the garden of allah-第44章

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heard　her。　His　eyes　were　still　full　of　a　light　that　revealed　an
intensity　of　mental　agitation；　and　she　saw　his　left　hand；　which　hung
down；　quivering　against　his　side。　But　he　succeeded　in　schooling　his
voice　as　he　asked：

〃Do　you　wish　to　visit　the　village；　Madame？〃

〃Yes。　But　don't　let　me　bother　you　if　you　would　rather〃

〃I　will　come。　I　wish　to　come。〃

She　did　not　believe　it。　She　felt　that　he　was　in　great　pain；　both　of
body　and　mind。　His　fall　had　hurt　him。　She　knew　that　by　the　way　he
moved　his　right　arm。　The　unaccustomed　exercise　had　made　him　stiff。
Probably　the　physical　discomfort　he　was　silently　enduring　had　acted　as
an　irritant　to　the　mind。　She　remembered　that　it　was　caused　by　his
determination　to　be　her　companion；　and　the　ice　in　her　melted　away。　She
longed　to　make　him　calmer；　happier。　Secretly　she　touched　the　little
cross　that　lay　under　her　habit。　He　had　thrown　it　away　in　a　passion。
Well；　some　day　perhaps　she　would　have　the　pleasure　of　giving　it　back
to　him。　Since　he　had　worn　it　he　must　surely　care　for　it；　and　even
perhaps　for　that　which　it　recalled。

〃We　ought　to　visit　the　mosque；　I　think；〃　she　said。

〃Yes；　Madame。〃

The　assent　sounded　determined　yet　reluctant。　She　knew　this　was　all
against　his　will。　Mustapha　took　charge　of　them；　and　they　set　out　down
the　narrow　street；　accompanied　by　a　little　crowd。　They　crossed　the
glaring　market…place；　with　its　booths　of　red　meat　made　black　by　flies；
its　heaps　of　refuse；　its　rows　of　small　and　squalid　hutches；　in　which
sat　serious　men　surrounded　by　their　goods。　The　noise　here　was
terrific。　Everyone　seemed　shouting；　and　the　uproar　of　the　various
trades；　the　clamour　of　hammers　on　sheets　of　iron；　the　dry　tap　of　the
shoemaker's　wooden　wand　on　the　soles　of　countless　slippers；　the　thud
of　the　coffee…beater's　blunt　club　on　the　beans；　and　the　groaning　grunt
with　which　he　accompanied　each　downward　stroke　mingled　with　the
incessant　roar　of　camels；　and　seemed　to　be　made　more　deafening　and
intolerable　by　the　fierce　heat　of　the　sun；　and　by　the　innumerable
smells　which　seethed　forth　upon　the　air。　Domini　felt　her　nerves　set　on
edge；　and　was　thankful　when　they　came　once　more　into　the　narrow　alleys
that　ran　everywhere　between　the　brown；　blind　houses。　In　them　there　was
shade　and　silence　and　mystery。　Mustapha　strode　before　to　show　the　way；
Domini　and　Androvsky　followed；　and　behind　glided　the　little　mob　of
barefoot　inquisitors　in　long　shirts；　speechless　and　intent；　and　always
hopeful　of　some　chance　scattering　of　money　by　the　wealthy　travellers。

The　tumult　of　the　market…place　at　length　died　away；　and　Domini　was
conscious　of　a　curious；　far…off　murmur。　At　first　it　was　so　faint　that
she　was　scarcely　aware　of　it；　and　merely　felt　the　soothing　influence
of　its　level　monotony。　But　as　they　walked　on　it　grew　deeper；　stronger。
It　was　like　the　sound　of　countless　multitudes　of　bees　buzzing　in　the
noon　among　flowers；　drowsily；　ceaselessly。　She　stopped　under　a　low　mud
arch　to　listen。　And　when　she　listened；　standing　still；　a　feeling　of
awe　came　upon　her；　and　she　knew　that　she　had　never　heard　such　a
strangely　impressive；　strangely　suggestive　sound　before。

〃What　is　that？〃　she　said。

She　looked　at　Androvsky。

〃I　don't　know；　Madame。　It　must　be　people。〃

〃But　what　can　they　be　doing？〃

〃They　are　praying　in　the　mosque　where　Sidi…Zerzour　is　buried；〃　said
Mustapha。

Domini　remembered　the　perfume…seller。　This　was　the　sound　she　had　beard
in　his　sunken　chamber；　infinitely　multiplied。　They　went　on　again
slowly。　Mustapha　had　lost　something　of　his　flaring　manner；　and　his
gait　was　subdued。　He　walked　with　a　sort　of　soft　caution；　like　a　man
approaching　holy　ground。　And　Domini　was　moved　by　his　sudden　reverence。
It　was　impressive　in　such　a　fierce　and　greedy　scoundrel。　The　level
murmur　deepened；　strengthened。　All　the　empty　and　dim　alleys
surrounding　the　unseen　mosque　were　alive　with　it；　as　if　the　earth　of
the　houses；　the　palm…wood　beams；　the　iron　bars　of　the　tiny；　shuttered
windows；　the　very　thorns　of　the　brushwood　roofs　were　praying
ceaselessly　and　intently　in　secret　under　voices。　This　was　a　world
intense　with　prayer　as　a　flame　is　intense　with　heat；　with　prayer
penetrating　and　compelling；　urgent　in　its　persistence；　powerful　in　its
deep　and　sultry　concentration；　yet　almost　oppressive；　almost　terrible
in　its　monotony。

〃Allah…Akbar！　Allah…Akbar！〃　It　was　the　murmur　of　the　desert　and　the
murmur　of　the　sun。　It　was　the　whisper　of　the　mirage；　and　of　the　airs
that　stole　among　the　palm　leaves。　It　was　the　perpetual　heart…beat　of
this　world　that　was　engulfing　her；　taking　her　to　its　warm　and　glowing
bosom　with　soft　and　tyrannical　intention。

〃Allah！　Allah！　Allah！〃　Surely　God　must　be　very　near；　bending　to　such
an　everlasting　cry。　Never　before；　not　even　when　the　bell　sounded　and
the　Host　was　raised；　had　Domini　felt　the　nearness　of　God　to　His　world；
the　absolute　certainty　of　a　Creator　listening　to　His　creatures；
watching　them；　wanting　them；　meaning　them　some　day　to　be　one　with　Him；
as　she　felt　it　now　while　she　threaded　the　dingy　alleys　towards　these
countless　men　who　prayed。

Androvsky　was　walking　slowly　as　if　in　pain。

〃Your　shoulder　isn't　hurting　you？〃　she　whispered。

This　long　sound　of　prayer　moved　her　to　the　soul；　made　her　feel　very
full　of　compassion　for　everybody　and　everything；　and　as　if　prayer　were
a　cord　binding　the　world　together。　He　shook　his　head　silently。　She
looked　at　him；　and　felt　that　he　was　moved　also；　but　whether　as　she　was
she　could　not　tell。　His　face　was　like　that　of　a　man　stricken　with　awe。
Mustapha　turned　round　to　them。　The　everlasting　murmur　was　now　so　near
that　it　seemed　to　be　within　them；　as　if　they；　too；　prayed　at　the　tomb
of　Zerzour。

〃Follow　me　into　the　court；　Madame；〃　Mustapha　said；　〃and　remain　at　the
door　while　I　fetch　the　slippers。〃

They　turned　a　corner；　and　came　to　an　open　space　before　an　archway；
which　led　into　the　first　of　the　courts　surrounding　the　mosque。　Under
the　archway　Arabs　were　sitting　silently；　as　if　immersed　in　profound
reveries。　They　did　not　move；　but　stared　upon　the　strangers；　and　Domini
fancied　that　there　was　enmity　in　their　eyes。　Beyond　them；　upon　an
uneven　pavement　surrounded　with　lofty　walls；　more　Arabs　were　gathered；
kneeling；　bowing　their　heads　to　the　ground；　and　muttering　ceaseless
words　in　deep；　almost　growling；　voices。　Their　fingers　slipped　over　the
beads　of　the　chaplets　they　wore　round　their　necks；　and　Domini　thought
of　her　rosary。　Some　prayed　alone；　removed　in　shady　corners；　with　faces
turned　to　the　wall。　Others　were　gathered　into　knots。　But　each　one
pursued　his　own　devotions；　immersed　in　a　strange；　interior　solitude　to
which　surely　penetrated　an　unseen　ray　of　sacred　light。　There　were
young　boys　praying；　and　old；　wrinkled　men；　eagles　of　the　desert；　with
fierce　eyes　that　did　not　soften　as　they　cried　the　greatness　of　Allah；
the　greatness　of　his　Prophet；　but　gleamed　as　if　their　belief　were　a
thing　of　flame　and　bronze。　The　boys　sometimes　glanced　at　each　other
while　they　prayed；　and　after　each　glance　they　swayed　with　greater
violence；　and　bowed　down　with　more　passionate　abasement。　The　vision　of
prayer　had　stirred　them　to　a　young　longing　for　excess。　The　spirit　of
emulation　flickered　through　them　and　turned　their　worship　into　war。

In　a　second　and　smaller　court　before　the　portal　of　the　mosque　men　were
learning　the　Koran。　Dressed　in　white　they　sat　in　circles；　holding
squares　of　some　material　that　looked　like　cardboard　covered　with
minute　Arab　characters；　pretty；　symmetrical　curves　and　lines；　dots　and
dashes。　The　teachers　squatted　in　the　midst；　expounding　the　sacred　text
in　nasal　voices　with　a　swiftness　and　vivacity　that　seemed　pugnacious。
There　was　violence　within　these　courts。　Domini　could　imagine　the
worshippers　springing　up　from　their　knees　to　tear　to　pieces　an
intruding　dog　of　an　unbeliever；　then　sinking　to　their　knees　again
while　the　blood　trickled　over　the　sun…dried　pavement　and　the　lifeless
body；　lay　there　to　rot　and　draw　the　flies。

〃Allah！　Allah！　Allah！〃

There　was　something　imperious　in　such　ardent；　such　concentrated　and
untiring　worship；　a　demand　which　surely　could　not　be　overlooked　or　set
aside。　The　tameness；　the　half…heartedness　of　Western　prayer　and