She laughed derisively. “A nice kind of a father you would make of Him—taking no more care of us than that. But do stop arguing and watch the storm. Isn’t it glorious?”
Indeed the lightning over the Asiatic side of Turkey was wonderful. The storm had worked its way over there, and the rain had followed, leaving our side of the coast clear. Right above us a yellowish cloud tore open and disclosed the sun. Djimlah greeted him with delight. She extended her little arms up toward him, crying:
“Come out, Sun Effendi, come out! You are so golden and warm, and I am so cold.”
She shook her little body and rose, jumping up and down to get warm.
As if to oblige her the sun’s rays grew stronger and stronger, and we began to feel better under their warmth. We could hear the storm growling miles away now, and see only bits of lightning.
“It’s working its way back to Allah,” said Djimlah, “so let’s go home, and get dry clothes and something to eat. But I am glad we came out, for now you know that it has no roots.” She put her arm around me. “I used to be afraid of the noise,” she confessed sheepishly. “I used to hide my head in some one’s lap. I never knew it was so beautiful. You made me see that.”
This deference pleased me, yet it did not take away the smart from which I was suffering. Indeed, the calm assertion of Djimlah that we were all in the same way children of God hurt me more than any abstract proposition has since been able to. Had she intimated that the Turks and the Greeks were alike, I could have proved to her by actual facts that the Greeks were superior to the Turks, because they had attained to the noblest civilization, the most beautiful architecture, and the greatest literature in the world; but how was I to prove my position of superiority before God?
The afternoon passed in various games, in which I took only a half-hearted interest. Then came supper and bedtime. I was spending the night there, and by the time I was to go to bed my smart, instead of being lessened, had grown tremendously. I undressed silently.
The old hanoum came in to hear us say our prayers. Up to this time I had not minded praying with Djimlah to Allah. I was sure it did not matter, because when I was tucked in bed, I crossed myself three times, and implored the Virgin Mary to watch over me and over those I loved. To-night it was different. If I were to show Djimlah that I did not believe in her words, I must stop praying to her god; so I said:
“I shall not pray to Allah to-night.”