Читать книгу Sun, Sand and Somals - Henry A. Rayne - Страница 11

Mahomed is the court interpreter, a personage of considerable importance and would-be dignity. In spite of a decidedly perverse sense of proportion, leading him at times to confuse the duties of interpreter with those of magistrate, he is not a bad fellow. He has certain peculiarities and some aggravating ways, all of which I readily condone by admitting that Mahomed means well. But though meaning well a man may still do badly, and I suspect that our Mahomed is not the tremendous success he imagines himself to be. The day may come—though I doubt it—when he will decide to discard the turban for a hat, in which case, should he find one large enough to fit his head, and if by any chance there lies within his nature a spark of humour capable of asserting itself, the great Mahomed will become quite a human, lovable character.

I have learned much from him; among other things the respect and honour due to a court interpreter. Upon these points my education, I regret to say, had been sadly neglected, but Mahomed has done his best. My first mistake was regrettable. I had occasion to interview an Indian shopkeeper. Mahomed was not present, and I did not send for him. I plead in self-defence that the matter was trivial, but, later on in the day, Mahomed pointed out what a serious thing it would be if magistrates were allowed to glean information through other than the official channel, the interpreter. I felt that to apologise, as I should like to have done, would show Mahomed how deeply ashamed I was of myself, and, that out of consideration for my feelings, he might never reprimand me again. But I wanted to learn.

An occasion arose for him to speak to me a second time. Mahomed was trying a case in his official capacity as interpreter, I was assisting in mine of magistrate. An old Arab had died, leaving some property to be divided amongst several sons; as yet this had not been done; the property was in charge of the deceased's brother and stored in his house. One of the heirs was in a hurry to pouch his share, and removed a hubble-bubble without mentioning the matter to the others. He was ordered to return it, and to wait until a proper distribution of the property could be made. But the fellow was a bad lot; he broke into his uncle's house and stole a beautifully carved old bed, and some mats. I was examining a witness, concerning this theft, who had apparently contradicted herself. It was all about the bed—these people know everything concerning one another's beds, which are heirlooms. The woman giving evidence stated, in the first instance, that the bed produced in court had been given to the accused's aunt by her father-in-law as a wedding present. The father-in-law was the accused's grandfather. Further on in her statement the witness said it had been given to the accused's aunt by a woman. I asked her, through Mahomed, to explain the discrepancy. Mahomed refused to put the question. It was quite unnecessary, he said. He knew the woman referred to was the accused's grandmother, and the bed was a joint present from her and her husband—quite simple.

"But," I said quietly, "I should like the witness, who is on oath, to tell me that, not you. Please put my question!"

"But I have already explained to you, it is quite unnecessary to ask the woman!"

I insisted.

Mahomed turned to the inspector of police and said in aggrieved tones, "The Sahib doubts my word. It is useless my interpreting in this court."

I felt that on this occasion I must apologise. I cleared the court and asked Mahomed to stand in the prisoner's cage so that he could hear every word I said. I told him how sorry I was—for him. He accepted my apology. He begged that I would not give the matter another thought, that I would forget all about it. He realised that his reputation would suffer if people knew how badly I had been trained at his hands. To save his reputation I agreed to push my apology no further. But I know Mahomed will not trouble to teach me any more. I am hopeless.

Mahomed has written a book. He told me so himself. Later on in the conversation he said that he had written it in collaboration with a European Sahib. He told the Sahib the names of all the insects and animals in Somaliland, the Sahib wrote them down, and they are in the book.

Mahomed has psychic powers. I asked him the other day why he, and all good Mahomedans, fasted during the month of Ramathan. He did not know. I expressed surprise. Up to that moment I believed Mahomed knew everything. He said he would find out and let me know, as he was sure my version of the origin of the fast was a wrong one. That evening he came to me and said that, during his midday's siesta, it had come to him in a dream why he and his friends fasted. When Adam eat the apple in the garden of Eden it disagreed with him; it was a green apple and stayed in his belly. Mahomed never uses other than good old English words. When Adam went to heaven he fasted for a month, at the end of which time the apple was digested. That is why all good Mahomedans fast at Ramathan—according to Mahomed's vision. I advised him to write another book; it would be interesting.

But I have said Mahomed is not a bad fellow. I really meant that. I have only been depicting a type, taking Mahomed as a sample, Mahomed the interpreter. Mahomed the private individual holds testimonials of faithful service, rendered over long periods to European masters, that any man might well be proud to hold. Once, when he was very young, in the fight against the Mad Mullah at Erego, he was placed in charge of the camel carrying the British officers' water chaguls. In the course of the action he and the camel got into a very warm corner, and the poor camel lost its life. Mahomed was only a servant, but he removed a couple of water bags from the corpse, together with a bottle of whisky someone had stowed away in the pack, and made his way back to the British line, where, sitting under a tree, he found his thirsty master and some friends. To them he quietly presented the water and whisky he had risked his life to bring them. Of course they were grateful, but that was a long, long time ago, and most of the officers who sat under that tree are dead. I wonder if those who are alive still remember Mahomed.