“Are you married?” he asked me.
I answered, “Yes, surely.”
“How many wives have you?”
“I have only one.”
“Only one!”
I explained that in our country we were in the habit of having only one wife. It was forbidden to us to have several. Why, he could not comprehend, and at that moment I did not think fit to explain.
“See, Mohammed,” I said, “I will confess to you that it is not good to have only one wife, for a man is her slave. Two wives must doubtless be worse, for then there can be no peace; but I tell you that, in my opinion, a man ought to have three wives, neither more nor less. With that number he can pit two against each other, and take refuge with the third; but in such case he must be careful to vary.”
Mohammed understood my joke, and invited me at once to visit Hadeij next time he should marry.
Lighting one of my cigarettes, I passed them round. When I was about to offer them to the Jew, little Ali hastily pulled my sleeve and whispered, “You must not offer him any; he is a Jew.” I did so notwithstanding, and probably by this act fell low in Ali’s estimation, so innate is the contempt for the Jewish race—“Those dogs!”
Afterwards I found it had been a great piece of stupidity on my part to have shown civility to the Jew. He misunderstood it, and became intrusive and impertinent, so that later in the evening I had to set him down sharply, causing little Ali to laugh a laugh of superiority.