“What is in the cauldron is taken out with the kitchen spoon.”—Arabic Proverb.
“A thousand raps at the door but no salute or invitation from within.”—Arabic Proverb.
During the night, in the passing of a second, for no apparent reason and with all the Arab’s lamentable instability, Zarah grew suddenly tired of baiting her prisoner, and, with the extraordinary density of the woman in love, decided to make one last endeavour to break down Ralph Trenchard’s resistance.
She could not understand, and she would never be able to get it into a mind narrowed by self-love, that one might as well try to stem the Niagara Falls with straw or hold a must elephant on a daisy-chain as to influence the invincible love of soul-mates.
She decided she would offer Ralph Trenchard Helen’s liberty. She would offer to give up her mountain home, her freedom, her power. She would offer herself as his servant, his slave, to cook for him, to wait upon him, anything to keep him by her side, no matter if he returned her love or not, as long as he lived near her; and if that failed, as a last resource would use the despicable lever of the lowest type of coward.
To gain her end she would threaten to commit suicide. So the night following the cutting of Helen’s hair, which was also the night preceding a tournament, in which the men were to show how much they had learned of the art of pugilism, she attired herself in great splendour and summoned Ralph Trenchard to her presence. Helen, surrounded by women who gossiped, knelt at the river edge rubbing silken garments on a stone, with Namlah mocking and jeering beside her when the Abyssinian, sent to fetch Ralph Trenchard, shouted her errand as she passed. Helen shrank back when Namlah suddenly sprang at her and wrenched the silken garment from her hand.
“Thou fool!” Namlah shrilled as she knelt. “This wise, and this and this. The soap? Or hast thou eaten it in thy imbecility?” She leant across Helen and snatched at the soap, which slid into the water, then rung the garment as though it were the neck of an offending hen as she whispered: “Give me a message for the white man. Zarah offers him thy freedom for his love.” Down came the garment on the stone as though she essayed to soften the tough carcass of some female Methuselah of the poultry world as she screamed at the top of her voice: “Wilt thou never learn? Did Allah in his wisdom not teach thee even how to wash a garment? Take it and try, lest I smite thee with it!” She flung the silken remnant at Helen, who, eyes alight, caught it in both hands and crashed it on the rocks until one half followed the soap into the water, whereupon Namlah leant across her and gripped her wrists.
“Fool! This wise, and this and this!”
The women crowded round to watch Namlah swinging Helen’s arms like flails.