On impulse I took the cyclamen to the tent to sketch and found with relief that Habib had moved the tent to attract the afternoon breezes. Lost in my work, I scarcely noticed that an hour passed before a noise I hardly heard made me look up. I saw a small mouse and then another and another. They jumped rather than ran, as if they were propelled by springs. When one hopped onto my sketch pad, I ran for Mastur, who looked into the tent and laughed. “Yerbu,” he said, nodding his head, and he was about to leave as if all I wished were the name of the creatures.
“Chase them away,” I ordered. “I won’t be able sleep with mice bouncing all over me.”
“They do no harm. The only bad thing is they bring the snake who wants them for his dinner.” He departed, impatient with this frivolous demand on his time.
Thinking of the snakes, I heaped sand and rocks around the circumference of the tent to pin its hem to the ground, but Mastur’s indifference was reassuring, and I began to be fond of the bouncing mice, losing myself in my sketching until it was time for dinner.
As I joined the others around the fire, Hakki said to me, “Why does Miss Phillips not come?”
When I said, “She went out several hours ago to look for specimens,” Hakki looked as though he might cry.
“I have begged all of you to stay together,” he protested. “How could this happen?”
Monsieur Louvois said, none too kindly, “I would not have expected Edith to be late for a meal.”
“Come and sit down, Hakki,” Father said. “There isn’t a desert that exists in which Miss Phillips could lose herself.”
Still we kept our eyes on the horizon, waiting for Edith’s substantial figure to appear, but there was nothing to be seen but the faint white houses of the village like empty squares cut into the purple sky.
Monsieur Louvois asked Hakki, “Why did that petit fonctionnaire insist on seeing our papers?”
Hakki said, “There have been rumors of people making trouble for the sultan in these parts. The soldiers must keep some sort of order to prevent a handful of troublemakers from sowing the seeds of revolution.” He looked at Graham suspiciously.
The desert air had chilled, and seeing me shiver, Graham had edged close to me, taking off his jacket, still warm from his body, and wrapping it around my shoulders. He was so close to me that I could feel him shifting uncomfortably under Hakki’s stare, but he answered in a strong voice. “I wouldn’t call it revolution,” he said. “I am sure there are those who simply want what many nations have and what Turkey once had—a democratic government.”
“It’s not that simple,” Father said. “Suppose your seekers after democracy are successful in overthrowing the sultan. Do you think for a moment that the Arab world, when it tastes its first freedom in centuries, will be satisfied to remain a part of the Turkish government? No matter what concessions Turkey gives them, they will want their own country. The same is true for the Greeks and Armenians and Jews.” Father’s voice was intense and angry, as if he had been waiting for the moment when he could openly oppose Graham. “These people, and I suppose you are speaking of the Young Turks, will have opened a Pandora’s box. It is not in oppression but in the first taste of freedom that revolutions arise. When the Arabs and the Greeks and the Armenians begin their fight for independence, your Young Turks will come down harder on them than the sultan ever thought of doing.
“Not only that. Once the Muslims come to power, they will impose their religion: Only Muslims will be allowed to hold office. Islam is the state and Islam is the religion. What will happen then to your Druzes, who have their own religion?”
I could not follow Father and Graham’s arguments. It seemed to me that every solution would just cause another problem.
Like me, Hakki was not listening. He was looking out toward the desert for some sign of Edith, who seemed all but forgotten in the surly discussion. Now he said, “I must see to our dinner. Perhaps by then Miss Phillips will have returned.”
Worried over Edith’s absence and edgy from the men’s quarrels, I hardly tasted the dinner of rice and mutton. Even before we finished, Hakki ordered Abdullah and the three mukaris out to look for Edith. When Father, Monsieur Louvois, and Graham insisted on going as well, Hakki became upset, pleading, “I have begged over and over that we stay together. I cannot have you going off into the desert for whatever reason.” But they went.
Alone in my tent I was almost grateful for the company of the bouncing mice, who were now hopping about in my bags and shoes. Any moment I expected to see Edith march purposefully into the tent, complaining that too much fuss had been made over her. From time to time I stood at the entrance of the tent looking into the awful space of the desert for some sign of Edith, but the searchers returned without her. First Father, Monsieur Louvois, and Graham, and then Mohammed, Habib, and Mastur, and finally Abdullah. The whole party fell silent with concern.
“The will of God,” Mohammed said, and Habib nodded. Only Mastur seemed unworried, and I recalled how he had distracted Hakki to keep him from noticing Edith’s departure.
A frantic Hakki anounced, “In the morning we will round up the men in the village and pay them to search with us. I will wait up tonight.”
I was grateful to Father when he said, “We will all wait up,” for I was too worried about Edith to sleep.
The tents were hung with lanterns in the event that Edith tried to find her way back. No one left the fire, although from time to time one of the watchers dropped off for a few moments’ sleep. I was wrapped in a blanket to keep out the chilly night wind that blew across the desert’s cold stones. A terrible howling and whimpering cut through the darkness, and I shut my eyes, afraid of what I might see.
“Most likely a jackal,” Graham said, secretly finding my hand in the folds of the blanket to comfort me.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw a star shoot across the sky, and in spite of my fear I called out in pleasure.
Father heard me and, using that as an excuse to move closer to me and Graham, said, “The Muslims believe there are satanic legions called ‘jinn’ that try to discover the secrets of heaven. To discourage them the good angels pelt the jinn with stars.”
It was nearly midnight when two men on camels moved like specters into the light of the campfire. Without waiting for their camels to kneel, the men, each carrying a rifle, sprang down to the ground and saluted the party. They looked as if they were playing some part that was agreeable to them and that they had rehearsed. One of them kept in the background, but the spokesman’s face was clearly visible by the light of the fire. It was a round, fleshy face, almost boyish in its smoothness, and beardless except for a wispy tuft of chin hair. The man’s large round eyes had a surprised look. When he turned his head slightly, I noticed with a start a jagged scar like a slash that stretched across his throat. Abdullah greeted the men. “Es-salaam aleikum,” he said.
“Aleikum es-salaam,” returned the spokesman, who said his name was Asad and that he was from the Metawileh tribe.
A cold shiver went through me as I remembered Edith telling us it was the Metawileh tribe that had killed her enemy, Professor Ladamacher.
Asad asked, “Your party is a small one. Is this all?” He spoke in heavily accented English. When he lapsed into Arabic, Graham translated for me.
Abdullah had been lounging by the fire, but now he sat up stiffly. “There is one other, a hurmeh.”
“A woman,” Graham translated.
“The hurmeh is not here?” the spokesman asked.
“As you see,” Abdullah replied.
“Perhaps it is quieter thus,” Asad said. “Not all harîm have the gift of silence.”
“Unhappily, that is so,” Abdullah said.
“It may be that we have found the hurmeh. It is possible we could bring her to you, but her discovery has been an inconvenience for us, tiring our camels and exhausting our water. For that you would doubtless wish to give us a little reward, although we could not accept it since you are frie
nds.”
Monsieur Louvois spoke up. “We will give you no money for the mademoiselle, but if you bring her to us tout de suite, I will give you something for the trinket you are wearing around your neck in exchange for the hurmeh’s return.”
Asad replied, “Five of the gold coins of your country for our trouble. I could not sell the amulet, but it will be a gift for you in exchange for your generosity.”
Monsieur Louvois handed the man the sovereigns and received from him a small ivory amulet that the man had worn on a cord. “If you have any other trinkets such as this one, you will find us in Karyatein in a day or two.”
“We will find what will make you happy. Now we will return to you the missing member of your party.”
After an hour of anxious waiting we heard Edith’s angry voice complaining to Asad, who accompanied her, that she could have made her way back on her own. I was relieved to hear her voice, for I had had frightening images of Edith bound and gagged and slung upon a camel. Instead, when Edith appeared, she was riding the camel of the second man, who was not to be seen.
“My friend has been generous and given the hurmeh his own camel to ride,” Asad said.
Edith, perched on the top of the beast, looked down at us. “Generous, my foot. He chose not to come. I told him he must ride pillion, as I would not; it’s a most uncomfortable way of hanging on to a camel. I hope this thief has not talked you into giving him baksheesh for my return; if so, I have warned him I will report him to the next soldiers we see.”
“We didn’t give him a sou to return you,” Louvois said. It was the literal truth, but it sounded unchivalrous.
The Metawileh couched Edith’s camel and offered his hand, which she refused, getting down quite nimbly on her own. “I must in all truth say that you gave me a good dinner. In return, you will be pleased to know, while you were gone and the man you left me with was asleep, I aired out the bedding in your tent, which was full of lice. I only hope I haven’t brought them back with me. Some of your bedding was simply too disgraceful, and I tossed it into the fire.”
Abdullah smiled. “We will give you back your amulet and you may have the hurmeh.” But before he had finished his offer, the Metawileh hurriedly turned the camels toward the desert.
“Well, it’s all my fault, of course,” Edith said. “I’m afraid I’ve given you a great deal of trouble. I found a ranunculus quite unknown to me, and since one specimen is not proof enough, I went looking for another. In my excitement I must have become disoriented. Asad and his friend, Faiz, and another man, Yusuf, kindly—or so I thought—took me in and fed me. Just when I expected that they would bring me back here, Asad and Faiz disappeared, leaving me with Yusuf. Of course I was onto their game of ransom at once, but I was reluctant to start off in the dark, not knowing how far from camp I was.”
Hakki was torn between relief at having Edith back and dismay over her disappearance. “Miss Phillips, I most humbly entreat you never, never to leave our group again. I have said over and over that we must stay together, and here on our first night in the desert you vanish from me.”
Edith said, “I give you my word, Hakki, that hereafter I will stay near the camp.” But no one, least of all Hakki, believed her.
I was puzzled. The men obviously had been asking for ransom in return for delivering Edith, yet all the while Edith appeared to be the one in control. I felt I had been present at the performance of a little play, but I could not figure out the characters or the plot. Still, I was so pleased to have Edith safely back in the tent with me, I put my suspicions aside. Even the mice scurrying about seemed less a problem with her there. “We were worried,” I said.
Edith sat down on her cot heavily. “I was never in any danger, but it’s been a long day.” She appeared strangely exhilarated.
“More than a long day, surely,” I said. “If I had been you, I would have been terrified.”
“You are safer in the desert than on the streets of London.”
“But you were lost. What if those men had not come along?”
“But they did, and I am grateful to them. They kindly took me in, and if they made a little money from their hospitality—for I don’t believe for a moment that ransom wasn’t paid—I don’t begrudge them.” She was quiet for a minute, and then in a voice very different from the light tone she had used before, she said, “One of the men, Asad, had a rather unhappy tale. His two brothers were conscripted into the Turks’ army and were killed in Crete fighting the Greeks.”
Edith stopped abruptly, as though she was sorry she had told Asad’s story. Looking for a diversion, she picked up my sketch of the white cyclamen and held it to the candlelight. “This is very fine,” she said. “I had no idea you had so much talent. I shall certainly make use of it.”
I was pleased. “I’ve never done flowers before.”
“All the more amazing. You have a natural talent that we will have to develop. It would be a great help to me to have someone who can sketch the specimens I collect. The rare form of ranunculus that I found today I believe is an entirely new species. One day there may be a Ranunculus phillipsus named for me, and you shall sketch it. Together, Julia, we will make an excellent pair. I must say you are the one person whose company I enjoy on this tour, for you are the only one who is not greedy for something. Now I’m for a few hours’ sleep.”
Edith, however, woke frequently, and I could hear her tossing about. “Are you upset over what happened?” I asked.
“No, no,” Edith said. “It’s the lice that I picked up lounging about in their tent. Tomorrow I shall have a good bath and a sprinkling with my Keating’s powder. We must tell Habib to be sure to keep my sheets separate from the others.”
The mukari were careless with the sheets, and a few days later I had lice.
X
KARYATEIN
I WAS AWAKENED BY the muezzin—the crier who summons the faithful to prayer—as he started his five-times-a-day ritual. Edith, who must have been tired from her adventures and her sleepless night, remained asleep. On a suitcase next to her bed lay her glasses, neatly folded on a copy of the Koran. She told me she read a sura, a chapter, from it each evening. Monsieur Louvois had admired the book with its tooled leather cover. “Very rare,” he said. “Sixteenth century. Perhaps you would care to sell it?”
Edith had responded indignantly. “No. Must you lay your hands on everything you see?”
The Koran’s cover was decorated with cruelly beaked birds hidden in leafy trees and tigers springing out of a bank of flowers onto the backs of terrified gazelles. “The Koran is more than the Arab religion,” she had told me. “It’s their survival as a people. The Arab language is forbidden in the Turkish courts and in all official Turkish offices. If an Arab wishes to govern his own people, he must do so in the language of the Turks. That is why the Arabs cling to their Koran. As long as they know it chapter and verse, they keep their language and their identity as well.”
While the muezzin called and Edith slept on, I reached for my slippers, shaking each one as Edith had taught me, lest it harbor a scorpion. Pattering over to the tent flap, I pushed aside the flap to see the mukaris praying, their robes and kaffiyehs falling forward and winging back with their devotions. The sun was already blazing, and I knew the day would be hot.
His prayers over, Mastur brought a jug of washing water, which he delivered with a tender smile and modest, downcast eyes, his long lashes fluttering at me in a saucy way. “Moyêh,” he said, and grinned. He pronounced the word meaning “water” with an almost worshipful tone and a smile on his face.
I was eager to see Graham and hurried into my clothes, modestly slipping my underwear on under the cover of my nightgown. Edith, who was now awake and chattering about the specimens she had discovered the evening before, pulled her nightgown over her head without a blush, exposing her sagging flesh, which she proceeded to splash with water in the racketing manner of a bathing bird.
“It is somehow a very great treat to come up
on flowers in the desert, a kind of gift given by someone who can least afford it,” she said. She was pulling on a faded pink undershirt and knickers. “Louvois is right. The real excitement is in finding something for which you haven’t been looking—finding, as he would say, the ‘singulier.’ There is a great difference between those who want to see only what they understand and those who are willing to be surprised by a miracle.”
I was flattered by Edith’s pronouncements and lectures, for I understood that she liked me and was eager to pass on to me some of the many things she had learned in her travels.
Breakfast was simple: hard-boiled eggs, dates and figs, a melon, and flatbread still warm from the coals. Graham and I helped each other. I neatly peeled his egg for him, and he slathered honey on my bread, licking his fingers afterward. Mastur handed around tiny cups of dark, rich coffee spiced with a few grains of aromatic cardamom. In the past Mastur had appeared to be closest to Edith, but now, to my surprise, he seemed to have taken a special liking to Father, for he made a point of serving Father first and with great deference. The moment breakfast was finished, everything was whisked away and packed.
We were a cheerful lot that morning. Monsieur Louvois, who had appeared in a silk kaffiyeh, was teased mercilessly. Graham asked, “I suppose in that getup you’ll want to ride the camel today?”
Monsieur Louvois always enjoyed being the center of attention, and when it was time to leave, he approached the couched camel, which was slobbering over its cud, and tried to clamber on it as if he were scaling a wall. Father would have nothing to do with the antics, but the mukaris emitted peals of laughter at his awkwardness. Hakki stood by, embarrassed that one of his charges should willingly appear so foolish. I was sure he felt it reflected badly on his own dignity.
Our caravan followed the wadi between bleak hills to a small village, where after suitable baksheesh was paid, water was taken on from the town well. Near the well was an ancient castle, its tower and some of its crumbling walls decorated with the Maltese crosses of the crusaders.
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