“That same as the Nasara.”
“Well, well,” he said, with a doubtful cadence, “they are them I see in Bagdad, that wear such garments as the Constantinople Turk affects, but hats of various kinds, so that no man can tell from their headgear of what tribe and religion they may be. Why, then, do you not wear your country’s headgear?”
“Because it pleases me,” I said, “to adopt among these people their garments; for the Persian proverb truly says, ‘He who would not be ashamed among the strangers, let him put upon himself their raiment and their speech,’ and it would become neither me nor my circumstances to travel girt about with the unsightly swathings of a Ferangi, where I can avoid annoyance to myself and others by adopting the habits of the simple among the simple.”
“Well, thou art come a long journey, doubtless, and sigh for your native mountains. Have they great hills and deserts there?”
“No,” I replied; “it is a land of little hills and little valleys, of no seclusion, of no peace and no rest, of incessant hurryings; in contravention of the word of Quran, that says, ‘All haste is of Satan, and patience of God.’ We are conveyed by rushing chains of carriages that run upon iron bars, that travel a day’s march in an hour.”
JOURNEY TO KIRKUK
“‘Haste is of Satan,’ O true speaker,” he replied; “it is a pity that you were not a Musulman, but each to his own faith, and the Nasara is of the people of the book and not damned; but tell me, have they there no muleteers and no caravans?”
“No, indeed, for where such carriages exist, what need for a muleteer?”
“What a land this, with never a caravan to traverse the country! Have you Kurds? and do they not rob these trains of carriages?”
“No, there are no Kurds, nor Arabs, nor Turks, nor are any of these tongues understood there.”