Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [104]
Yet what made this experience memorable for him was neither the execrable food, the dirtiness, the extraordinary customers, nor the remarkable price, but a mention of the fabulous city of Petra, whose intricately carved cliffs echoed the tinkling bells of camel caravans a thousand years before the birth of Marco Polo. He paused with a slice of tomato in mid-air and began to recite: “ ‘It seems no work of man’s creative hand by labor wrought as wavering fancy planned, but from the rock as if by magic grown, eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!’ ”
“My word!” Mrs. Bridge exclaimed. “What was that?—if you please.”
“ ‘Match me such marvel save in Eastern clime, a rose-red city half as old as time.’ That was by John William Burgon. It was quite a celebrated bit of verse during my school days. As a matter of fact, I believe it won some sort of important prize. We were required to commit it to memory. So you have been there, have you?” he said to Hager. “I was under the the impression the place was virtually inaccessible.”
“I must admit I’m altogether at a loss,” Mrs. Bridge said. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Morgan? Would you care to answer?”
Hager said, “You probably know more about it than I do. You answer.”
Mr. Bridge laughed. “If you have been there you should be the authority. However, I suspect I might be able to answer the question. I became quite fascinated with Petra as a consequence of memorizing the poem. The poem, of course, consists of a number of stanzas, and there was a day I was able to quote it in its entirety. I doubt if I could do so now. At any rate, as I say, I became quite taken with Petra in consequence and visited the library in order to find out more about it. Let me see what I can recall.”
He cleared his throat. “Petra was constructed—or I should say, carved out of the cliff—by Nabataean Arabs during a period of some five centuries commencing about 300 B.C. It is located approximately two hundred miles south of the Dead Sea. For a number of centuries it was a wealthy and celebrated city with a vast caravan trade, but declined in importance with the rise of Palmyra. The Nabataeans were astute traders and competent engineers, digging wells, building cisterns, and terracing arid land so that the surrounding desert would produce sufficient grain, fruit, and vegetables to feed the people. Their kingdom—if such it may be called—at one time extended as far north as Damascus. I seem to recall that a Nabataean governor ruled Damascus when St. Paul was converted on the Damascus road. In any event, Petra was annexed as a Roman province and later was conquered by Moslems and still later by Crusaders. It was then abandoned and ‘lost’ to the world. Even the knowledge of its existence was lost until a Swiss explorer, whose name escapes me at the moment, discovered it early in the nineteenth century. Now it is considered one of the world’s most rewarding and adventurous travel experiences. The ornately carved facade of a building referred to as the ‘Treasury’ is reputed to be a never-to-be-forgotten sight. And I believe this pretty well summarizes my skimpy knowledge of Petra. Morgan, I’m sure you must have a great deal to tell us about it. We certainly would be interested in hearing. I have, in a manner of speaking, often dreamed of visiting Petra.”
Hager looked uncomfortable.
Mr. Bridge went on: “The encyclopedia states that the rock is stratified in a magnificent profusion of color—the famous rose color, as well as crimson, purple, saffron, and various other hues intermingled with black and white. Now tell us, is it as beautiful as the encyclopedia would have us believe?”
Hager said it was, and once more scratched his head.
“So you’ve been to Petra, have you!” Mr. Bridge remarked as though reluctant to believe it. “The rose-red city half as old as time—and you have been there!