Although much tempted, I did not try to converse with the bridegroom about his home life, knowing that it would be considered indelicate. For an Arab never asks even his best friend after his wife’s health. The most he may say is, “How is it with your house?”
When we had waited there for about an hour, a man came running in to say that it was time. We rose, and I was told that amongst good friends it was always customary to carry the bridegroom part of the way to the bride’s apartment. So, lifting the heavy Mohammed, I carried him a few paces. He was evidently pleased at my doing him this friendly service, and, the form having been gone through, sprang quickly down, and, taking me and one of his other friends each by a hand, began to run. Before us sped a young man; the rest followed. We were breathless when we reached the caves.
All was in order. A crowd of spectators began to gather immediately, and we slipped in through the gates and down the passage, rapidly crossed into the first court, thence through the underground passage and out into the other court. This was half-dark, but from one of the caves shone a light. Here we entered. The vaulted oblong room with its whitewashed walls was brilliantly lit up. At the far end a carpet hung right across the room, concealing something on the ground; in front was spread another carpet. Here Mohammed seated himself, facing the door. There was no other furniture visible.
On the bridegroom’s left his friend took a seat, pointing to me to take my place on the right. There was not the slightest sign on the features of the former expressive of any emotion, either of gladness or gravity. To the looker-on he appeared merely phlegmatic, and sat, wrapped in his cloak, staring into vacancy. His friend, who was also clothed in red, sat, like himself, in silence.
In the open doorway I saw the faces of Belkassim and Mansur, also some children, Jews, and the men who had followed us. No women were present.
When we had been seated thus for a while, there appeared, from the part of the room divided from us by the hangings, a large dish of kus-kus and, soon after, a pitcher of water. These were placed before Mohammed, who took a mouthful of the food—the first meal prepared for him by his bride.
We sat silent a moment longer, then Belkassim dismissed the spectators from the door, and I rose, shook hands with my friend the bridegroom, and left. In the doorway I looked back. There sat the bridegroom, dumb and stiff, but behind him I saw the carpet being drawn a little aside, and in the dim light beyond it fancied I caught sight of a woman’s face. Whether it were pretty, young, or smiling, I know not. I only know that it must have been the bride’s.
In the open air the festival was in full swing. Closely packed in front of the gate, and all along the approach, sat veiled women. The banks and hollows were white with spectators. The negroes danced, played, and drummed. There a mulatto sang a droll ballad; here two men danced a stick dance, and so on.
I had been requested to take my place amongst the bridegroom’s friends, who held themselves in a group apart, prepared to show him this last day’s homage.
About an hour elapsed, then from the bridal cave a muffled gun-shot was heard; it was scarcely noticeable, as the shrieking and booming of the music overpowered all sounds. Ali hastily handed me a gun, which I discharged, and several shots were fired from our group. Every one of those present knew what this meant, and rejoiced, but none more so than the family of the bride. They, who had waited anxiously, were reassured, for she would not now, under cover of the silent dark night, and wrapped in a grey blanket, be hunted at a given word out of the village, and driven home to sorrowing and disgraced parents and relatives.