A latent sense of justice made me recognize how good she was; and although I did not relinquish my nationality as a bit of geography, I recognized that there was something in what she said. So I kissed the old hanoum, and kissed Djimlah, and obediently was led away to bed. Then she sat by us and sang us a little lullaby.
After she had left us Djimlah put her arms around me and whispered: “Do you love me again? For I love you just the same, and when we grow up let us marry the same effendi, and never be separated.”
I did not go away the next day because Djimlah would not listen to it. She was afraid lest I should keep to my first intention, and never return. She wanted to talk over everything with me, which we did; and with the help of the old hanoum, her light and her kindness, I saw things a little better.
Just as my idea of the ferocity of the Turks in their homes had long ago vanished, so what they believed and taught God to be appealed to me; and, although I retained my own idea of the relative importance of the two races in this world, I could not help feeling that perhaps the old hanoum was right, and that our position before God was less a matter of creed and belief than of how we lived our lives.
CHAPTER VIII
YILDERIM
AS I look back on those years of close intimacy with Turkish children, and our various discussions and squabbles, I cannot but feel thankful for opportunities denied most children. And I can see now that a great deal of the hatred which separates the different creeds and nationalities is inculcated in our hearts before we are capable of judging, by those who do their best to teach us brotherly love.
During the first year of our friendship, Djimlah and I played mostly alone. It is true that whenever other harems came to visit Djimlah’s, and brought along girls of our age, we had to accept their presence—either with alacrity or reluctance, depending on what we had afoot. There were days when Djimlah and I were about to enact some chapter of “The Arabian Nights,” and then we little cared to be disturbed by outsiders; but oriental politeness forced Djimlah to play the hostess.
I rarely invited her to my house. First, because my mother positively objected to Turks; and secondly because I had so little to offer her. She would have to share my life, as I shared hers, and my life meant lessons, duties, and discipline; so I preferred to go to her, and on Saturday nights I usually slept there.
We were quite happy by ourselves, because we made a very good team. Though we both liked to be generals, we alternated the generalship. One time Djimlah led, the next she obeyed orders. Our generalship consisted in planning what sort of characters we were to be; and I am forced to confess that on the days of Djimlah’s generalship things moved much the best. Indeed I had to spend half my time as general in explaining to her the Greek mythology, in order that she might understand the characters we were to represent, while on her days I knew “The Arabian Nights” as well as she.