Mohammed Ali and His House [21]
"When the servants arrived with the palanquin I had remained perfectly dry, while Mohammed was wet to the skin. I begged him to come with me. I begged him to accept a gift. He refused both, and cried, laughing, as he ran away to escape my further thanks: 'For me it was only a welcome bath! You it would have hurt, Osman.'"
"Good, by Allah! That was well done," said the tschorbadji, with his aristocratic smile. "You served my son as an umbrella. I thank you for it, Mohammed, and will reward you. A new mantle shall be brought you, for I perceive that your own is torn and old."
"I thank you, master. It is good enough for me. This mantle is an inheritance from my father. Mother preserved it for ten years, and now I wear it, and wear it with pride, as a souvenir of my father. Thanks for your kind offer."
"Then take the money," said the tschorbadji. "You see I still hold it in my hand."
"Thanks, master. I have no need of the money."
"You must take it, Mohammed," said Osman, gently. "As I told you before, father has forgotten to add for what purpose he gives it. You are to go and hear the new scha-er, the story-teller. Do you know him already?"
"No, Osman, I do not. What of this scha-er?"
"I have heard him much spoken of," replied Osman, gently. "He is a rival of the old scha-er; Mehsed. You know the old one always sits in the middle of the market-place, on a stone, and tells the people stories of the olden time, and of the magnificence of the Turkish Empire. Now a new storyteller has come, from Constantinople it is said, and people say his stories are very beautiful. But he does not seat himself on a stone in the middle of the market, but in the wide hall of a store. There he has hired a corner, and there he sits. Around himself, as far as his voice reaches, he has fastened a rope to stakes, and whoever wishes to enter the circle thus formed must pay to hear his stories. I should like to do so, too, and have often entreated my father to allow me, but they say it would excite me too much, and that the air of the hall would be too close for me. Therefore, Mohammed, I beg you to go there for me, listen to the stories, and then come and repeat them to me. You see it was for this purpose father gave you the money.--Is it not so, father?"
"Yes, my boy, it shall be so if you desire it. I give him the money that he may hear the new scha-er, and if it entertains and pleases you. Mohammed shall come to you and relate what he has heard."
"Will you afford me this pleasure, Mohammed? I am not strong and healthy like you; I cannot climb the rocks, like you; cannot sit on the cliffs and listen to the voice of the sea and the storm; cannot, like you, enjoy the delight of taking exercise in the open air! Here I lie on my bed, and all that is good and beautiful must come to me, if I am to enjoy it. Then come to me, Mohammed Ali!"
With a kindly look, he again held out his pale, attenuated hand, and Mohammed felt that warm tears were trickling down his cheeks, and that somehow he could not speak while the pale handsome boy was looking at him so entreatingly. He took Osman's hand and pressed heartily in his own.
"I accept the money from Tschorbadji Hassan," said he, in low, soft tones. "I shall go and listen to the new scha-er, and, if you wish, Osman, I shall come to-morrow, and every day, to relate to you what I have heard; and it will please me if it gives you pleasure."
"I thank you, Mohammed, and beg you to come to-morrow ready to relate to me.--Give me the money, father," said he, addressing his father, with a gentle smile. "I will give it to Mohammed for the scha-er."
He took the money, and Mohammed willingly accepted it from him, and thanked him.
"I will go to the scha-er at once, for this is his hour, I believe."
He bowed hastily and slightly before the tschorbadji, but profoundly and reverentially before the poor pale boy, and rapidly walked back toward the gate, thinking not of the beautiful flowers that surrounded him, rejoicing only at being able to do something for Osman Bey, and rejoicing,