These two were Erzib’s wives: each had her own house; the children belonged to the woman I saw seated by the hearth.
Erzib told his wives to come forward. This they did quite naturally and willingly, retiring again after I had shaken hands with them.
Soon after, I saw people arriving with screaming fowls and a basket of eggs and bread. Erzib at once drew his knife and vanished with the hens—his intentions were easy to divine.
In the meanwhile carpets had been spread on the floor of the house, and a couch arranged for me. I lit a candle which had been placed in a small square recess in the wall. The room was very irregularly shaped. The floor was of beaten clay, and the walls not whitewashed. In the background a door led into another room containing a loom, and where gala dresses hung on a cord, and household goods on the wall. Through yet another door in the wall to the right was a room with a bed in it raised on four slight stumps: this was made of twigs, and had no coverings.
This dwelling was inhabited by the younger wife and her children—two boys and a little girl. The wife was pretty and not old.
In the house in the courtyard the elder wife resided. In this the anteroom was larger, and contained household goods and implements; behind it was the sleeping apartment.
A grown-up married son, then absent, occupied a house tucked away at the back, and designed on the same plan as the others. His wife was at home.
Whilst the pile of wood burnt and crackled in the yard and the women were busy preparing food, I sat on a bank outside the house in company of my host and several other men.
The moon had risen and shone clearly over mountain and vale. I could see down into a courtyard at the foot of the slope, where a fire burnt brightly on a hearth. Over it hung a cauldron watched by the housewife. She was young and pretty, and as she moved to and fro a couple of little children trotted after her. Now and then she stood still, shading her eyes with her hand, and gazing up in our direction; possibly in the stillness of the night our voices reached her, for it was not likely that she could see us. By the hearth a white dog lay and growled, and when the woman paused and looked up he moved restlessly, for he also was watching the stranger.
Erzib’s first wife came out and stood leaning against the doorway. She did not speak, but was evidently interested in our conversation. Her husband glanced at her and said abruptly—