Mohammed Ali and His House [224]
nothing, Butheita, no harm will be done you!"
A sudden tremor seizes her; she thinks she recognizes this voice. But no, it is impossible. He would not come to her as a robber. No, she is mistaken. Yet she offers no resistance. And what resistance can she offer? Her hands and feet are bound, and now she is borne out, and lifted high, and then laid down.
She does not see that she is on her own dromedary. She lies on the same cushion in the same palanquin in which she had once held the sarechsme Mohammed Ali a prisoner, and he it is who seats himself beside her. "And now onward, onward, my Alpha!"
The Nubian mounts his horse, and the swift dromedary speeds his way through the desert.
The night is clear, and the moon is shedding a golden lustre over the sand, through which the ship of the desert is flying with its rich prize, and behind it the Nubian, his hand on his pistol, ready to shoot down any one who may dare to attack his master.
Now the rider draws rein and stops the dromedary; the sublime image of the desert-queen, silvered over with the moonlight, towers before them in majestic proportions.
"This is the desert-queen, the goddess of all the Bedouins!" cries Mohammed. "Do you wish to see her, Butheita? I am sorry for you, and would gladly remove the cloth from your head and eyes in order that you may see. But if you are cruel, you might tear my arms with your teeth. Will you do that, Butheita?"
She starts and shakes her head, inwardly rejoicing, for she recognizes these words, and remembers that she spoke them when he lay a prisoner on the cushion before her. And he now continues to speak just as she spoke then
"You shake your head, and I will trust you and loosen your bonds."
He quickly unties the cuffei and removes it from her head. She looks up at him who is bowed down over her, and the kind moon sheds her soft light upon them, and enables them to see each other.
Oh, happy moment! Forgotten is all, forgotten the long separation-- forgotten, also, that her father will be angry and will grieve for her! She looks only at him, sees only him, and yet, as he now bends down closer, she turns her face aside.
Mohammed smiles and points to the sphinx. "Only look at the shadow the moon throws from the dromedary to the mouth of the sphinx! Look at the two heads there, they are our shadows, and they are kissing each other, Butheita!"
She utters a cry of delight. These were her very words, and, as then, he says, bending over her:
"Why should our shadows only kiss each other? Why not our lips, too?"
But she shakes her head and says, as she then said:
"I have promised my father to kiss only that man whom I shall follow to his tent for love. At the door of the tent he may give me the first kiss."
"And you are still resolved to keep this promise?" said he, smiling.
"I am," says she, also smiling. "And you, Mohammed, shall never kiss me!" she continues, the smile vanishing from her lips, and her countenance assuming an angry expression. "No, you shall never kiss me, for you shall never lead me to your tent as your wife! Oh, I see it all plainly. You have stolen me from my father to make me a slave!"
"Yes," said Mohammed, "I intend you to be a slave, the slave of your love! For I know you love me, Butheita!"
"No!" she exclaims: "No, I do not love you! And you have no right to make me a slave. I am the Bedouin queen; my whole tribe call me so, and the daughters of the Bedouins have never been sold into slavery. No, I will not be a slave!"
"And yet you shall be the slave of your love!"
"I do not love you, I hate you!" replies she, crying with anger. "Yes, Mohammed Ali, I hate you, and you shall never kiss me, for I hate the robber who takes me from my father's house in order to make me a slave!"
"Butheita," says he, gently, "I removed the cloth from your lips, but you are not keeping your word; you tear my heart with your lips, and I must cover them again if you continue to wound me so cruelly."
"Do so; close my lips! They shall say nothing else to you!" cries she, angrily.
A sudden tremor seizes her; she thinks she recognizes this voice. But no, it is impossible. He would not come to her as a robber. No, she is mistaken. Yet she offers no resistance. And what resistance can she offer? Her hands and feet are bound, and now she is borne out, and lifted high, and then laid down.
She does not see that she is on her own dromedary. She lies on the same cushion in the same palanquin in which she had once held the sarechsme Mohammed Ali a prisoner, and he it is who seats himself beside her. "And now onward, onward, my Alpha!"
The Nubian mounts his horse, and the swift dromedary speeds his way through the desert.
The night is clear, and the moon is shedding a golden lustre over the sand, through which the ship of the desert is flying with its rich prize, and behind it the Nubian, his hand on his pistol, ready to shoot down any one who may dare to attack his master.
Now the rider draws rein and stops the dromedary; the sublime image of the desert-queen, silvered over with the moonlight, towers before them in majestic proportions.
"This is the desert-queen, the goddess of all the Bedouins!" cries Mohammed. "Do you wish to see her, Butheita? I am sorry for you, and would gladly remove the cloth from your head and eyes in order that you may see. But if you are cruel, you might tear my arms with your teeth. Will you do that, Butheita?"
She starts and shakes her head, inwardly rejoicing, for she recognizes these words, and remembers that she spoke them when he lay a prisoner on the cushion before her. And he now continues to speak just as she spoke then
"You shake your head, and I will trust you and loosen your bonds."
He quickly unties the cuffei and removes it from her head. She looks up at him who is bowed down over her, and the kind moon sheds her soft light upon them, and enables them to see each other.
Oh, happy moment! Forgotten is all, forgotten the long separation-- forgotten, also, that her father will be angry and will grieve for her! She looks only at him, sees only him, and yet, as he now bends down closer, she turns her face aside.
Mohammed smiles and points to the sphinx. "Only look at the shadow the moon throws from the dromedary to the mouth of the sphinx! Look at the two heads there, they are our shadows, and they are kissing each other, Butheita!"
She utters a cry of delight. These were her very words, and, as then, he says, bending over her:
"Why should our shadows only kiss each other? Why not our lips, too?"
But she shakes her head and says, as she then said:
"I have promised my father to kiss only that man whom I shall follow to his tent for love. At the door of the tent he may give me the first kiss."
"And you are still resolved to keep this promise?" said he, smiling.
"I am," says she, also smiling. "And you, Mohammed, shall never kiss me!" she continues, the smile vanishing from her lips, and her countenance assuming an angry expression. "No, you shall never kiss me, for you shall never lead me to your tent as your wife! Oh, I see it all plainly. You have stolen me from my father to make me a slave!"
"Yes," said Mohammed, "I intend you to be a slave, the slave of your love! For I know you love me, Butheita!"
"No!" she exclaims: "No, I do not love you! And you have no right to make me a slave. I am the Bedouin queen; my whole tribe call me so, and the daughters of the Bedouins have never been sold into slavery. No, I will not be a slave!"
"And yet you shall be the slave of your love!"
"I do not love you, I hate you!" replies she, crying with anger. "Yes, Mohammed Ali, I hate you, and you shall never kiss me, for I hate the robber who takes me from my father's house in order to make me a slave!"
"Butheita," says he, gently, "I removed the cloth from your lips, but you are not keeping your word; you tear my heart with your lips, and I must cover them again if you continue to wound me so cruelly."
"Do so; close my lips! They shall say nothing else to you!" cries she, angrily.