Halima And The Scorpions | Page 5

murmur, like the growl of the tide upon a shingly beach, arose once more from the crowd. Halima turned about, and went slowly in at her lighted doorway, followed by Irena and Boria. The heavy door of palm was shut behind them. The light was hidden. There was a great silence. It was broken by Sadok's voice screaming in his beard to Ben-Abid, "My money! Give me my money!"
He snatched it with a howl, and went capering forth into the darkness.
*****
When the next night fell upon the desert there was a great crowd assembled in the café of the dancers. The pipers blew into their pipes, and swayed upon their haunches, turning their glittering eyes to and fro to see what man had a mind to press a piece of money upon their well greased foreheads. The dancers came and went, promenading arm in arm upon the earthen floor, or leaping with hands outstretched and fingers fluttering. The Kabyle attendant slipped here and there with the coffee cups, and the wreaths of smoke curled lightly upward towards the wooden roof.
But Halima came not through the open doorway holding the scarlet handkerchiefs above her head.
And presently, late in the night, they laid her body in a palanquin, and set the palanquin upon a running camel, and, while the dancers shrilled their lament amid the sands, they bore her away into the darkness of the dunes towards the south and the tents of her own people.
The jackals laughed as she went by.
But the hedgehog's foot was left lying upon the floor of her chamber. Not one of the dancers would touch it.
That night I was in the café, and, hearing of all these things from Kou?dah, the boy, I went into the court, and gathered up the trinket which had brought a woman to the great silence. Next day I rode on horseback to Tamacine, asked to see the marabout and told him all the story.
He listened, smiling like the rising sun in an oleograph, and twisting in his huge hands, that were tinted with the henna, the staff with the apple-green ribbons.
When I came to the end I said:
"O, holy marabout, tell me one thing."
"Allah is just. I listen."
"If the scorpions had slept with a veiled woman who held the hedgehog's foot, how would it have been? Would the woman have died or lived?"
The marabout did not answer. He looked at me calmly, as at a child who asks questions about the mysteries of life which only the old can understand.
"These things," he said at length, "are hidden from the unbeliever. You are a Roumi. How, then, should you learn such matters?"
"But even the Roumi----"
"In the desert there are mysteries," continued the marabout, "which even the faithful must not seek to penetrate."
"Then it is useless to----"
"It is very useless. It is as useless as to try to count the grains of the sand."
I said no more.
Mohammed El A?d Ben Ali Tidjani smiled once more, and beckoned to a negro attendant, who ran with a musical box, one of the gifts of the faithful.
"This comes from Paris," he said, with a spreading complacence.
Then there was within the box a sounding click, and there stole forth a tinkling of Auber's music to Masaniello, "Come o'er the moonlit sea!"

End of Project Gutenberg's Halima And The Scorpions, by Robert Hichens
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