Читать книгу Khaled, A Tale of Arabia - F. Marion Crawford - Страница 5

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Khaled sat with his sword upon his feet, and when Zehowah was not in the room he played with the hilt and thought of all that was happening.

'Truly,' he said to himself, 'Allah is great. Was I not, but a few days since, one of the genii condemned to perish at the day of the resurrection? And am I not now a man, married to the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and the wisest and the best, needing only to be loved by her in order to obtain an undying soul? And why should this woman not love me? Truly, we shall see before long, when this mummery is finished.'

So he sat on the couch while Zehowah was led before him again and again each time in clothing more splendid than before, and each time with new songs and new music. But at the last time the attendants left her standing before him and went away, and only a very old woman remained at the door, screaming out in a cracked voice the customary exhortations. Then she, too, went away and the door was shut and Khaled and Zehowah were alone.

It was now near the middle of the night. The chamber was large and high, lighted by a number of hanging lamps such as are made in Bagdad, of brass perforated with beautiful designs and filled with coloured glasses, in each of which a little wick floats upon oil. Upon the walls rich carpets were hung, both Arabian and Persian, some taken in war as booty, and some brought by merchants in time of peace. A brass chafing dish stood at some distance from the couch, and upon the coals the women had thrown powdered myrrh and benzoin before they went away. But Khaled cared little for these things, since he had seen all the treasures of the earth in their most secret depositories.

Zehowah had watched him narrowly during the ceremony of the dresses and had seen that he felt no surprise at anything which was brought before him.

'His own country must be full of great wealth and magnificence,' she thought, 'since so much treasure does not astonish him.' And she was disappointed.

Now that they were alone, he still sat in silence, gazing at her as she stood beside him, and not even thinking of any speech, for he was overcome and struck dumb by her eyes.

'You are not pleased with what I have shown you,' Zehowah said at last in a tone of displeasure and disappointment. 'And yet you have seen the wealth of my father's palace.'

'I have seen neither wealth nor treasure, neither rich garments, nor precious stones nor chains of gold nor embroideries of pearls,' Khaled answered slowly.

But Zehowah frowned and tapped the carpet impatiently with her foot where she stood, for she was annoyed, having expected him to praise the beauty of her many dresses.

'They who have eyes can see,' she said. 'But if you are not pleased, my father will give me a hundred dresses more beautiful than these, and pearls and jewels without end.'

'I should not see them,' Khaled replied. 'I have seen two jewels which have dazzled me so that I can see nothing else.'

Zehowah gazed at him with a look of inquiry.

'I have seen the eyes of Zehowah,' he continued, 'which are as the stars Sirius and Aldebaran, when they are over the desert in the nights of winter. What jewels can you show me like these?'

Then Zehowah laughed softly and sat down beside her husband on the edge of the couch.

'Nevertheless,' she said, 'the dresses are very rich. You might admire them also.'

'I will look at them when you are not near me, for then my sight will be restored for other things.'

Khaled took her hand in his and held it.

'Tell me, Zehowah, will you love me?' he asked in a soft voice.

'You are my lord and my master,' she answered, looking modestly downward, and her hand lay quite still.

She was so very beautiful that as Khaled sat beside her and looked at her downcast face, and knew that she was his, he could not easily believe that she was cold and indifferent to him.

'By Allah!' he thought, 'can it be so hard to get a woman's love? Truly, I think she begins to love me already.'

Zehowah looked up and smiled carelessly as though answering his question, but Khaled was obliged to admit in his heart that the answer lacked clearness, for he found it no easier to interpret a woman's smile than men had found it before him, and have found it since, even to this day.

'You have had many suitors,' he said at last, 'and it is said that your father has given you your own free choice, allowing you to see them and hear them speak while he was receiving them. Tell me why you have chosen me rather than the rest, unless it is because you love me? For I came with empty hands, and without servants or slaves, or retinue of any kind, riding alone out of the Red Desert. It was therefore for myself that you took me.'

'You are right. It was for yourself that I took you.'

'Then it was for love of me, was it not?'

'There were and still are many and good reasons,' answered Zehowah calmly, and at the same time withdrawing her hand from his and smoothing back the black hair from her forehead. 'I told them all to my father, and he was convinced.'

'Tell them to me also,' said Khaled.

So she explained all to him in detail, making him see everything as she saw it herself. And the explanation was so very clear, that Khaled felt a cold chill in his heart as he understood that she had chosen him rather for politic reasons, than because she wished him for her husband.

'And yet,' she added at the end, 'it was the will of Allah, for otherwise I would not have chosen you.'

'But surely,' he said, somewhat encouraged by these last words, 'there was some love in the choice, too.'

'How can I tell!' she exclaimed, with a little laugh. 'What is love?'

Finding himself confronted by such an amazing question, Khaled was silent, and took her hand again. For though many have asked what love is, no one has ever been able to find an answer in words to satisfy the questioner, seeing that the answer can have no more to do with words than love itself, a matter sufficiently explained by a certain wise man, who understood the heart of man. If, said he, a man who loves a woman, or a woman who loves a man could give in words the precise reason why he or she loves, then love itself could be defined in language; but as no man or woman has ever succeeded in doing this, I infer that they who love best do not themselves know in what love consists—still less therefore can any one else know, wherefore the definition is impossible, and no one need waste time in trying to find it.

A certain wit has also said that although it be impossible for any man to explain the nature of love to many persons at the same time, he generally finds it easy to make his explanations to one person only. But this is a mere quibbling jest and not deserving of any attention.

Zehowah expected an answer to her question, and Khaled was silent, not because he was as yet too little acquainted with the feelings of a man to give them expression, but because he already felt so much that it was hard for him to speak at all.