CHAPTER XLIV — Hajji Baba meets with an old friend, who cheers him up, gives him good advice, and secures him from danger.
Pulling out the handkerchief from my breast, still wet with the blood of the unfortunate Zeenab, I contemplated it with feelings of the most bitter anguish; then spreading it before me on her grave, I went through a ceremony to which I had long been unaccustomed,—I said my prayers. Refreshed by this act, and strengthened in my resolutions of leaving Tehran, I tore myself away, and stept valiantly onwards towards Ispahan.
Having reached Kinaragird, without seeing the trace of a caravan, and feeling myself sufficiently strong to proceed on my journey, I pushed on for the caravanserai of the sultan's reservoir, where I intended to halt for the night.
As I came in sight of the building, at some distance in the desert, I saw a man putting himself into strange attitudes, playing antics by himself, and apparently addressing himself to something on the ground. I approached him, and found that he was talking with great animation to his cap, which was thrown some yards before him. Going still nearer to him, I discovered a face that was familiar to me.
'Who can it be?' said I to myself: 'it must be one of my old friends, the dervishes of Meshed.'
In fact, it proved to be the Kessehgou, the story-teller, who was practising a new story by himself, making his cap act audience. As soon as he saw, he recognized me, and came up to embrace me with seeming rapture.
'Ahi, Hajji,' said he, 'peace be with you! Where have you been these many years? Your place has long been empty. My eyes are refreshed by the sight of you.' Then he repeated himself in the same strain several times over, until we at length got upon more rational subjects.