I
‘At last!’ cried Humadi exultingly, as his mare emerged from the narrow ravine among the heights of Golan. For a full day, followed by an endless night, he had been entrapped among the mountains, far from the wide open spaces. The mountains had cramped his soul and depressed his fiery spirit. Time and again his fist had involuntarily clenched. His eyes had darted glances of fury at the rocks. But his fury had been of no avail; the crags glowered at him, stifling and impassive, and their jagged crests rose high as the heavens.
Now at last the ravine had opened its gates before him. The ranges parted to the right and the left, and Humadi’s eyes gazed across the wide plain. Stirred by the sight, his very soul seemed anxious to burst forth and empty itself out into the dale. Humadi’s mare, too, responded to the mood of her master. She was weary and covered with sweat, and she panted heavily; she had not rested for a day and a night, for her master had forced her on without a break; but she, too, felt the touch of the open country. She sprang forward, bounding and flying like an eagle, and the rocks were left far behind in a moment, glowering and with bowed head.
‘At last!’
Humadi’s fresh young voice rang out, and its echo returned from the rocks above and the plain below, which all answered in chorus, ‘At last! At last!’
Below the rocks, in the valley at Humadi’s feet, lay Kinneret.
She lay crouching like a giant beast, her four feet gathered under her, her head bowed, nothing moving of her but the slow ripple of her smooth blue hair.
Kinneret lay quiet, still and deep.
‘‘Tis she!’ cried Humadi, his eyes sparkling, his heart thudding in his breast, his chest swelling.
‘And he? Where is he?’
Humadi’s eyes peered into the distance, till they found that which they sought.
A stream, fine as a thread, emerged from the north, vanished to appear again, wound and twisted its way till it fell into Kinneret. . .
Humadi’s eyes turned from the north to the south.
As the stream entered Kinneret from the north, so it left it on the south. Again it went hiding itself, twisting and turning, till it vanished altogether from the eye.
‘‘Tis he!’
Humadi’s eyes remained fixed on the narrow stream as it leapt unceasingly onwards; and his soul marvelled.
‘He goes on, he still bears his waters down to death.’
Humadi sat on his weary mare without moving his gaze from the scene before him. His lofty brow and lean dark face were clouded. His deep blue eyes were filled with sorrow, and there was a gentle swaying of the light golden curls that descended from his head.
He recalled what he had heard from the elders in the long, dark winter nights, as they sat in their tents around the burning fire, there far away, beyond the mountains of Gilead and Golan, beyond the Sea of Death, in the broad meadows haunted by foxes and jackals by night and filled with camels and sheep by day, where the web of his childhood days had been spun, where his youth had run its course.
And thus had the elders told:
In those far-off days when Allah created the heavens and the earth and all their hosts, He created Jordan and Kinneret. In the same day did Allah create them. Kinneret was a creature of loveliness, gentle, innocent, modest and still; but Jordan was wanton, noisy and chattering all day long. Allah loved Kinneret, and she found favour in his eyes; but Jordan was evil in his sight. Now it came to pass one day that Allah went forth to gaze upon His world and look upon His work which He had made. And as He was walking hither and thither in the cool of the day, He raised His eyes and saw Jordan encompassing Kinneret. But this was evil in the sight of Allah; for Jordan was wanton, rowdy and chattering all day long, while Kinneret was modest and had found favour in the eyes of the Creator.
So Allah was jealous for His Kinneret, and ordered His ministering angels to imprison Jordan in a cave at the foot of the King of Mountains; and they set a great stone at the mouth of the cave, and commanded Hermon to keep watch upon him. Kinneret they set in the broad vale which is blest of Allah, to eat the fruits of Gennesaret and to drink of the springs that break forth from the Golan and the Bashan and the mouths of the valleys, to sport and dance all day long to her heart’s content; for in sooth Allah loved Kinneret.
And it came to pass in one of the days of the world’s conception, a time of thunders and terrors when the upper powers contended with the lower, that Jordan stole from his hiding-place, thrust the great stone aside and burst forth. And he stole forward, twining and darting from cave to cave, from thicket to thicket, down clefts and along ravines, escaping notice until he came to the broad plain and made his way to the heart of Kinneret.
And Allah was told, ‘Jordan is come to Kinneret!’
Allah waxed wroth and His visage grew dark, and His anger burst forth in fury. The whole world was terrified, the earth trembled and the heavens wept, the mountains quivered and the valleys quaked.
And Allah opened a way at the south of the broad plain and rolled Jordan down to the gates of death. And thus spake Allah to Jordan:
‘Since thou hast done this, reckless and headstrong shalt thou be all thy days; not a moment shalt thou stand, and rest thou shalt not know, O wayward one. From the mouth of thy cave shalt thou crawl down all thy days; downward shalt thou ever go, bearing thy toil to death. Unto Kinneret shalt thou come and from her shalt go forth, yet her thou shalt not know; nor shalt thou stay in her, even for an instant. . .
And unto Kinneret He said:
‘Since he did beguile thee and thou wast led astray thou shalt be bound to thy place, thou shalt crouch at the foot of the rocks, thou shalt lick their dust; yet from them thou shalt not emerge.’
And Allah enclosed her round about, and set rocks over her.
Thousands of years have gone by, yet the word of Allah is not changed. Jordan always runs on, staying not a moment and knowing no rest, leaping from stone to stone and slipping from slab to slab. Into Kinneret he enters and from her he goes forth, passing through her without tarrying, bearing all his vigour unto death.
And Kinneret crouches at the foot of the rocks, licking their dust; not moving from her place, bound hand and foot.
Yet sometimes Kinneret bestirs herself of a sudden, and storms and rages and gulps at the land. She cries out, and opens wide her mouth to swallow the world. Waves come riding one on another, flinging themselves against the flanks of the rocks which they smother with white foam. Kinneret cries aloud and her cry cleaves the heavens. She lashes herself like a dreadful beast; her blue locks turn white and scatter far and wide in fury, smiting and searing whatever they reach, while a shameless roar bursts from her, the roar of tempestuous desire. Kinneret is fain to break her bounds, snap the yoke of the mountains, cleave her a path outwards.
But the rocks stand around as though dead, without moving. The waves scatter in all directions, break into fragments, and fall back powerless into Kinneret. The mountains laugh cruelly at the unruly Kinneret, cruel is the silence of heaven. . .
Kinneret calms down again. Little by little she returns to her repose. She becomes silent and crouches submissive at the feet of the rocks. Again her waters grow smooth and blue and deep. Innocence and modesty hover over her. . .
‘La Allah ila Allah wesaidna Muhammad rasul Allah!’ cried Humadi, deeply stirred, as he descended from his mare. He opened his saddle-bag, took out barley for his mare, washed his feet from the little pitcher of water, spread out a little carpet and knelt to pray, his face toward the south, toward the grave of the Prophet.
The sun rose behind the mountains of Bashan. Its rays fell on the Patriarch of Mountains which became gleaming silver, silver set about with sapphires. The mountains round about doffed their deep blue robes and came out into the open in their full stature and beauty. The tops of the humble mountains of Judah appeared; out jutted the summit of Carmel coiling down to the sea, and the wondrous dome of Tabor was revealed. The valley of Gennesaret gave off its perfume, and the birds fluttering in the air sang their morning song.
Kinneret crouched calm and quiet below, a light mist rising from her. Jordan, wanton and headstrong, dropped ever downward without stay. Humadi knelt and prostrated himself to the south, and poured out his heart toward the grave of the Prophet.
II
Humadi was of the seed of Zubeih. He had never known his parents. His father had died while he was yet in his mother’s womb, and his mother had died for her sin as soon as he had been weaned. When he was two years old the elders of Zubeih had sent him to his mother’s kinsfolk east of the Jordan. For an evil spirit had come upon the sons of Zubeih; they had risen each man against his brother, and the young were froward toward the elders, and they split into small bands and quarrelled and fought with one another. So the elders of Zubeih had said, ‘Let us send away the child from our midst, that the hand of Allah be not upon us to destroy us and blot out our name from the earth.’ So they harnessed a camel that had belonged to Sheikh Muhammad and gave it to a slave, with a skin of milk for the child and special cakes for him; and they said to him, ‘Go, cross the Jordan to the great Sheikh Mustafa of the Beni Shukeir, and thus shalt thou say to him, “Thy servants the elders of Zubeih have sent thee the grandson of thy brother Ibrahim.” For the hand of Allah is against us for evil, to wipe us out from off the face of the earth.’
The old slave journeyed three days and three nights till he came to the tents of the Ibn Shukeir, for he travelled slowly by reason of the tender child. And Sheikh Mustafa was told, ‘One of the slaves of thy brother’s son-in-law is come, bringing the grandson of thy brother.’
When the Sheikh heard this he became exceeding wroth and cried, ‘Put him forth from the camp!’ So they drove forth the old slave and the camel, and the child upon its hump, from the tents. The old Sheikh sent word to the slave, saying, ‘Here is a skin of milk for the child and cakes of bread and salt. Return the way that thou carnest, and thus shalt thou tell the elders of Zubeih who sent thee, “Whosoever of the sons of Zubeih shall dare cross the borders of the Ibn Shukeir from this day forth—his blood be upon his own head!”‘
The old slave fell upon his face to the ground and wept. He poured forth his prayers to Allah and to His prophet, saying, ‘Whither can I go? Take my soul that I may not see the evil which shall befall the child, the son of my master the great Sheikh Muhammad!’
But the heavens were hard as iron, and the slave’s prayer did not reach Allah.
Then the slave rose and rent his garments and plucked out his white hair and set earth upon his head and cried aloud with a great and bitter cry; and the child cried with him.
And the sun set and the sun rose, but the voice of the slave was not heard in the heavens.
So the slave took his camel and led it to a place far from the tents of the Ibn Shukeir. There he fastened the child to its hump with a rope, and tied the skin of milk to him. Then he covered his face with his hands and ran whithersoever his feet might bear him, never turning to look back.
The child wept and howled. His weeping startled the camel, which began to run. On the morrow, when the sun rose, they met long chains of camels. The camel-trains came in thousands from the distant south in search of pasture, the warriors of the Aneizeh leading them. The Aneizeh saw the camel and the child tied to its back, and wondered. An elder who was with them examined the camel and the child, and said, “Tis a camel of the Zubeih and a child of the Ibn Shukeir. . .’ And the elder added, ‘Allah has given them and their camels, their herds and their flocks, into our hands; there shall not remain a soul of them to stand against us; but the child shall be a blessing to us.’
So the Aneizeh gathered the child to them with great tenderness, and gave him in charge of trusty hands to be watched and tended. Then a band of grim Aneizeh warriors mounted their horses, took their lances in their hands, girded their swords on their thighs, slung their guns across their saddle-bows, and rode to the chief settlement of the Ibn Shukeir. Finding their flocks out-side the camp, they smote the shepherds with the edge of the sword, and drove off the cattle and the camels for spoil. And the young men of the Ibn Shukeir who were in the tents had no spirit left in them, for they said, ‘The curse of God is upon us because we sent the child away to perish.’ And they did not pursue the Aneizeh.
The Aneizeh warriors returned in triumph with their spoil to their brethren and slaughtered of the herds and the flocks, and ate their fill thereof. When the pasture for their camels was consumed they returned to the south by the way they had come, to the border of the desert ; and the child Humadi was with them.
So Humadi grew up in the wastes of the south with the young shepherds who tended the camels. Like a wild ass he grew, without ruler or master, for the shepherds were allowed to run free, most of them belonging to no family, being foundlings from without, from those taken captive in war; and the shepherds loved Humadi, and their souls did cleave to him, for he was trusty, warlike and daring, always speaking the truth, with a good heart and an open soul; and whatever he got he shared equally with his brother shepherds. The elders and leaders of the Aneizeh likewise esteemed the young Shukeiri captive—for as a captive did they regard him—and they honoured him in their hearts; for they knew that he was upright and would take nothing, from a sheep-hoof to a shoe-string.
Humadi loved the Aneizeh too. He loved their valour and their warlike spirit and their fierce wrath against their foes, and their kindness of heart to all those who fell into their hands. He loved the broad meadows of the plain, and the distant peaks peeping out from amid the clouds to the north and the west. More than all, he loved his wanderings with the camel-herds. All his youth was spent among his shepherd companions far from the tents. Unto the great desert whose meads are sand and whose waters are salt had they wandered, and they had reached the shores of the Red Sea. But when the caravans of camels which were going to Egypt went by the longer way, the way of the Jordan and the Great Sea, to search for pasture, the elders of the Aneizeh would not permit Humadi to accompany them. For they said, ‘Let not Humadi cross the Jordan, for it will be fatal to him!’
This was a mystery for him, a mystery that engrossed his mind and that he longed to solve; yet could he find no solution. For he did not dare to ask the elders and the grown men, and the young shepherds who were his companions could tell him nothing. So Humadi longed for the north in his heart of hearts and his soul was drawn to it. When the shepherds and the camel trains returned thence, Humadi listened to their wondrous tales of Jordan and Kinneret and Tabor, the mountain with the top like a melon; and of the king of the mountains, whose white peak Humadi could see from the waste. Humadi listened and drank in their words with thirst. His soul longed to go forth, being attracted by some secret power to those places, he knew not why.
Humadi grew up and became very handsome and strong, with muscles of iron and hands like stone. All his companions were proud of him, and the elders and leaders of the Aneizeh praised him to the skies. Fear he knew not, and dread did not approach his heart. Often he for-sook the flocks to accompany the Aneizeh warriors when they fell upon the tents of the Bashan or the Golan to spoil and plunder; he had been upon the distant roads which lead to the grave of the Prophet; and he had fought with the Turkish army.
On his first expedition he went forth afoot with those going north to the Bashan. He returned riding a mare, with an ‘Inglizi’ rifle in his hands. From the battles which he fought on the southern tracks that led to the Prophet’s grave he brought back a silken abaya, a Persian carpet, and a sword set with precious stones. The elders of the Aneizeh also gave him a lance for a gift, for all the spoil in cattle and camels and money which he brought with him he gave to the elders, taking nothing for himself. When he returned from battle he would go straight to the camel-herds and his comrades the shepherds.
But the longings of his soul increased.
At night, lying on his back in the field in the company of the shepherds and listening to their conversation, all about black eyes and hair that draws like magic cords, he was not really interested. He did not know yet of love, nor did female charms hold sway over him. His spirit was filled with secret yearnings, and he longed for that which lay beyond Jordan and Kinneret.
At last, when Humadi was twenty years old, the elders of the Aneizeh summoned him, revealed the deed that had been done to him in his childhood and the whole secret of his birth; and they said to him, ‘Go seek thy vengeance!’
Then Humadi saddled his mare, took his abaya, his keffiyeh, his lance, his sword, his rifle and his pistol, and turned his steps to the north.
III
After praying Humadi lit a fire, kneaded dough from the flour in his sack, baked cakes of bread, ate and refreshed his heart. Then he mounted his mare again, looked around him, and his eyes suddenly gleamed as he cried, ‘To the Zubeih!’
His voice rang through the air, and the echo answered from the mountains, and from the valley which surrounds Kinneret:
‘To the Zubeih!’
He stuck his heels into the mare’s flanks. She gave one start, leapt forward, and flew toward the other side of Jordan. A moment later Humadi pulled her up. His path twined down amid boulders and grasses on the slopes of Gilead which lead to the plains of Jordan. His heart beat, his spirit tossed like the tossing and storming of Kinneret, but the boulders held him back. Humadi would fain have sprung, have leapt, have gulped down the earth and all it contained—but the rocks closed him about. He bit his lips and held his mare in check.
When Humadi’s mare at length stood in the valley the plateau of Gilead rose above his head, descending steeply to the plain. But the plain spread east and west, north and south. And the rider’s eyes peered into the distance, Seeking something.
‘It must be that the bridge is further on.’
Again he clapped heels to the mare.
‘Behold the tents of the Arabs. Who is here, Zubeihi or Shukeiri?’
Far off, on the bank of Jordan, he had seen a solitary Arab tent.
‘I shall go and find out,’ and he started his mare afresh.
Humadi drew his mare up at the tent, his drawn sword in his hand.
‘Who is here? Come forth that I may know you!’
There was no human being and no sound of human voice around the tent. It seemed as though the whole place was dead. A moment later came the sound of someone stirring, the rustle of garments, and from beneath the hangings of the tent appeared an old, a very old man. He was white as the snows of Hermon, and his long white beard reached to his waist. Leaning on his thick staff he came out. His face was seared with wrinkles, but the spark in his deep black eyes was still alive.
The old man raised his head, stared at the rider, and said, ‘Art thou son of man or born of hell? These eighteen years no man has crossed my threshold. If thou be human, descend from thy horse, eat of my bread, drink of my water, bless me and go whither God shall bear thee. And if thou be a demon, return the way that thou camest.’
‘Of thy bread I shall not eat, nor drink of thy water. If thou art a Zubeihi the curse of God be upon thee, and if a Shukeiri, may thy flesh be consumed by the fowl of heaven and the dogs of earth. Whichever it be, my sword shall consume thee and the warriors that hide behind thy curtains.’
A bitter smile twisted the old man’s lips.
‘Thou hast the face of a Shukeiri, the speech and garb of an Aneizi, and the impudence of a wild man of the desert. Thy face is witness that thou art an ignorant boor. I would not skulk behind my curtains though all the armed men of the Aneizeh stood before me. He who knows how to die does not know how to hide. Dost thou know before whom thou standest? Before the chief slave of the household of Sheikh Muhammad!’
Humadi’s face twitched and his mare started back.
The same moment the old man sprang forward like a youngster, his right hand seized the mare’s bridle, and he cried:
‘Nay! It shall not be! If thou art come to my border thou shalt not depart hence till thou hast alighted from thy mare and come under the shadow of my roof. Thou shalt drink of my water, bless me and eat of my bread and then go whithersoever the Prophet may lead thee.’
‘Old man, do not restrain me. A warrior am I, and if the Shukeir and the Zubeih learn that I came to thy tent, their sword will bereave thee and thy house.’
‘Let my right hand wither if I let go of thy bridle before thou alightest. Wouldst shame my grey hairs? Shall it be said that a wayfarer came to my door and did not enter my tent?’
‘Old man, do not detain me. As I live, thy life hangs on a thread. My sword has been whetted for all the elders of Zubeih. The blood of my fathers cries out to me from the ground. But I shall not pollute my sword with the blood of the slave who betrayed his master.’
The old man’s face grew pale. A strange fire lit up his failing eyes. A voice of terror burst from his mouth and was lost in the distance; a strange voice, neither of joy nor of mourning. The old man fell full length, prostrating himself at the feet of the mare, licking the dust of its feet.
Humadi leapt from his mare, touched the old man’s head with the tip of his sword, and said in a trembling voice:
‘Rise, old man! What is this fear thou hast of me? What secret is troubling thee?’
The old man rose heavily to his knees, raised his hands to the heavens, and cried out in a weak and quivering voice, ‘My lord’s son lives yet! The blood of the Sheikh Muhammad crying out of the ground has found its redeemer. Now I can die, now I can go down to the grave in peace, now it shall be known that there was no stain upon the house of my master. Master!’ And once again the old man fell at Humadi’s feet and embraced them and kissed them.
And Humadi’s face was pale, pale and trembling, while his eyes flashed. His heart leapt and his curls shook as though they were living beings.
‘Art thou the slave, that faithful servant of the house of Muhammad, in whose hands the elders of Zubeih set me, and who was driven forth by the elders of Shukeir?’
‘I, I am thy slave! Pierce me with thy sword that I may die and live no more after seeing my master’s face. Twenty years have I mourned the death of my master and the shame of the false charge brought against his house. Eighteen years have I been in this tent of mine, the linen of which I spun with my own hands and the ropes whereof I twined. For my wife forsook me, and from the Zubeih I received not so much as a sheepskin or a shoe-string. From the birds of heaven and the fish of the sea and the gleanings of the field have I lived, and awaited with hope and despair the coming of the redeemer.’
‘Arise, old man. If thou art my slave—no slave art thou from this day, but a free man. Born a slave, a free man shalt thou die.’
‘Be not wroth, O master, drive me not away from thee. I will run after thee, I will wash thy feet and guard thy footsteps like a dog.’
‘Rise, old man, roll not on the ground. When I have taken my vengeance I shall return hither and take thee, and support thy old age.’
The old man leapt up suddenly like a boy. His eyes shone, he stretched his trembling hands aloft and cried in a quivering voice, ‘Vengeance ! Go thou, go redeem the blood of thy father Sheikh Muhammad, go, and may thy sword smite the heads of thine enemies, go bring down to the grave the white hairs of the elders of Zubeih, turn the reproach of thy father’s house upon their heads; cast their carcasses to the dogs of the field and their heads to the birds of the air, dip the corners of thy garments in their blood, set them upon thy lance and pass through all the tents of the Zubeih and cry out to them that thou hast avenged the blood of thy father—ha, ha, ha, ha. . . His wild laughter startled the neighbourhood, it rolled in the air like thunder in the sky.
And Humadi’s face was savage and terrifying.
‘Slave! Not the vengeance of thy master’s blood do I seek!’
The old man’s face grew as pale as death, the light in his eyes grew dim; he fell his full length on the ground, dead.
The shadows of evening were beginning to fall and cover the face of the ground when Humadi mounted his mare and vanished.
IV
Heavy darkness covered the earth when Humadi reached the bridge that crosses Jordan. Yet a moment and his feet would tread the land in which his mother had lived. Yet a moment and he would be within the border of the Zubeih. His heart throbbed. His spirit was no longer aglow as it had been in the morning. A cold and heavy melancholy had enfolded him and entrapped his sold. He was all alone at midnight within the borders of his foes, for whose blood he thirsted.
He was not afraid; he had never in his life known fear. Face to face he had met ghouls in the desert; they had mocked at him and striven to ensnare his soul, but he had laughed and scattered them with his bullets. In wintry nights the ravening wild beasts had roared and howled around his flocks; and he had watched them calmly and driven them away with his shots when they became too bold. He had faced his foes unflinchingly even when they had been more numerous and stronger than he. At death he always gazed calmly, with a smile on his face. Nor did he fear now; were all the warriors of Zubeih to confront him, he would battle with them alone to the last drop of his blood.
What ailed him then? Why did his soul writhe as if held in a vice? He was consumed with a lust for vengeance, but the vengeance itself he could not visualize. How should he avenge? He had not known his father nor could he remember his mother. It was, however, for his mother that he felt more concern. His father was a stranger to him. Who and what had he been? But his mother seemed so close to him. She had perished in grievous suffering, bound to the tree. The birds of heaven had swooped down upon her while she yet lived. How should he avenge her? That morning it had all been clear and plain to him; he had set out to take vengeance without any misgivings. But now—the crazy slave had bemused him.
Humadi gave himself up to vexation and bitter reflections.
Suddenly he remembered an incident from his past.
The lads of the Aneizeh had gone down to the plain to sport with their horses, and Humadi and his comrades had left the flocks to watch them. One of the Sheikhs had come to the sports on his mare, which was famed throughout the length and breadth of the desert. The Sheikh was an old man who could no longer join in the sports of the youths; and he had no sons. The old man was sorry for his mare, which longed to compete with the others. He looked around, and his eyes fell upon the young shepherds, and he said, ‘Which of you will try his luck with my mare?’ None of them ventured. Then Humadi, trembling all over, had risen and said, ‘I, Master Sheikh.’ The old Sheikh had given him his mare and said, ‘Good luck, my son.’ So Humadi mounted the fiery mare, which pawed at the ground as if to swallow it, and had mastered her. He had then gone out to join the lads and had beaten their best in the sports. Forgetting himself in his vexation, his beaten rival had shouted, ‘Back to the herds, banduk:*[1]
At that time Humadi had not understood the full sting of the remark, yet it was sufficient insult to order him back from the sports to the flocks; and he had raised his whip and struck the other in the face. The latter and his friends fell on Humadi to punish him. He had neither retreated nor fled, but had stood his ground firmly and fought them, his mare proving a friend in need till the elders came and parted them.
Humadi remembered the incident, and he moaned in spirit.
‘Why did I not slay him?’ he thought in anger, and continued to meditate bitterly.
‘Why did this shame cover the memory of my mother? Lovechild? Why? All the youths and all the sons of Arabia sing of love, and why shall the fruit of love be a reproach? And Allah? All things come about at His will and He gave love too, as a gift from Heaven to men. Then why should he have waxed wroth with the Jordan when it went round the Kinneret? Why did He curse them to all eternity? By reason of jealousy? Why do men esteem the gift of God and yet persecute those who have received it? Why? In what did my mother sin that she loved whomsoever she did love? Was it so great a sin in him that he sought her love and took his life in his hands to find her? Why did the master of the crazy slave set himself between the two lovers? And the elders slew her—mauled her as they might an evil beast. . .’
Jordan’s waters ran on, dropping from slab to slab, dropping and moaning and sighing in endless grief.
‘Jordan, Jordan, what vengeance shall I take?’
The anguished voice fell into the night and vanished. Faint and tearful, an echo was heard from the distant mountains, the mountains of Gilboa.
Jordan was silent, busied with its rushing waters.
The mare’s hooves echoed hollow on the stones of the bridge, and the clatter was swallowed by the darkness.
‘Ooee-a-ooee-a-a-a—’ Out of the darkness came the cries of foxes weeping and howling, and a large pack came running towards Humadi. Their eyes gleamed like tiny sparks in the midnight. Humadi’s heart shrank, but not with fear. Shall a man fear foxes whom lions do not terrify? His heart shrank for grief, he heard the echo of his own weeping soul. The mare twitched her ears a little, dropped her tail, and paced slowly on.
‘Foxes, foxes, what vengeance shall I take?’
Humadi’s voice frightened the foxes. They turned aside, running toward the bank of Jordan, hurrying and scurrying till they vanished. To Humadi and his question they paid no regard.
‘Naf naf naf naf. . .’ The air was cleft by the wings of countless eagles flying across the Jordan, coming from the mountains, the mountains of Ephraim.
‘Eagles, eagles, what vengeance shall I take?’
It seemed as though the eagles stayed in their flight and circled a moment round the head of the solitary rider, dropped an instant and then rose again on high. Who and what was this below?
Then they took their way again across the Jordan.
Through the darkness Humadi began to see mountain slopes, the slopes of Gilboa.
The mare stopped a moment, the rider deep in thought. He was recollecting something, a tale of the elders. In sooth those were the accursed mountains. Neither dew nor rain—accursed! On their heights had fallen the king and his sons. The blood of the son and the blood of the father had touched and mingled. And night by night the mountains weep and shed their tears. They would fain cleanse themselves of their reproach, but cannot. The sun grows warm, the heat parches and their tears are dried up. Again the mountains rise dry and barren, barren and accursed, and their reproach cries out aloud from them. Humadi pricked up his ears to catch the weeping and his heart hammered violently. His ears seemed to discern the sound of a faint weeping, faint as the voice of the spirit that ascends from the ground.
‘Mountains, mountains, what vengeance shall I take?’
It seemed as though the mountains trembled to their roots, as though the air shook and a voice from the mountains answered:
‘No—none!’
‘None? Nay ! That shall not be! Blood for blood! Torture for torture!’
The mountains became silent, still as death, and their thin weeping also ceased. Only the echo of Humadi’s voice returned from the mountains and died away in the air.
‘It will come!’ cried Humadi again, and he turned to the right of the mountains. And as he turned he raised his eyes—and his heart died within him.
Out of the depths of the darkness appeared a shape gigantic and rounded like a ball. The shape seemed to come out of the darkness and stride forward. And the darkness caressed it from the lower parts to the head, and seemed to embrace it and restrain it from advancing. Yet nevertheless it approached. It was Tabor.
Out of the darkness caressing the Mount there appeared to Humadi the likeness of a woman, a likeness tender and delicate, pale and full of hidden grief and terror. Two large, deep, wide-open black eyes gazed at him; in the eyes could be seen an abyss deep as the sea, while long raven-black plaits fell beside the pale and tender face, and then scattered in the air.
And it seemed as though a mighty hand had seized Humadi and was dragging him by force toward the Mount.
‘Mother!’ A broken cry burst into the darkness of the night. Earth and heaven were cleft by the cry, while the mountains shook. The cry remained hanging in the air, like a soul stripped of its body.
Humadi started from his place. The mare flew on eagle’s wings. Her hoofbeats sent the pebbles flying in all directions. She sprang over sunken holes and clefts, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground. Savagely she galloped, savage was the rider who pressed her on. The night roused itself at the sight of the phantom rider swimming through the air. Who was this bursting into the domains of night? The birds awoke with a flutter and flew up in fright; the foxes leapt aside with a terrified howling, and the rider pressed on without delay, onwards to the Mount.
The enchanted Mount and the vision hovering upon it were still distant.
The mare panted and heaved, its gallop slowed down; and the Mount still lay far off.
The eyes of the rider were burning, his heart beat violently, his trembling hand was outstretched in the air —forward, forward. There was the mountain! No, not yet; the wondrous vision showed itself, then disappeared. It seemed as though the Mount and the vision hovering upon it were ever receding and drawing back before him.
The rider lashed his mare without mercy. She struggled forward desperately. But the Mount still lay far off; and the vision flashed in the distance and again grew dim.
The mare stood still exhausted, cold sweat running from her in big drops. A hot stream of tears burst from the eyes of the rider and flowed over his face and his garments and the back of his mare. And while he wept the Mount hid itself behind heavy clouds and the vision vanished.
The rider was in the valley of En Dor, facing Mount Tabor.
Humadi turned to his left and perceived a tiny flame among the rocks on the slope. He descended from his mare and slowly approached the flame.
In a few moments he heard the rustle of lips, like the prayer of a hajji. But weird and strange was this rustling, accompanied as it was by the crackling of the dry grass burning in the fire.
‘Who is here?’ cried Humadi, standing beyond the circle of light that surrounded the fire.
The rustling ceased and was heard no more.
‘Who is here? Ho!’
There was neither voice nor answer.
Humadi’s eyes peered into the distance; and he saw the mouth of an open cave with a fire burning, and beside the fire the shadow of a human being. Man or woman? The shape was that of a woman, the act—that of a man. Alone in the field at night? What was before him? One who sought vengeance or a robber?
‘What evil confronts me? The evil of the night will come from the way and not remain at home.’
A woman!
The voice was weak with age, querulous as of one interrupted in the midst of some favourite employment.
Humadi entered the circle of the fire.
He saw before him a woman, her face withered and wrinkled, her forehead high, her dishevelled hair white as snow. A nose large, thin and curved; on either side of the nose a deep hollow from which gleamed black angry pupils.
A witch! Maybe a saint!
‘Tell me, old woman, art thou a daughter of Hell or a daughter of the holy?’
The crone was silent. Her gaze was fixed on the face of the one who stood before her. It seemed as if she was trying to unlock his heart. A silent whisper could be heard, the whisper of prayer; and the crone’s lips muttered :
‘The eyes are eyes of heaven, the curls of the moon. The brightness of the face—the shining of her face. Has my prayer been heard upon high?’
She rose suddenly from her place. She was tall and thin, and leaned on a thick staff. With vigorous steps she approached Humadi and set her piercing glance upon burn.
‘Night by night, when the world grows dark and men cease from their evil, I leave my cave and turn to the mountain opposite me; and to my lady. I call, and her voice answers me from the Mount, and her face hovers before me. Then I pour out my prayer on high. Allah guard him and protect him and deliver him from all mischance and evil and bring him to avenge her reproach. This day he is twenty years old. Art thou then Humadi? Hast thou come to the voice that called thee, or art but a false phantom and a vain vision? One thing have I pleaded for all my days, to see thy face. My good man went and set his tent beyond the Jordan, remaining faithful to the memory of his master. My place I have not forsaken. Where her soul went forth there let my soul also go forth. And to this place will he come who shall redeem her shame. Men have thought me accursed of Allah and devoted to Satan. And for fear of me they give me of their bread. But I have laughed at them and waited. I waited, and knew that the redeemer must assuredly come. Tell me now, has my prayer been heard? Speak! ‘Tis my last day. Hast heard the beating of the eagles’ wings? To-night they forsook their eyries to cross the Jordan. To his corpse they fly. To-morrow they come to me. Speak!’
‘Old woman, old woman, what vengeance shall I take?’
The crone rose upright; her wrinkles were smoothed out and the brightness of youth restored to her eyes.
‘Humadi, Humadi! In the dark nights, in the long nights of gloom, thy mother sat bound to the staple in the tent and I crouched at her hand like a dog, to attend to her wants. And her face was pale, very pale. And her eyes gleamed all the time. And her lips would whisper:
“May their daughters desire as I have desired. . .” ’
The old crone was still. The light in her eyes grew dim and she fell backward.
‘I know!’
The echo of the exultant shout came back from the mountains, and the clatter of hoofs from a plunging horse could be heard from the path leading up to the mountain.
V
‘Maraq al Faranj’—so to this day do the Arabs call the stretch of land hidden away among the Mountains of Naphtali at the foot of Tabor, in which ‘Nabalyon’, the great king of the French, encamped when he came from Gaza to besiege Acre. The plateau stretches above the hills and the peaks of mountains surround it like sentinels. Between the peaks southward can be seen the valley of Jezreel; northward are the sharp peaks of the Mountains of Naphtali, the Jarmak towering above them with its summit reaching the vault of the heavens; east are the valley of Naphtali, the vale of the Jordan, the heights of Golan and the Bashan; west lie Carmel and the sea.
It is a beautiful spot: beautiful, green and sheltered; the mountains form a chain around it; spring water runs out of the ravines of the hills; shady trees stand on the slopes; between the trees are the green herbage and many flowers. The sun smiles on it throughout the day, and sheds its brightness and favour on the place. Here all things glorify their Maker; birds in the tree-tops, crawling creatures among the tall grasses, frogs in the water. The trees and the grasses and the waters themselves all sing and rejoice and are glad the whole day long. Here the rays of the sun are also soft and gentle in harmony with the charm of the place. In this place, on the hidden plateau, lay the chief encampment of the Zubeih.
The days of evil that had befallen the Zubeih were now past. To be sure their former glory had not yet returned to them. The great disturbances that had broken out among them after the death of Sheikh Muhammad had weakened their strength. They had no head Sheikh, and the elders did not succeed in directing their affairs with skill and energy. Each clan followed its own Sheikh, and the Sheikhs quarrelled one with the other and fought fratricidal wars. But at length the disputes had died down and war had ceased. The remnant of the Zubeih gathered to the chief clan, grouped themselves about it, and remained faithful to their elders and the Sheikh whom their elders set over them. Their strength and valour served them well, and once again the fear of them fell upon their neighbours round about and the Government treated them with respect, while their lads ‘sported’ along the roads leading to Acre, Tiberias and Safed.
The flocks, the herds, the horses and the camels of the Zubeih increased. They pastured in the green ravines and between the trees, and drank the spring waters. The wealth of the Zubeih grew.
One treasure too they had peculiar to themselves—their daughters.
Pass through the length and the breadth of the land; go eastward to the Shukeir who hold the fords of the Jordan; northward to the tribes of the Holy Bek which are at the foot of Hermon in the ravines and clefts of the Huleh, even to the Metualis, those gross peasants who crouch over their fields on the slopes of the Mountains of Naphtali and in the valleys as far as the River Litany; go southward to the sons of Araby who dwell in tents as far as the River of Egypt. Ask them, ‘Who are the most beautiful of the daughters of the Arabs?’ And they would all answer as with one voice, ‘The Zubeih maidens!’
The Zubeih maidens were beautiful indeed. Swarthy were they, and comely. The sun tanned them, and from the sun they received brightness and radiance. Their eyes were deep as pools, black as night, lovely and flashing, while their pupils sparkled with fire. Their faces were oval and winsome. Their cheeks were like young fruit, rosy, blooming and fragrant. Their lips were like a scarlet thread, their teeth were small, gleaming, white and even, all well matched. Their hair was raven-black, fine and soft as silk, with the scent of the forest, of a satchet of myrrh; their plaits were glossy and fell to their waists; the skin of their necks was smooth as silk, and set off with necklets. Their breasts were like two apples, firm, round and fresh. In stature they were like the date-palm, tall and upright, and their heads were erect. Their voices were sweet, honey dropped from their lips. When they opened their lips to laugh their tiny tinkling laugh, like a spring coming from the rocks, all around would laugh with them. Heaven and earth would laugh, hills and valleys would be glad, while the Lord of the Universe would also laugh from amid the skies.
Many were they who sought the daughters of the Zubeih.
For as they were beautiful, so were they modest. They were without guile and stayed within the tent, not coming in the company of the youths nor perverting their ways. Never did slander besmirch a Zubeih maiden; though the souls of the youths went out to them and they wept bitterly of nights for their beauty.
The love of the Zubeih maidens does not awaken until it so desires.
Yet when their time does come, their love is flaming as the sun and healing as the hot springs of Tiberias; their kisses burn like fire and their breath scorches and sears. Their kisses are better than life.
Many hundreds of gold coins were counted out in the tents of the Zubeih every year as the marriage-price of the maidens. From the north and from the south, from the east from the west came those who sought them; for their fame spread from one end of the world to the other. Even the holy Sheikh Abu Rabakh, from the banks of the Auja, sent his messengers to bring a Zubeihia beneath the wings of his holiness. Likewise the Pasha in Acre had sent his envoys with sacks of silver and gold in their hands to bring of the daughters of the Zubeih to the Pasha. And the Zubeih had driven the men forth from them with contumely. Not once nor twice only had youths from the distant tribes, stalwart youths whose souls had been set on fire by the sight of a Zubeihia but who could not aspire so high—not once nor twice alone had such braves in desperation attempted to steal into the tents of the Zubeih at night to rob them of their maidens; and their heads had gone rolling below from the heights; for the Zubeih women had no dread, but went forth to battle like the men, and had no longing for those youths. Modest were they and guileless, all bearing the sword and trained for battle, each with her sword on her thigh for fear of the nights.
The whole tribe of the Zubeih prided itself on its maidens and gloried in them. Night by night, when the elders of Zubeih sat on their carpets after their prayers at the entrance of the Sheikh’s tent smoking their narghilehs, their daughters would pass before them, ascending in a row from the spring, walking upright with their pitchers on their heads, stepping with pride, all of them flawless and without blemish. The elders would lift their hands aloft and offer praise and thanksgiving to Him who dwells on high.
And should you ask:
‘Why are the Zubeih maidens so beautiful?’
Then they will tell you:
‘From the waters of their spring.’
Many maidens would come from afar and, in the dark of night, steal to the springs in the ravines among the mountains of the Zubeih, take water in their vessels and return to their tents with fluttering hearts. But their hope would be in vain. They would drink of the stolen water; and the water was sweet, but it would in no way beautify them.
The reason was concealed by the daughters of Zubeih; it was their secret and to the stranger they did not reveal it. Mother would tell it to daughter, yet no other would know thereof. Even the men of the Zubeih did not know the secret of the maidens. In a hidden place, in an enclosed and sealed valley, there is a certain spring of living water. From the rock the water flows, gushing forth and descending from the rock to the valley. On the nights of the moon the full-grown maidens of the Zubeih would leave their tents, go silently to that valley, remove their shifts from upon them and bathe themselves in the living water as it gushed from the rock ere it reached the ground. From this bathing came their beauty.
Years upon years passed, yet no man knew the secret of the daughters of Zubeih, nor were there maidens as beautiful as the daughters of Zubeih throughout the world. Guileless were they, and modest, having no wish for men.
So the elders of Zubeih comforted themselves in their hearts, saying, ‘Atoned is the sin which we sinned against the wife of Sheikh Muhammad, against Salhia. She will disturb our rest no more.’
But otherwise were the thoughts of Allah, the God of Vengeance.
It was a moonlight night; one of those beautiful nights which Allah has given as a gift only to His chosen, the sons of Araby.
The moon, large and round, stood in the middle of heaven, shedding its soft sweet light on the whole world. Kind and benevolent was the face of the moon, as though it said, ‘Take of my light while there is yet time, ere the parching heat doth come.’
The skies were blue and deep, and pure as the heart of a Zubeihia. No trace of cloud darkened their clear visage, no suspicion of sin nor the least thought of transgression; divine, holy purity was in its depths.
The stars were as the sands of the sea-shore, tens and hundreds of thousands gleaming and sparkling in the vault of heaven. The air was pure and clear, deliciously cool and fresh, seeming to caress all creatures with a light and refreshing embrace. Dew had not fallen, the air was not yet moist. All around was as bright as day, but the light was mild and pleasant, not glittering nor piercing the eyes; honey was there, but no sting.
Tabor stood out in all its beauty and all its strength. It was even rounder than by day. The gentle light concealed the blemishes, the few rocks and the crevices, and poured a night-spell upon it. The valley spread even wider than by day, as though it had taken off its coat to rest, and had no end. All around on the horizon rose the sentinel shadows of the mountains, pondering on their deep secrets.
Softly and quietly gushed the waters of the Zubeih spring, the hidden spring flowing and gushing from the rock. The waters gushed out like great swollen bubbles, round and glistening, and fell slowly down across the rocks until they reached the ground. Their murmur was calm and still.
On a spur of rock above the ground stood a Zubeihia bathing herself in the waters of the spring. It was the daughter of the Sheikh. She had completed her eighteenth year only the day before, only yesterday had her mother revealed the secret to her and her companions had brought her here at midnight to bathe herself for the first time. Now, on the morrow, the maiden had stolen forth alone and gone silently to the spring to bathe herself once again, seeking to be more beautiful than all the maidens, for all that she was already beautiful.
Her black hair descended about her, clinging to her skin. Her eyes were black as night and sparkling, and in them dwelt guilelessness and childlike modesty. Wide-open were the eyes, gazing at the moon with a startled wonder and secret desire. Her body was slender and up-right, like a block of ivory. Her breasts were round and small, having grown but yesterday, and it seemed as though they desired to burst forth. The legs were fine and supple like those of a deer.
The modest moon gazed at the girl with pleasure. Mountains and rocks looked at her. Tabor watched from afar. All of them praised Allah for the beauty of the creature He had fashioned. Even the fox running along-side stopped a moment and opened his eyes in astonishment. The water came gushing from the rock, falling on the maiden’s head and flowing over her fine, quivering flesh. Her tresses waved to and fro, full of drops of gleaming water.
Suddenly a rustling of branches on the mountain.
The girl trembled, raised her face, and gazed aloft.
On the rocky slopes above the spring, where no man’s feet ever passed, stood a splendid mare, and upon her back sat a man, strong as an oak with thighs gripping his mare as in a vice, his locks descending in golden curls, his eyes blue as the heavens, flashing with valour.
The maiden gave a shriek and fell.
On the morrow the Sheikh’s wife found her only daughter sitting in a corner of the tent, her hair disarrayed and her eyes burning with the fire of desire.
‘Daughter, what ails thee?’
‘I love!’
‘Whom?’
‘My beloved.’
‘Who is thy beloved?’
‘My love doth leap upon the mountains, boundeth across the hills.’
‘What is he like?’
‘His locks are curls with the gleam of gold, his eyes are doves that bathe in the blue of heaven, his thighs are pillars of rock, his figure is like Hermon. When he draws me I shall follow him! When my love doth lodge between my breasts I shall hold him and not let him go.’
In vain came the elders and the old women to utter spells over her. In vain did they bring hajjis and dervishes from the farthest tents of the sons of Araby to heal her madness. She could only say, ‘My love is mine and I am my love’s.’
Sick with love was she; all the waters of the springs might not extinguish the fire of her love.
And the maiden grew more and more wan from day to day; a leanness entered her flesh, and her eyes fevered and burnt. Her parents left her alone. She passed like a shadow from tent to tent, whispering to the maidens, telling them of her beloved and her love.
And the malady of the Sheikh’s daughter spread to the maidens. The eyes of the modest daughters of Zubeih began to gleam with the flame of lust. Many of them likewise began to tell of the youth like to a cedar, who had appeared to them at night on the peak above the spring. They were all sick with love.
The report went through the country:
‘The daughters of Zubeih have taken to evil courses.’
And the days were not many ere the honour of the Zubeih had fallen from them and their glory departed. Men no longer came from all parts of the country to beg for the daughters of Zubeih; they sought for them no more.
For the maidens of Zubeih were found in the marketplaces and the streets of the towns, begging for love.
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[1] Lovechild.