the garden of allah-第41节

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of　Zerzour；　the　only　human　being　in　the　great；　dim　building　who　was
not　worshipping。　And　she　felt　a　terrible　isolation；　as　if　she　were
excommunicated；　as　if　she　dared　not　pray；　for　a　moment　almost　as　if
the　God　to　whom　this　torrent　of　worship　flowed　were　hostile　to　her
alone。

Had　her　father　ever　felt　such　a　sensation　of　unutterable　solitude？

It　passed　quickly；　and；　standing　under　the　votive　lamps　before　the
painted　doors；　she　prayed　too；　silently。　She　shut　her　eyes　and
imagined　a　church　of　her　religionthe　little　church　of　Beni…Mora。　She
tried　to　imagine　the　voice　of　prayer　all　about　her；　the　voice　of　the
great　Catholic　Church。　But　that　was　not　possible。　Even　when　she　saw
nothing；　and　turned　her　soul　inward　upon　itself；　and　strove　to　set
this　new　world　into　which　she　had　come　far　off；　she　heard　in　the　long
murmur　that　filled　it　a　sound　that　surely　rose　from　the　sand；　from　the
heart　and　the　spirit　of　the　sand；　from　the　heart　and　the　spirit　of
desert　places；　and　that　went　up　in　the　darkness　of　the　mosque　and
floated　under　the　arches　through　the　doorway；　above　the　palms　and　the
flat…roofed　houses；　and　that　winged　its　fierce　way；　like　a　desert
eagle；　towards　the　sun。

Mustapha's　hand　was　on　her　arm。　The　guardian；　too；　had　risen　from　his
knees　and　drawn　from　his　robe　and　lit　a　candle。　She　came　to　a　tiny
doorway；　passed　through　it　and　began　to　mount　a　winding　stair。　The
sound　of　prayer　mounted　with　her　from　the　mosque；　and　when　she　came
out　upon　the　platform　enclosed　in　the　summit　of　the　minaret　she　heard
it　still　and　it　was　multiplied。　For　all　the　voices　from　the　outside
courts　joined　it；　and　many　voices　from　the　roofs　of　the　houses　round
about。

Men　were　praying　there　too；　praying　in　the　glare　of　the　sun　upon　their
housetops。　She　saw　them　from　the　minaret；　and　she　saw　the　town　that
had　sprung　up　round　the　tomb　of　the　saint；　and　all　the　palms　of　the
oasis；　and　beyond　them　immeasurable　spaces　of　desert。

〃Allah…Akbar！　Allah…Akbar！〃

She　was　above　the　eternal　cry　now。　She　had　mounted　like　a　prayer
towards　the　sun；　like　a　living；　pulsing　prayer；　like　the　soul　of
prayer。　She　gazed　at　the　far…off　desert　and　saw　prayer　travelling；　the
soul　of　prayer　travellingwhither？　Where　was　the　end？　Where　was　the
halting…place；　with　at　last　the　pitched　tent；　the　camp　fires；　and　the
long；　the　long　repose？

*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*

When　she　came　down　and　reached　the　court　she　found　the　old　man　still
striking　at　the　mosque　and　shrieking　out　his　trembling　imprecation。
And　she　found　Androvsky　still　standing　by　him　with　fascinated　eyes。

She　had　mounted　with　the　voice　of　prayer　into　the　sunshine；　surely　a
little　way　towards　God。

Androvsky　had　remained　in　the　dark　shadow　with　a　curse。

It　was　foolish；　perhapsa　woman's　vagrant　fancybut　she　wished　he
had　mounted　with　her。




BOOK　III。　THE　GARDEN



CHAPTER　X

It　was　noon　in　the　desert。

The　voice　of　the　Mueddin　died　away　on　the　minaret；　and　the　golden
silence　that　comes　out　of　the　heart　of　the　sun　sank　down　once　more
softly　over　everything。　Nature　seemed　unnaturally　still　in　the　heat。
The　slight　winds　were　not　at　play；　and　the　palms　of　Beni…Mora　stood
motionless　as　palm　trees　in　a　dream。　The　day　was　like　a　dream；　intense
and　passionate；　yet　touched　with　something　unearthly；　something　almost
spiritual。　In　the　cloudless　blue　of　the　sky　there　seemed　a　magical
depth；　regions　of　colour　infinitely　prolonged。　In　the　vision　of　the
distances；　where　desert　blent　with　sky；　earth　surely　curving　up　to
meet　the　downward　curving　heaven；　the　dimness　was　like　a　voice
whispering　strange　petitions。　The　ranges　of　mountains　slept　in　the
burning　sand；　and　the　light　slept　in　their　clefts　like　the　languid　in
cool　places。　For　there　was　a　glorious　languor　even　in　the　light；　as　if
the　sun　were　faintly　oppressed　by　the　marvel　of　his　power。　The
clearness　of　the　atmosphere　in　the　remote　desert　was　not　obscured；　but
was　impregnated　with　the　mystery　that　is　the　wonder　child　of　shadows。
The　far…off　gold　that　kept　it　seemed　to　contain　a　secret　darkness。　In
the　oasis　of　Beni…Mora　men；　who　had　slowly　roused　themselves　to　pray；
sank　down　to　sleep　again　in　the　warm　twilight　of　shrouded　gardens　or
the　warm　night　of　windowless　rooms。

In　the　garden　of　Count　Anteoni　Larbi's　flute　was　silent。

〃It　is　like　noon　in　a　mirage；〃　Domini　said　softly。

Count　Anteoni　nodded。

〃I　feel　as　if　I　were　looking　at　myself　a　long　way　off；〃　she　added。　〃As
if　I　saw　myself　as　I　saw　the　grey　sea　and　the　islands　on　the　way　to
Sidi…Zerzour。　What　magic　there　is　here。　And　I　can't　get　accustomed　to
it。　Each　day　I　wonder　at　it　more　and　find　it　more　inexplicable。　It
almost　frightens　me。〃

〃You　could　be　frightened？〃

〃Not　easily　by　outside　thingsit　least　I　hope　not。〃

〃But　what　then？〃

〃I　scarcely　know。　Sometimes　I　think　all　the　outside　things；　which　do
what　are　called　the　violent　deeds　in　life；　are　tame；　and　timid；　and
ridiculously　impotent　in　comparison　with　the　things　we　can't　see；
which　do　the　deeds　we　can't　describe。〃

〃In　the　mirage　of　this　land　you　begin　to　see　the　exterior　life　as　a
mirage？　You　are　learning；　you　are　learning。〃

There　was　a　creeping　sound　of　something　that　was　almost　impish　in　his
voice。

〃Are　you　a　secret　agent？〃　Domini　asked　him。

〃Of　whom；　Madame？〃

She　was　silent。　She　seemed　to　be　considering。　He　watched　her　with
curiosity　in　his　bright　eyes。

〃Of　the　desert；〃　she　answered　at　length；　quite　seriously。

〃A　secret　agent　has　always　a　definite　object。　What　is　mine？〃

〃How　can　I　know？　How　can　I　tell　what　the　desert　desires？〃

〃Already　you　personify　it！〃

The　network　of　wrinkles　showed　itself　in　his　brown　face　as　he　smiled；
surely　with　triumph。

〃I　think　I　did　that　from　the　first；〃　she　answered　gravely。　〃I　know　I
did。〃

〃And　what　sort　of　personage　does　the　desert　seem　to　you？〃

〃You　ask　me　a　great　many　questions　to…day。〃

〃Mirage　questions；　perhaps。　Forgive　me。　Let　us　listen　to　the　question
or　is　it　the　demand？of　the　desert　in　this　noontide　hour；　the
greatest　hour　of　all　the　twenty…four　in　such　a　land　as　this。〃

They　were　silent　again；　watching　the　noon；　listening　to　it；　feeling
it；　as　they　had　been　silent　when　the　Mueddin's　nasal　voice　rose　in　the
call　to　prayer。

Count　Anteoni　stood　in　the　sunshine　by　the　low　white　parapet　of　the
garden。　Domini　sat　on　a　low　chair　in　the　shadow　cast　by　a　great
jamelon　tree。　At　her　feet　was　a　bush　of　vivid　scarlet　geraniums；
against　which　her　white　linen　dress　looked　curiously　blanched。　There
was　a　half…drowsy；　yet　imaginative　light　in　her　gipsy　eyes；　and　her
motionless　figure；　her　quiet　hands；　covered　with　white　gloves；　lying
loosely　in　her　lap；　looked　attentive　and　yet　languid；　as　if　some　spell
began　to　bind　her　but　had　not　completed　its　work　of　stilling　all　the
pulses　of　life　that　throbbed　within　her。　And　in　truth　there　was　a
spell　upon　her；　the　spell　of　the　golden　noon。　By　turns　she　gave
herself　to　it　consciously；　then　consciously　strove　to　deny　herself　to
its　subtle　summons。　And　each　time　she　tried　to　withdraw　it　seemed　to
her　that　the　spell　was　a　little　stronger；　her　power　a　little　weaker。
Then　her　lips　curved　in　a　smile　that　was　neither　joyous　nor　sad；　that
was　perhaps　rather　part　perplexed　and　part　expectant。

After　a　minute　of　this　silence　Count　Anteoni　drew　back　from　the　sun
and　sat　down　in　a　chair　beside　Domini。　He　took　out　his　watch。

〃Twenty…five　minutes；〃　he　said；　〃and　my　guests　will　be　here。〃

〃Guests！〃　she　said　with　an　accent　of　surprise。

〃I　invited　the　priest　to　make　an　even　number。〃

〃Oh！〃

〃You　don't　dislike　him？〃

〃I　like　him。　I　respect　him。〃

〃But　I'm　afraid　you　aren't　pleased？〃

Domini　looked　him　straight　in　the　face。

〃Why　did　you　invite　Father　Roubier？〃　she　said。

〃Isn't　four　better　than　three？〃

〃You　don't　want　to　tell　me。〃

〃I　am　a　little　malicious。　You　have　divined　it；　so　why　should　I　not
acknowledge　it？　I　asked　Father　Roubier　because　I　wished　to　see　the　man
of　prayer　with　the　man　who　fled　from　prayer。〃

〃Mussulman　prayer；〃　she　said　quickly。

〃Prayer；〃　he　said。

His　voice　was　peculiarly　harsh　at　that　moment。　It　grated　like　an
instrument　on　a　rough　surface。　Domini　knew　that　secretly　he　was
standing　up　for　the　Arab　faith；　that　her　last　words　had　seemed　to
strike　against　the　religion　of　the　people　whom　he　loved　with　an　odd；
concealed　passion　whose　fire　she　began　to　feel　at　moments　as　she　grew
to　know　him　better。

It　was　plain　from　their　manner　to　each　other　that　their　former　slight
acquaintance　had　moved　towards　something　like　a　pleasant　friendship。

Domini　looked　as　if　she　were　no　longer　a　wonder…stricken　sight…seer　in
this　marvellous　garden　of　the　sun；　but　as　if　she　had　become　familiar
with　it。　Yet　her　wonder　was　not　gone。　It　was　only　different。　There　was
less　sheer　amazement；　more　affection　in　it。　As　she　had　said；　she　had
not　become　accustomed　to　the　magic　of　Africa。　Its　strangeness；　its
contrasts　still　startled　and　moved　her。　But　she　began　to　feel　as　if
she　belonged　to　Beni…Mora；　as　if　Beni…Mora　would　perhaps　miss　her　a
little　if　she　went　away。

Ten　days　had　passed　since　the　ride　to　Sidi…Zerzourdays　rather　like　a
dream　to　Domini。

What　she　had　sought　in　coming　to　Beni…Mora　she　was　surely