Читать книгу The House of Islâm онлайн

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“By my beard, I see not the harm!” said the sheykh who had before spoken. “Why should not our friend, the learned Shems-ud-dìn, revisit his native land, a land of true belief? In sh’ Allah, he will enjoy himself there.... But perhaps our lord the Bey would go alone. Two eyes of truth fixed constantly upon him embarrass the statesman.”

“Which is only to say: ‘He would keep his master’s counsel.’ Allah witness, I have no desire save for my brother’s welfare.”

“That is known for certain,” cried Shems-ud-dìn heartily. “But fear not for me. I go gladly.”

Milhem shrugged his shoulders. As soon as coffee had been served he took his departure. Where was the use in staying longer? These dotards showed no intention of moving, and he would not mention his need in their cold hearing.

At a later hour he returned that way, and, seeing Shems-ud-dìn alone in the depths of the shop, ran in and, stooping, kissed the hem of his robe. Through eagerness to convince, he magnified his want a hundredfold. By Allah, by the admirable Korân, he had spent all his inheritance—had sown it rather, hoping to reap a rich crop of honor. His last para had gone to procure this beggarly appointment of governor over sundry wild beasts. On his return, if Allah kept him alive, he would have the offer of a wilâyet. Where in the world could he touch the price of a wilâyet? Rather than borrow of an Armenian or other usurious infidel, he would beg in the gate of one of the mosques; he had not yet decided which. He was in the hand of the Almighty, to whom the praise.... Three hundred thousand piasters at the lowest.... Ma sh’ Allah! It was too much to ask of any man!...