THE RENEGADE EATS DIRT

During the conversation I was called to Lady Adela, and now, followed by my servant—whose garb reflected little credit upon his master, as he had not failed to tell me—I obeyed the summons. In the audience was a group of maids laughing at what amused them as well as the armed retainers outside. Standing near the door was Amin Effendi, protesting; and sitting in her usual place on the mattress, Lady Adela in her deep contralto tones called him every vile name in the vocabulary of Kurdistan. As I came in she renewed her abuse, called Heaven to blast a creature who had violated all the tradition of the Kurds, who had blackened the face of the Jafs before a stranger, who had presumed to alarm a guest under her protection, and finally commanded him to apologise to me there and then in the words of humblest degradation. He obeyed with a bad grace. “Mud is upon my head, filth upon my eyes; I have eaten ordure and my heart is vile; I kiss the hoofs of the ass thou ridest, and clean the shoes of thy servant, whose slave am I; I go abased before all men, a speaker of lies, and I am not fit to attend the womenfolk,” and so on, and yet again and again. He was reluctant at first, but the sound of a cartridge clicking home in a Martini breech and the feel of a knife-point at the back of his neck made him voluble, to the great amusement of the company, and at last I begged Lady Adela to let him go. So she allowed him to creep away, while the maids, unrestrained, advised him to try Epsom salts for the ills of his soul. I had not looked for this kind of revenge, nor desired it, but everyone present seemed to think that I had achieved a considerable victory over one naturally at enmity with me, and I was, despite emphatic protests, put down as an accomplished physician, from the fact of Lady Adela discomfiting her old retainer for my benefit. The rough but sincere congratulations poured upon me by man and maid alike demanded some diversion of object, and suggesting a cup of tea at the coffee-house, I left with a score of men-at-arms to accompany me and retail the story of Amin Effendi to the public there, who by that mysterious telepathy of the East had already got wind of the tale.

It may be remembered that in the first chapter reference was made to a Kurdish priest I had met in Constantinople, and whose talk of his native land had resolved me upon taking my journey. During the time I was making my way across Turkey, I had not forgotten him, and had news of him in Kirkuk, where I heard that he had been robbed by the Hamavands. At Sulaimania I again made enquiries, and had indeed expected to hear that he was there, but was told that he had gone back to Sina of Persian Kurdistan. This news gave me very considerable relief, for I had begun very seriously to consider a matter which I could not put off, namely, the explanation of my identity should I meet him and be recognised. When in Constantinople he had told me, in conversation, that should I as a Christian come to Kurdistan and there turn Muhammadan, he could find me a pretty livelihood in photography, quack surgery, and medicine and teaching; but this was only the style of inducement typical of the priest, and meant nothing more than a nicely put compliment. If he were to encounter me now, passing as a Musulman, and a Shi’a at that (he would have made a Sunni of me), the situation would have been extremely difficult, and all his distrust would arise at seeing before him one in a guise so different from that which he bore in Constantinople, and who had so strangely chosen exactly this spot to journey to for no particular reason, and that after enquiries concerning trivial affairs which had been made in Constantinople.

A RETROSPECT

So I had thought of this possible predicament, and had done my best to guard against it. I must, in order to explain how I was enabled the more securely to adopt my disguise of Persian, ask the reader to pardon me a momentary retrospect, which gives a view of Shiraz four years before. Here I had, after a preceding three years’ study of the religion of the Persians, became converted to Islam. I am not here to state to what extent I was convinced of the truth or otherwise of Muhammadanism, nor whether I was convinced at all. Unless I became outwardly Muhammadan I could never learn properly the language, which is so inseparable in its idiom from the religion. So after some interviews with a priest whose name to-day I remember with feelings only of the greatest admiration and respect, I was made a member of the congregation of Islam, and undertook a course of theological study. Under the tuition of my priest and his confrères I acquired considerable knowledge, and was able to hold my own in the theological discussions and arguments which are at once the profession and diversion of so great a part of the populace of Shiraz. By the merest stroke of chance I was prevented from going, as I had planned, to Kerbela and Mecca, and found myself rushing to England on a P. & O. steamer instead of creeping up to Jeddah as a deck passenger on a “ditcher.” Thus I had acquired a good knowledge of my subject, if I may so call it; and while away, received many letters from my priestly friends in Shiraz, addressed to Mirza Ghulam Husain, which not unnaturally I kept, and had preserved till now, when I found myself in Kurdistan.

I had resolved if I were confronted by the Kurdish priest, the Shaikh ul Islam of Sina, to produce certain letters wherein it was mentioned that I had been “under the guise of an European, but, thank God, a walker in the paths of peace, and a chooser of Islam and no pagan, such as appears to be.” With these letters and my knowledge of Islam, I hoped to be able to prove that I was a Persian and a Musulman, and if he believed that, it was but an insignificant affair to point out what he already knew, that a Persian going, as I had been, to London, must adopt European dress to go there, which would explain my appearance to him as a European.

To return to Halabja, I was talking to my newfound servant a morning or two after his engagement, when it occurred to me to ask him if he had seen the Shaikh ul Islam at Sina. He had not, and for the very good reason that the priest had never returned there. It appeared that he had got as far as the domains of Lady Adela, and had, in a stormy interview with her, demanded armed assistance to destroy Sina, and put to confusion his enemies there—the Government and religious authorities. Lady Adela, whose sympathies with him were very limited, absolutely refused, and forbade him to enter Persian territory, lest she warn the Government and have him imprisoned. So in a fit of rage and chagrin, he betook himself to a holy place in the great Aoraman Mountain, where, upon a steep valley-side the Shaikh of Biara had built for himself a “takia,” and entertained sundry darvishes and wanderers upon monastic fare.

From this quiet retreat he did not stir except to pay occasional visits to Halabja, where he was tolerated but not welcomed. At such times he would put up in Tahir Beg’s house, sometimes even in the room I was now occupying. Hama, my servant, made some enquiries regarding his intentions, and ascertained that he purposed coming to Halabja very shortly, in fact, as soon as the Pasha returned, to pay respects to him. As the Pasha was expected daily, I was feeling a little uncomfortable, for up to now I had enjoyed the confidence of all the Halabja people, had made friends of some, and had, in the way of the East, become accepted by the place as part of itself. And what was more, in order at once to provide myself with a little money and show my bona fides to the people in general, and Lady Adela in particular, I had advanced certain moneys to a Jew to go to Juanru and buy me four mule loads of that valuable cargo called “run,” or clarified butter, which in Kurdistan has such a delicate perfume, and tastes so well that one does not scoff at the native description, that “the run of Juanru takes the scent of the flowers the sheep graze on.”

LIFE AT HALABJA

Thus there were reasons not a few why I should wish to lead an undisturbed life in Halabja so long as I elected to remain. And so I bethought me of some scheme whereby I might forestall an untimely arrival of the Shaikh ul Islam and the public curiosity, and perhaps animosity when he should express his surprise and doubts.