Paul Patoff | Page 7

all speculation in regard to her
personality. Paul maintained that she was ugly, because she would not
show her face. Alexander swore that she was beautiful, because her
hand was young and white and shapely, and because, as he said, her
attitude was graceful and her head moved well when she turned it.
Concerning her hand, at 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 caïque 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 caïque
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 caïque 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
caïque 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 caïque, 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