the garden of allah-第34章

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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　finding。　Her
act　was　bringing　forth　its　fruit。　She　had　put　a　gulf；　in　which　rolled
the　sea；　between　the　land　of　the　old　life　and　the　land　in　which　at
least　the　new　life　was　to　begin。　The　completeness　of　the　severance　had
acted　upon　her　like　a　blow　that　does　not　stun；　but　wakens。　The　days
went　like　a　dream；　but　in　the　dream　there　was　the　stir　of　birth。　Her
lassitude　was　permanently　gone。　There　had　been　no　returning　after　the
first　hours　of　excitement。　The　frost　that　had　numbed　her　senses　had
utterly　melted　away。　Who　could　be　frost…bound　in　this　land　of　fire？
She　had　longed　for　peace　and　she　was　surely　finding　it；　but　it　was　a
peace　without　stagnation。　Hope　dwelt　in　it；　and　expectancy；　vague　but
persistent。　As　to　forgetfulness；　sometimes　she　woke　from　the　dream　and
was　almost　dazed；　almost　ashamed　to　think　how　much　she　was　forgetting；
and　how　quickly。　Her　European　life　and　friendssome　of　them　intimate
and　closewere　like　a　far…off　cloud　on　the　horizon；　flying　still
farther　before　a　steady　wind　that　set　from　her　to　it。　Soon　it　would
disappear；　would　be　as　if　it　had　never　been。　Now　and　then；　with　a　sort
of　fierce　obstinacy；　she　tried　to　stay　the　flight　she　had　desired；　and
desired　still。　She　said　to　herself；　〃I　will　remember。　It's
contemptible　to　forget　like　this。　It's　weak　to　be　able　to。〃　Then　she
looked　at　the　mountains　or　the　desert；　at　two　Arabs　playing　the
ladies'　game　under　the　shadow　of　a　cafe　wall；　or　at　a　girl　in　dusty
orange　filling　a　goatskin　pitcher　at　a　well　beneath　a　palm　tree；　and
she　succumbed　to　the　lulling　influence；　smiling　as　they　smile　who　hear
the　gentle　ripple　of　the　waters　of　Lethe。

She　heard　them　perhaps　most　clearly　when　she　wandered　in　Count
Anteoni's　garden。　He　had　made　her　free　of　it　in　their　first　interview。
She　had　ventured　to　take　him　at　his　word；　knowing　that　if　he　repented
she　would　divine　it。　He　had　made　her　feel　that　he　had　not　repented。
Sometimes　she　did　not　see　him　as　she　threaded　the　sandy　alleys　between
the　little　rills；　hearing　the　distant　song　of　Larbi's　amorous　flute；
or　sat　in　the　dense　shade　of　the　trees　watching　through　a　window…space
of　quivering　golden　leaves　the　passing　of　the　caravans　along　the
desert　tracks。　Sometimes　a　little　wreath　of　ascending　smoke；　curling
above　the　purple　petals　of　bougainvilleas；　or　the　red　cloud　of
oleanders；　told　her　of　his　presence；　in　some　retired　thinking…place。
Oftener　he　joined　her；　with　an　easy　politeness　that　did　not　conceal
his　oddity；　but　clothed　it　in　a　pleasant　garment；　and　they　talked　for
a　while　or　stayed　for　a　while　in　an　agreeable　silence　that　each　felt
to　be　sympathetic。

Domini　thought　of　him　as　a　new　species　of　mana　hermit　of　the　world。
He　knew　the　world　and　did　not　hate　it。　His　satire　was　rarely　quite
ungentle。　He　did　not　strike　her　as　a　disappointed　man　who　fled　to
solitude　in　bitterness　of　spirit；　but　rather　as　an　imaginative　man
with　an　unusual　feeling　for　romance；　and　perhaps　a　desire　for　freedom
that　the　normal　civilised　life　restrained　too　much。　He　loved　thought
as　many　love　conversation；　silence　as　some　love　music。　Now　and　then　he
said　a　sad　or　bitter　thing。　Sometimes　she　seemed　to　be　near　to
something　stern。　Sometimes　she　felt　as　if　there　were　a　secret　link
which　connected　him　with　the　perfume…seller　in　his　little　darkened
chamber；　with　the　legions　who　prayed　about　the　tomb　of　Sidi…Zerzour。
But　these　moments　were　rare。　As　a　rule　he　was　whimsical　and　kind；　with
the　kindness　of　a　good…hearted　man　who　was　human　even　in　his
detachment　from　ordinary　humanity。　His　humour　was　a　salt　with　plenty
of　savour。　His　imagination　was　of　a　sort　which　interested　and　even
charmed　her。

She　felt；　too；　that　she　interested　him　and　that　he　was　a　man　not
readily　interested　in　ordinary　human　beings。　He　had　seen　too　many　and
judged　too　shrewdly　and　too　swiftly　to　be　easily　held　for　very　long。
She　had　no　ambition　to　hold　him；　and　had　never　in　her　life　consciously
striven　to　attract　or　retain　any　man；　but　she　was　woman　enough　to　find
his　obvious　pleasure　in　her　society　agreeable。　She　thought　that　her
genuine　adoration　of　the　garden　he　had　made；　of　the　land　in　which　it
was　set；　had　not　a　little　to　do　with　the　happy　nature　of　their
intercourse。　For　she　felt　certain　that　beneath　the　light　satire　of　his
manner；　his　often　smiling　airs　of　detachment　and　quiet　independence；
there　was　something　that　could　seek　almost　with　passion；　that　could
cling　with　resolution；　that　could　even　love　with　persistence。　And　she
fancied　that　he　sought　in　the　desert；　that　he　clung　to　its　mystery；
that　he　loved　it　and　the　garden　he　had　created　in　it。　Once　she　had
laughingly　called　him　a　desert　spirit。　He　had　smiled　as　if　with
contentment。

They　knew　little　of　each　other；　yet　they　had　become　friends　in　the
garden　which　he　never　left。

One　day　she　said　to　him：

〃You　love　the　desert。　Why　do　you　never　go　into　it？〃

〃I　prefer　to　watch　it；〃　he　relied。　〃When　you　are　in　the　desert　it
bewilders　you。〃

She　remembered　what　she　had　felt　during　her　first　ride　with　Androvsky。

〃I　believe　you　are　afra