I sat up in my bed and wondered what she was doing. Then I arose and went to the window. The last quarter of the moon lighted the garden, and distinctly I saw the halaïc disappearing into a group of cypresses.
In an instant I wrapped a shawl around me, and went down after her. When I next caught sight of her she did not move like a cat any more. She held in each hand a lighted candle, home-made and aromatic, and she was going in and out among the trees, as if she were playing a game, and all the time mumbling something that seemed to be a rhyme.
Then she crouched low on the ground and exhorted Allah to be merciful and forgive her her—. It was a word I did not understand, and the next day I had forgotten it.
After a time she rose, put the ends of the lighted candles between her lips, went to the well, and drew water from it with a small tin cup tied to a string.
She watered all the trees of this clump, counting the drops as they fell: “Bir, iki, utch, dort, besh, alti, yedi.” On the seventh she always stopped, and went on to the next tree. She did all the counting without dropping the lighted candles from her mouth—which was very hard, for I tried it a few days later.
After the watering was ended, she blew out the candles, fell prone on the earth, and begged Allah, the Powerful, Allah, the Almighty, to forgive her. She wailed and wept, and told Allah over and over that she was doing everything according to his bidding, for the sake of his forgiveness.
Hidden in the shrubbery close by, I wondered what could be the crime of that radiant creature, who had enthralled and captivated my imagination.
At length she rose, and danced a weird dance to the mouse-eaten looking moon, in turn beseeching her:
“Queen of the Night, Guardian of Womanly Secrets, Mother of Silent Hours—intercede for me—help me!”
She danced on and on, till she was quite worn out, and fell on the ground weeping.