It had another effect, this dreadful, insistent sound. After a few minutes a desire to shriek, even to bite, came over me, and I began rhythmically to tear my feredjé in time to the music.
From this condition I was roused by a strident yell, and looked through the lattice with renewed attention. The arena was beginning to fill with long-cloaked dervishes carrying lighted torches. A mat was spread near the charcoal fire, and on this the sheik, or abbot, of the brotherhood took his place, cross-legged. The nerve-racking music ceased while he offered a short prayer.
When this was over, other dervishes came into the arena, received torches, and ranged themselves under the archways, like caryatides. The maddening music started again, and the dervishes, joining hands, made the round of the enclosure in a slow, dancing step, somewhat like the step of a dancing bear, gradually increasing the violence of their movements. Then each one took off his taj, or head-dress, kissed it and passed it over to the sheik. The music grew faster, but lower in tone, and more infuriating. The dervishes, with heads bowed and shoulders bent, danced more wildly about the smouldering fire. The long cloaks were thrown aside, and the men appeared, naked, except for the band around their waists, from which hung long knives. They threw out their arms, as if in supplication, and bent back their heads in terrible contortions. Yells of “Ya Hou!” and “Ya Allah!” mingled with the music.
Little by little the men lost every vestige of resemblance to human beings. They were creatures possessed by a demoniac madness. They shrieked and yelled inarticulately, their voices blending curiously well with the hellish music. When their frenzy reached its climax, they drew their knives from their belts and began stabbing themselves. The blood trickled down over their bodies, and added to the sinister aspect of the scene. After a while some of them threw themselves into the fire, and then with ferocious yelps jumped out of it. Others, as if they were hungry wolves, and the fire their prey, fell upon it and ate the lighted charcoal. The smell of burning flesh was added to the smell of sweat and blood, and made the close air almost unbearable.
When at last they could whirl no more, yell no more, stab themselves and eat fire no more, one by one they fell to the ground. The music became ever faster and fainter, as if it were agonizing with the men who danced to it, until, as the last man collapsed, it, too, ceased. The sheik then rose from his mat and went from one prostrate form to another, breathing into their faces, and ministering to their wounds. He who died on such a night, it was said, would become a saint.
Dazed and shaken, we left our stall and stumbled along the corridors until we reached the entrance. There were other people, and I was vaguely aware of cries and sobs, but heeded nothing. I wished to get out of the tekhe as if my salvation depended on it. At the outer door I gave a great sigh of relief, and ran on after our Anatolian with his lantern.
I was by no means myself yet, but a feeling of relief came upon me when the cold, damp air of the night struck my face. I was trying to get away from the music, which still clung to my nerves. For a considerable time I walked on until a hand touched my shoulder. Startled, I turned, and by the light of the moon, which had risen, looked into the eyes of a veiled woman who was a stranger to me. Other veiled forms surrounded me, none of whom I knew.
“Hanoum effendim,” said the one who had touched me, smiling, “I am afraid you have lost your party, and by mistake have come with ours.”
Her words were like a cold but revivifying bath.
“I must have done so,” I replied, trying to avoid much conversation. “I will go back.”