“That I do not remember.”
“Don’t you know what year he was born?”
“No, I cannot recollect; we never know anything of that.”
“Don’t you know either, Erzib?”
“No, Sidi; but it was before the strangers came to this country.”[2]
The poor woman sobbed audibly, and Erzib pushed her inside the door that her weeping might not trouble me, saying, “She is very unhappy, Sidi.”
“Oh yes, Erzib. Would I were able to help you to get back your son sooner, or at least to procure you tidings of him. But this I can promise—I will speak to the Khalifa of Gabés on the subject, and, if possible, send you greeting from your son.”
To my regret, however, I must confess that I was unable later to do anything for these poor folk. Whether the boy is still in prison I know not, and whether innocent or no, I know less. My sincere hope is that he may be worthy of his parents’ touching affection.
The repast was now brought and set out in the house, on the clay floor, where I enjoyed it; the father, surrounded by his children whom he caressed, sat aside with Hamed and the younger wife.
When I had finished, and Hamed and Erzib had also eaten, we remained seated. I talked with the wife about her children. The eldest may have been about ten years old; he was a lively boy, who nodded continually to me, and was indefatigable in showing me all the treasures of his home, from an old musket to his father’s agricultural implements. When I showed surprise at a very primitive and curious harrow used to break up the soil, his father gave it to me.