tunnel。　And　Domini　was　quite　content　to　listen。　The
strange　names　the　poet　mentioned；　his　liquid　pronunciation　of　them；
his　allusions　to　wild　events　that　had　happened　long　ago　in　desert
places；　and　to　the　lives　of　priests　of　his　old　religion；　of　fanatics；
and　girls　who　rode　on　camels　caparisoned　in　red　to　the　dancing…houses
of　Sahara　citiesall　these　things　cradled　her　humour　at　this　moment
and　seemed　to　plant　her；　like　a　mimosa　tree；　deep　down　in　this　sand
garden　of　the　sun。

She　had　forgotten　her　bitter　sensation　in　the　railway　carriage　when　it
was　recalled　to　her　mind　by　an　incident　that　clashed　with　her　present
mood。

Steps　sounded　on　the　path　behind　them；　going　faster　than　they　were；
and　presently　Domini　saw　her　fellow…traveller　striding　along；
accompanied　by　a　young　Arab　who　was　carrying　the　green　bag。　The
stranger　was　looking　straight　before　him　down　the　tunnel；　and　he　went
by　swiftly。　But　his　guide　had　something　to　say　to　Batouch；　and　altered
his　pace　to　keep　beside　them　for　a　moment。　He　was　a　very　thin；　lithe；
skittish…looking　youth；　apparently　about　twenty…three　years　old；　with
a　chocolate…brown　skin；　high　cheek　bones；　long；　almond…shaped　eyes
twinkling　with　dissipated　humour；　and　a　large　mouth　that　smiled
showing　pointed　white　teeth。　A　straggling　black　moustache　sprouted　on
his　upper　lip；　and　long　coarse　strands　of　jet…black　hair　escaped　from
under　the　front　of　a　fez　that　was　pushed　back　on　his　small　head。　His
neck　was　thin　and　long；　and　his　hands　were　wonderfully　delicate　and
expressive；　with　rosy　and　quite　perfect　nails。　When　he　laughed　he　had
a　habit　of　throwing　his　head　forward　and　tucking　in　his　chin；　letting
the　tassel　of　his　fez　fall　over　his　temple　to　left　or　right。　He　was
dressed　in　white　with　a　burnous；　and　had　a　many…coloured　piece　of　silk
with　frayed　edges　wound　about　his　waist；　which　was　as　slim　as　a　young
girl's。

He　spoke　to　Batouch　with　intense　vivacity　in　Arabic；　at　the　same　time
shooting　glances　half…obsequious；　half…impudent；　wholly　and　even
preternaturally　keen　and　intelligent　at　Domini。　Batouch　replied　with
the　dignified　languor　that　seemed　peculiar　to　him。　The　colloquy
continued　for　two　or　three　minutes。　Domini　thought　it　sounded　like　a
quarrel；　but　she　was　not　accustomed　to　Arabs'　talk。　Meanwhile；　the
stranger　in　front　had　slackened　his　pace；　and　was　obviously　lingering
for　his　neglectful　guide。　Once　or　twice　he　nearly　stopped；　and　made　a
movement　as　if　to　turn　round。　But　he　checked　it　and　went　on　slowly。
His　guide　spoke　more　and　more　vehemently；　and　suddenly；　tucking　in　his
chin　and　displaying　his　rows　of　big　and　dazzling　teeth；　burst　into　a
gay　and　boyish　laugh；　at　the　same　time　shaking　his　head　rapidly。　Then
he　shot　one　last　sly　look　at　Domini　and　hurried　on；　airily　swinging
the　green　bag　to　and　fro。　His　arms　had　tiny　bones；　but　they　were
evidently　strong；　and　he　walked　with　the　light　ease　of　a　young　animal。
After　he　had　gone　he　turned　his　head　once　and　stared　full　at　Domini。
She　could　not　help　laughing　at　the　vanity　and　consciousness　of　his
expression。　It　was　childish。　Yet　there　was　something　ruthless　and
wicked　in　it　too。　As　he　came　up　to　the　stranger　the　latter　looked
round；　said　something　to　him；　and　then　hastened　forward。　Domini　was
struck　by　the　difference　between　their　gaits。　For　the　stranger；
although　he　was　so　strongly　built　and　muscular；　walked　rather　heavily
and　awkwardly；　wit