Jack Hildreth on the Nile | Page 2

earthen vessel, from which he was prepared to quench one's thirst for a slight recompense. The other side of the street illustrated the lack of privacy with which the most intimate concerns were conducted. The fronts of the houses were open, and the public eye could gaze upon each interior. In one I saw a worthy citizen squatting on his mat, holding a struggling child between his knees, whose tangled hair he was overhauling for those incumbrances with which the Egyptians since the time of Pharaohs have been rich. From another house something was thrown into the street, which proved to be a poor cat, just dead -- very likely of starvation -- and whose body was tossed into the street regardless of sanitary considerations. A little further on, a gray-haired man sat with his back against a post, his eyes closed, as the beads of his prayer chain slipped through his fingers, his lips moving in prayer. He saw and heard nothing around him; he had quitted earth and wandered in spirit in the fields of paradise, promised by Mohamed to true believers.
Suddenly a cry arose: "May your morning be white." It was a milkman, thus advertising his wares. "Delicious flavor, dripping with juice," cried another, who sold melons. "They sprang from the tears of the Prophet, O fragrance of all fragrance," echoed the voice of the rose merchant, while the "scharbetti," or peddler of rose-water, cried "Length of life, death to death; it purifies the blood."
Opposite a cafe stood a little Negro girl, perhaps eight years old, with a basket hung around her neck, who cried at intervals, in a discouraged tone: "Figs, figs, sweeter than my eyes!" Whoever had taught the child to say this was a good business man, for her dark eyes had a far-off, dreamy look which really was sweet. She was a pretty child, in spite of her black skin. The frightened, pleading tone, the outstretched, imploring hand, were certain to induce passers-by to spend a few para for figs.
I could scarcely turn my eyes from the little creature; her voice sounded terror-stricken, and her cry of "Figs, figs," fell on my ear like an appeal for help, and I determined to give her a good backsheesh. I noticed that I was not the only one who felt drawn to the child; the little black waiter boy in the cafe had thrice slipped out while I stood there to buy a fig. Was it because he loved sweets. or from childish sympathy? When he approached the little girl her face lighted up with a loving look, as it did if he looked out the door and their eyes met. Turning to see if he were still in sight, I saw him crouching down in a corner, half turned away from the street, and yes, he was crying; I saw him repeatedly rub the back of his hand across his eyes to dry the tears. The little girl discovered him in his corner, and, seeing that he was crying, both of her hands instantly flew up to her eyes. Evidently there was some connection between these two pretty ebony children. What made me do so I could not say, but I went over to the boy in the corner. As he saw me standing by him he jumped up, and, with a little bow, started to go away. I held him fast, however, and asked him, in a tone I tried to make encouraging:
"Why are you crying? Can't you tell me?"
He looked me in the face, winked away his tears, and replied: "Because no one buys from Djangeh."
"Do you mean the little fig merchant over there?"
"Yes."
"You buy from her; I saw you do so several times."
He seemed to think I accused him of gluttony, for he said, hastily: "I didn't eat the figs; I'll give them back to her when the master has gone by. I only bought them so she could have some money, for if she doesn't bring in five piasters at night she will be beaten, and have nothing to eat, and be tied in a circle by her hands and feet to a post. I must bring in eight piasters; the cafe keeper gives me three each day; I have had four to-day as backsheesh, and I only need one more. Some one is sure to give me that, so I gave twenty para to Djangeh for figs."
"To whom do you have to bring these piasters?" I asked.
"To our master."
"He is Djangeh's master also?"
"Yes; she is my sister."
"And what is your master's name?"
"He is a wicked man, called Abd el Barak."
"Has he hired you from your father?"
"No; our father and mother live far away. He bought us of the men who attacked our village, burned our houses, and took us