Betwixt Two Seas :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Nay, doctor, I have no need of your help;
Husband and child must go;
For the plague-fiend clutches at their throats,
Their hearts beat faint and slow,
To-morrow their beds will be under the ground,
For Allah hath will'd it so!

“It was Shekib's fault, who is lying there,
(His face you shall not see,
It has turn'd so black that was once so fair,)
—I had told him how it would be,
But of all the wilful men upon earth
The wilfullest man was he!

“Ah, doctor, I am no craven-heart,
This hand could strike the blow
To defend mine own in the hour of need
Or to rid myself of a foe,
But to strike at a friend as he lay asleep! . . .
By the Holy Prophet, no!

“I have heard of men athirst for the blood
Of those who were good and true,
Because they bow'd down in a Christian shrine,
And of women who thirsted too,
But we never had cause to take part with these,
And yet what could Shekib do

“In his office of trust? When the order came
What could he have done but obey?
Tho' I, who am only a woman born,
Had surely contrived some way
To strike at a foe instead of a friend
When the order went forth to slay!

“Still, Shekib, you see, he had his place;
He felt bound, in some degree,
As village mŭktār, an office of trust,
And he would not be led by me,
But Allah hath taught him a lesson now,
Nor hath spared our children three!

“Well, it happen'd thus: Hard by our farm
Dwelt some Christians; man and wife;
Bedros and Annik, as peaceful a pair
As ever you met in your life,
Tho' the law forbad Bedros to carry a gun,
Or even a girdle-knife.

“And when I had borne my children three
It was Annik came in to tend:—
Look'd after the pot instead of me,
And was willing to scrub and mend;
For in sickness or health none so ready as she
To help us and stand our friend.

“And Bedros, too, was as worthy a lad
As ever a mother bore,
Who, when snow lay deep and the ways were bad,
And we could not replenish our store,
Would share with us cheerfully all that he had,
Nor ever keep count of the score.

“And their children three with our children play'd,
And sought for the eggs at morn,
That we never could tell whose hens had laid,
E'en our fowls were such comrades sworn!
And our hammal had married their serving-maid,
And to them a son was born.

“So all went well: those were happy days!
Till one fatal Autumn night
When Shekib came back from the distant town
With a face that was gloomy and white,
And he carried a long new knife in his belt,
With a blade that was sharp and bright.

“‘My Master,’ I said, and I took his hand,
‘What maketh your brow to lour?’
‘There is work to be done, oh, Nadjia,’ he said,
‘So Allah but grant me pow'r,
For an order has come from the Padishah
I must go and kill the Giaour!'

“‘Not Bedros?’ I ask'd, and my blood ran cold;
‘Yes, Bedros, in truth,’ said he,
‘And not Bedros alone, but Annik his wife,
And his maid, and his children three,
Tho' rather than do such a deed of blood
I had drown'd myself in the sea!’

“‘Nay, Shekib,’ I cried, ‘it must not be done,
No matter at whose behest,
'Twill be none the less an accursèd deed
That Allah must needs detest;
He's a bigger King than the Padishah,
And His service will pay you best!

“‘You cannot do it!’ and here I wept,
Then my tears he gently dried;
‘I spake but to try you, Nadjia,’ he said,
And he laid him down by my side;
And anon I slept, for my limbs were tired,
And how could I tell he lied?

“I woke with a start at the dawn of day,
And Shekib stood at the door;
His face was as white as the face of a ghost,
But his hands were all red with gore;
‘I have done it!’ he said, and he wiped his knife,
And the blood dripped on to the floor.

“I said not a word, tho' my heart stood still,
For words would have done no good:
Well, you know the rest, how we came to town,
And lived on the price of blood,
And how Allah has follow'd us up with His wrath,
As I said from the first He would;

“With the mastic-drink that the Christians use
To madden the heart and brain,
And the fever of play from morn to eve,
With far more of loss than gain;
'Twas thus vainly that Shekib strove to forget
And wipe out the murder-stain:

“So our home was accurs'd ere the typhus came,
As my husband knew full well,
Tho' I never once spoke of the blood that he spilt
Or dwelt on this tale I tell,
For where was the need to add to the pain
Of a soul already in hell?

“The children? . . . (Allah has taken the two,
And the third is well nigh gone,
No power can save it!) You well may ask,
‘But what had the children done?’
True! but Shekib would suffer to see them die,
For he loved them every one.

“You ask me, ‘But did I not suffer as well?’
There is death at my heart indeed:
But I am but a woman, whose lot is pain,
—Born only to serve and breed,—
Still, Allah is just, and He knoweth right well
That I had no hand in the deed!”