The Valley of the Kings

by Marmaduke William Pickthall

Iskender, on his knees upon the floor, was looking through a little pile of paintings, his own work.

"I would take in my hand a gift for the mother of George," he explained; "a specimen of my art, that she may see what proficiency I have attained in it. It was she who first encouraged me to draw and paint—she and, after her, the Sitt Hilda. I should like them both to see the beauty of my present paintings."

"Now Allah forbid!" exclaimed his mother in alarm. "Verily thou art mad to think of it. They view with horror all religious pictures, regarding them as idols, in their ignorance, like the Muslimin! Here is a chance to recover all their favour, to supplant Asad, to become a priest of their religion, a rich khawâjah; and lo! thou wouldst spoil it all by showing them a holy image! When thou askest aught of the Devil, make not the sign of the Cross. Be wise, my son; and come at once!"

But Nesîbeh, who had till now stood speechless by, here flung herself between them, threatening to tear the eyes out of the mother of Iskender. She swore that she would never let her husband visit the home of unbelief in the company of one so wicked. If he went at all, let him take the holy picture to protect his spirit from pernicious influence.

"Tush! tush! thou silly babe," the elder woman chid her, "were it not better for thee to have for husband a rich khawâjah than a wretched painter of religious pictures? Thou wouldst wear fine Frankish clothes of wondrous texture and hats, I tell thee, hats with waving feathers. Thou wouldst sit at ease all day, with maids to wait on thee."

"I want none of it," screamed Nesîbeh. "These are devil's wiles. May Allah blast thy life, unnatural woman, thus to tempt thy son to sell his soul, his part in everlasting life, for earthly gain."

Iskender took her in his arms and silenced her; then turned to pacify his mother, who was much incensed. Had she thought for herself at all? Was not all her endeavour to secure prosperity and a high position for Iskender, and, of course, his bride? What right had this chit of a girl, who knew nothing of the world, nor the shifts that folks are forced to who would live in it comfortably, to call her husband's mother an unnatural woman for displaying a little forethought? And Allah knew it was a grievous pity, for her adherence would have clinched the matter. They would have given Iskender anything on earth to secure the conversion of the daughter of the Orthodox priest. Appeased at length, she asked to see the picture. It was a simple fancy of Iskender's, done in leisure moments, of angels fighting devils in mid-air, with clouds like solid cushions spread to fall on.

"Aye, that may pass," she admitted grudgingly, "the fiends at all events, for they believe in them."

In a dream, Iskender, at his mother's side, approached once more the Mission on the sandhills, traversed the garden and the clean cool hall, and entered the reception-room with its soft carpets, polished chairs and tables, which had presented to his childish mind the life of palaces. There sat the ladies with their work-baskets, each in her special chair, exactly as of yore. There was the canary in its cage, and there was the dog in Hilda's lap as usual. The mother of George came forward and shook hands with him, then made him sit beside her and recount his doings. Conscious of independent standing, he was fearless and behaved with dignity; he even asked for news of the Emîr without confusion. The other ladies chatted kindly of his marriage, praising the beauty of the bride, whom they knew only by sight; even the Father of Ice shook hands with him, and hoped with a smile that he was well and thriving. It surprised him much to see his mother making frequent reverence, to hear her asking pardon in his name.

Having inquired for George and the rest of the children, each by name, and assured himself of their welfare, he conceived that he had said enough, and wished to go. It was then that he made his offering, producing the little picture and placing it in the lady's hand with conscious pride. The effect was quite other than he had expected. The ladies Carûlîn and Jane turned from it with a pitying smile; Hilda remarked, "I prefer your earlier work;" the missionary indulged in a curt laugh; while the mother of George herself, the blest recipient, was dumb, till, seeing trouble in Iskender's eyes, she forced a smile and exclaimed: