BISKRA. Of that there is no need. I know all the secrets needed to scare the life out of a cowardly Frank.—The dastard who sneaks upon the enemy and sends the leaden bullet ahead of himself! I know them all—even the art of letting my voice come out of my belly. And what is beyond my art, that will be done by the sun, for the sun is on the side of Yusuf and Biskra.
YUSUF. The sun is a friend of the Moslem, but not to be relied upon. You may get burned, girl!—Take a drink of water first of all, for I see that your hands are shrivelled, and——
He lifts up one of the rugs and steps down into a sort of cellar, from which he brings back a bowl filled with water; this he hands to BISKRA.
BISKRA. [Raising the bowl to her mouth] And my eyes are already beginning to see red—my lungs are parching—I hear—I hear—do you see how the sand is sifting through the roof—the strings of my guitar are crooning—the Simoom is here! But the Frank is not!
YUSUF. Come down here, Biskra, and let the Frank die by himself.
BISKRA. First hell, and then death! Do you think I'll weaken? [Pours the water on one of the sand piles] I'll water the sand, so that revenge may grow out of it, and I'll dry up my heart. Grow, O hatred! Burn, O sun! Smother, O wind!
YUSUF. Hail to you, mother of Ben Yusuf—for you are to bear the son of Yusuf, the avenger—you!
The wind is increasing. The curtain in front of the door begins to flap. A red glimmer lights up the room, but changes into yellow during the ensuing scene.
BISKRA. The Frank is coming, and—the Simoom is here!—Go!
YUSUF. In half an hour you shall see me again. [Pointing toward a sand pile] There is your hour-glass. Heaven itself is measuring out the time for the hell of the infidels!