Paul Patoff | Page 7

least, there was no doubt, for as the delicate fingers stole out from the black folds of the ferigee their whiteness shone by contrast upon the dark silk; there was something youthful and nervous and sensitive in their shape and movement which fascinated the young Russian, and made him mad with curiosity to see the face of the veiled woman to whom they belonged. She turned her head a little, as the ca?que passed, and her dark eyes met his with an expression which seemed one of intelligence; but unfortunately all black eyes look very much alike when they are just visible between the upper and the lower folds of a thick yashmak, and Alexander uttered an exclamation of discontent.
Thereupon the hideous negro at the stern, who had noticed the stare of the two Russians, shook his light stick at Alexander, and hissed out something that sounded very like "Kiope 'oul kiopek,"--dog and son of a dog; the oarsmen grinned and pulled harder than ever, and the ca?que shot past the pier. Paul shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, but did not translate the Turkish ejaculation to his brother. A boatman stood lounging near them, leaning on a stone post, and following the retreating ca?que with his eyes.
"Ask that fellow who she is," said Alexander.
"He does not know," answered Paul. "Those fellows never know anything."
"Ask him," insisted his brother. "I am sure he knows." Paul was willing to be obliging, and went up to the man.
"Do you know who that Khanum is?" he asked, in Turkish.
"Bilmem,--I don't know," replied the man, without moving a muscle of his face.
"Do you know who her father is?"
"Allah bilir,--God knows. Probably Abraham, who is the father of all the faithful." Paul laughed.
"I told you he knew nothing about her," he said, turning to his brother.
"It did you no harm to ask," answered Alexander testily. "Let us take a ca?que and follow her."
"You may, if you please," said Paul. "I have no intention of getting myself into trouble."
"Nonsense! Why should we get into trouble? We have as good a right to row on the Bosphorus as they have."
"We have no right to go near them. It is contrary to the customs of the country."
"I do not care for custom," retorted Alexander.
"If you walked down the Boulevard des Italiens in Paris on Easter Day and kissed every woman you met, merely saying, 'The Lord is risen,' by way of excuse, as we do in Russia, you would discover that customs are not the same everywhere."
"You are as slow as an ox-cart, Paul," said Alexander.
"The simile is graceful. Thank you. As I say, you may do anything you please, as you are a stranger here. But if you do anything flagrantly contrary to the manners of the country, you will not find my chief disposed to help you out of trouble. We are disliked enough already,--hated expresses it better. Come along. Take a turn upon the quay before dinner, and then we will go to Stamboul and see the ceremony."
"I hate the quay," replied Alexander, who was now in a very bad humor.
"Then we will go the other way. We can walk through Mesar Burnu and get to the Valley of Roses."
"That sounds better."
So the two turned northwards, and followed the quay upstream till they came to the wooden steamboat landing, and then, turning to the left, they entered the small Turkish village of Mesar Burnu. While they walked upon the road Alexander could still follow the ca?que, now far ahead, shooting along through the smooth water, and he slackened his pace more slowly when it was out of sight. The dirty little bazaar of the village did not interest him, and he was not inclined to talk as he picked his way over the muddy stones, chewing his discontent and regretting the varnish of his neat boots. Presently they emerged from the crowd of vegetable venders, fishmongers, and sweetmeat sellers into a broad green lane between two grave-yards, where the huge silent trees grew up straight and sad from the sea of white tombstones which stood at every angle, some already fallen, some looking as though they must fall at once, some still erect, according to the length of time which had elapsed since they were set up. For in Turkey the headstones of graves are narrow at the base and broaden like leaves towards the top, and they are not set deep in the ground; so that they are top-heavy, and with the sinking of the soil they invariably fall to one side or the other.
Paul turned again, where four roads meet at a drinking fountain, and the two brothers entered the narrow Valley of Roses. The roses are not, indeed, so numerous as one might expect, but the path is beautiful, green and quiet, and below