Читать книгу The House of Islâm онлайн

52 страница из 64

Shems-ud-dìn sat down in the entrance and remained in profound meditation, his every thought a prayer; while the flower of sunset bloomed and faded upon the cliffs beyond the wady, and blue night stole upon the landscape. Then, out in the gloaming, a cry arose—a long-sustained yell, breaking anon into a wild unearthly chant. It came from the minaret, which the piety of Shems-ud-dìn himself had added to the little mosque. Its burden of memories brought tears to the old man’s eyes.

He arose and went out on to the roof of his house. A star sparkled on the fading green of sunset. A cool breath from the hills fanned his cheeks. Falling on his face toward the kibleh, he prayed Allah to abate something of his too great love for Alia, which had broken the calm of resignation becoming his age, which hung as a cloud between him and the Creator.

When he regained the porch, old Mâs was hanging up a lantern to a hook on the wall.

“O Mâs, go to the house of the excellent Hassan Agha; if he be within, beg him to honor me with his presence here.”